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sweetromanova · 22 days ago

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Operation: Obedience

Natasha Romanoff x Dog Handler!Reader

Summary: It starts with chaos in a pink harness and a trainer who makes obedience sound like a love language. It ends with Natasha finally understanding what it means to be chosen and choosing to stay.

Warnings: injured animals, dog bites, animal distress but no animal death!

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: happy sunday! this was supposed to be a stand alone but i love the premise of this so if anybody’s interested in a part two, i have a couple ideas i may write🖤

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

Natasha Romanoff is many things. Spy, Assassin, Shield Agent, Avenger, Auntie Nat, stubborn older sister and now? Dog sitter apparently.

With Yelena off on a month-long mission, freeing brainwashed widows, she had gone to the only person in the world she could trust. So that left Natasha with Fanny. A clingy, spoiled, absolutely unhinged rescue mutt with attachment issues, no training and zero respect for her authority.

After Fanny eats an entire steak off Natasha’s plate (again), knocks over a crate of Stark’s prototypes and bolts across the compound in pursuit of Sam Wilson’s drone. Natasha’s had enough, for a second she regrets ever having to reconnect with her stupid sister, who got an even more stupid dog.

If she had made better life choices, she wouldn't currently be getting dragged down the hall by a twelve pound mutt in a sparkly pink harness. She stumbles into the lounge and cries out to Wanda, who just sips her tea calmly. “Fanny! Heel!”

Fanny snorts, ignores the command entirely and yanks harder toward the elevator like she owns the building. “Why don’t you take her down to the K-9 facility?” Wanda suggests. “They’ve got actual trainers. And the main handler… she’s nice.”

“She’s hot!” Clint hollers from the kitchen, making the witch roll her eyes.

“Damn, I’ll take Fanny for you Nat.” Sam grins. “I might need some training too.”

“Gross.” Wanda fake-gags. “And has Laura heard your thoughts on the trainer, Clint? Perhaps I should let her know to come by with Lucky.”

“I mean- I was just- I was helping Nat out…”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I’m not desperate. I mean for Fanny to behave? Of course. But I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own. Besides I don’t need help training this damn dog.”

“She doesn’t need training, she needs an exorcism!” Bucky offers unhelpfully, trying to get the hound who’s now mounted his back and trying to pull the hair tie from his hair.

“Ok, maybe I’ll stop by.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

“This is a stupid idea.” Natasha mutters, awkwardly walking Fanny, who’s currently trying to bite her own leash and tugging her whichever way she pleases.

The spy sighs, letting herself be dragged through endless corridors, following the signs for the K-9 wing. It’s not like the sterile, fluorescent training rooms and labs she’s used to. This part of the compound is quiet in a different way. It’s all warm lighting, clean floors and the faint sounds of barking and whistles echoing softly down the hall.

She turns a corner and stops short.

You’re kneeling beside a massive German Shepherd, adjusting a training vest while murmuring something low and calming. You’re not in standard issue Shield uniform, just black cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, sleeves half rolled up, posture easy but every inch of you radiates quiet authority. The dog beside you sits perfectly still, watching your hands like they’re made of bacon.

Natasha’s brain stalls, just for a second.

And that’s exactly when the 12 pound traitor on the other end of the leash decides to bolt, yanking the leash out of Natasha’s hand and tearing down the hallway at full speed, tail wagging like she’s on a mission.

“Fanny, no!”

Too late.

Fanny barrels into the training space, completely undeterred by the tall German Shepherd that watches you like you hold the sun. She flops dramatically at your feet and starts performing tricks Natasha’s pretty sure she’s never actually taught her.

The other dogs flinch at the chaos but stays perfectly still, waiting for your next command. You blink at the sudden appearance and then look up at Natasha.

Natasha suddenly feels over-trained but severely underprepared. And maybe, definitely, like she’s forgotten how to breathe.

“I take it she’s yours?” You smile at the redhead, who is as stiff as the trained dog in front of you. You have the kind of voice that makes obedience sound like an invitation.

Natasha clears her throat. “Technically she’s my sister’s. I’m just the… dog sitter.”

Fanny lets out a groan of ecstasy as you scratch behind her ears. She licks your wrist and whines for more when you rise to your full height from your crouch. You simply glance down at her then back at Natasha.

“She’s dramatic. But smart.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, you’re in luck. We work with dramatic types all the time.”

Fanny barks once, a single and pointed sound. Natasha sighs and walks over to the two of you, her steps cautious like she’s entering a room full of explosives. And with Fanny? That’s not entirely far-fetched. You glance at her sideways as you clip a lead onto the dog’s sparkly harness.

“Before I start working with her, it helps to get a baseline. See what she already knows. What kind of commands you’ve used. Anything she responds to.”

Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the faintest flicker of discomfort. Is an Avenger actually nervous of a mutt?

“Sure.” She mutters. “No problem.”

You start to give her some space as Fanny bounces on her paws like she’s ready to do parkour. “Go ahead. Show me what she can do.”

Natasha hesitates then clears her throat and turns, trying to subtly crack her neck like she’s preparing for a sparring match. She turns to Fanny, schooling her face into something deadly serious. “Fanny, sit.”

Fanny barks.

Natasha frowns. “Fanny. Sit.”

Fanny leaps onto her hind legs, spins in a circle, and lets out a victorious howl. You bite your lip, smothering the laughter that’s threatening to erupt.

Natasha glares. “She knows sit.”

“Totally. Very… interpretive.”

She ignores that.

“Down!” She commands.

Fanny runs to the corner, grabs a rubber bone and starts aggressively chewing it. Natasha’s ears go faintly pink, you can almost hear her mind cursing out this damn dog.

You make a polite sound, somewhere between encouragement and a failed attempt not to laugh.

“How about recall?” You suggest, gently. “Come, stay, leash manners?”

“She’s been fine on the leash.” Natasha says, quickly. “Except when she’s not.”

You raise a brow then gesture to the training dummy in the center of the mat. It’s shaped like a vaguely threatening human, standard for desensitisation training.

“Let’s try this. Can you walk her past the dummy? Just don’t say anything. I want to see how she reacts.”

Natasha nods. It sounds easy enough so she adjusts the leash, steps forward with practiced precision.

Fanny trots along beside her for exactly two seconds.

Then she sees the dummy and she just lunges, yanking the leash from Natasha’s hand, barrels into the dummy, knocks it clean over with a crash, mounts it like a rodeo champion and-

“Oh my god.”

You can’t help it now as you burst out laughing.

Natasha stands there, expression flat but eyes screaming. “She’s- She’s never done that before.”

You walk over, gently unhook and unmount Fanny, who looks thrilled with herself. Tail wagging, tongue lolling and truly living her best life embarrassing her aunt.

“You know, dominance humping’s pretty common in insecure dogs.” You say, trying to sound professional.

“She’s not insecure.” Natasha grits out. “She’s psychotic.”

You nod solemnly. “Could be both.”

You offer the leash back to her and your fingers brush between the leather. She flinches like it burned but she doesn’t quite pull away.

You grin. “We’ve got work to do.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

It’s been three days. Three full days since Natasha Romanoff last darkened the door of the K-9 training wing.

On the first day of Fanny’s training, she’d simply come to observe between whatever Avenger duties she had going on. Her eyes followed your every movement, you weren’t sure if she was trying to memorise commands or if she was just distracted by something else entirely.

When she came to collect Fanny at the end of the session, she stumbled through pleasantries, politely endured your in-depth explanation of the training Fanny had undergone then thanked you softly and disappeared. But over the past three days, a different redhead had started showing up with the dog. One with deep, unreadable eyes that flashed red when she arrived with Fanny in tow and perfectly under mind control.

You told yourself Natasha was just busy, off doing important Avenger things you’d never understand. Or maybe she was still recovering from the deep, psychic shame of watching her sister’s dog hump a training dummy in front of you.

Still, you’re mid-training with one of the new explosive scent dogs when the door opens and in walks Fanny, tail up, tongue out, dragging Natasha behind her like a kite. Like she was telling you ‘Look who I found!’.

You look up from your crouch, trying and failing to hide your smile.

“Progress check?”

Natasha straightens up, feigning disinterest like it’s a second language. “Figured I’d see if she’s… improving.”

Fanny immediately runs to you, flops on your boot and rolls onto her back for belly rubs like you’re her soulmate.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yep. Wild progress.”

Natasha frowns. “She sat for me yesterday.”

“Wow. Call the press.” You gesture toward the back mat, where your usual training set-up sits, scent targets, obstacles, behavioural triggers. “You want to help?”

Natasha hesitates. You watch the tiny flicker of conflict in her face like she’s weighing whether staying for a few minutes of dog training is somehow exposing her emotionally.

“Sure.” She says. “I’ve got… time.”

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

You’re on your back, breathless from laughing and trying to not look directly at the soggy redhead next to you.

You’d set up a simple agility run with cones, tunnels, short climbing frames and Fanny, in a moment of pure chaotic energy, had chosen to sprint directly through the cones, avoid the tunnel entirely, and use the ramp as a launching point to dive into a water bucket.

Now she’s soaked. Natasha’s soaked and you’re not much better.

You hand her a towel and finally catch a glimpse of her, she’s smiling at the dog like she wants to strangle her and frame the photo.

“You okay?” You ask, trying not to look too hard at the way she softens.

“Yeah.” Natasha says, wiping her hands. “Honestly? This was… better than I expected.”

“Most people say that about Fanny, right before she humps the training dummies or decides to rid you of your socks.”

She glances at you, a little sideways like she’s searching for something she hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask.

“You’re good at this.” She says, quietly.

“After that display of training, I think I need to be fired or maybe Fanny is just an exception to a normal dog?”

“Not just the dogs, all of it. You’re…”

You pause, really looking at her. She’s not flirting, not exactly. “You’re just good.”

She finishes lamely, avoiding your eyes as a red shade rises to her cheeks.

You lean just slightly closer. “Maybe you should stick around longer next time. See how good I really am.”

Her mouth twitches until Fanny barks once and sits directly on Natasha’s foot, like a smug little chaperone.

“Your dog’s totally cockblocking you.” You murmur.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You both laugh. It’s soft, the kind of laugh people don’t fake. The kind you can tell she doesn’t do often.

⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

It’s late afternoon at the Avengers compound and everything’s just calm.

The wind moves through the trees, soft against the outer fences. It’s one of those rare moments, where there’s no distant gunfire, no alarms, no team-wide emergencies. Just a quiet moment where it feels like the world’s finally taking a breath.

Natasha jogs in from the tree line, sweat-slicked and flushed from having clearly pushed herself too hard. Again. She slows to a walk as she reaches the paved path near the west wing, tugging out her earbuds. Her breathing’s steady but her eyes are distant.

And then she sees you.

You’re across the compound path, walking one of your dogs. Not a puppy, or not one of the flashy, perfect recruits.

This one is different.

A big, old shepherd mix, worn around the muzzle. One leg moves stiffly, the other back paw drags just slightly in the dirt. His fur’s patchy, clearly healing from something. One eye is missing while the other fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

You’re walking slow, letting him set the pace. You’re not saying anything but your hand brushes his head every few steps, grounding him.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha doesn’t feel like she’s watching someone play a role or do their job. She’s just watching you. And that dog, he trusts you like it’s instinct.

You glance up and spot her.

Natasha goes still, instinctively pulling herself straight, guarding something she’s not sure she wants to guard around you anymore.

You hesitate then clear your throat, smile small but warm. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Natasha mutters back, looking down to the dog beside you, a question on the tip of her tongue.

“He’s retired. Came in last year after a blast shattered his back leg and part of his skull. Doesn’t move like he used to.” You answer before she can ask. “Still tries to chase squirrels, though. Doesn’t catch them but he tries.” You pat his side gently, earning a nuzzle to the thigh.

Natasha’s lips twitch. “He’s stubborn.”

“So are most of the best things I know.” You’re not quite sure if you’re referring to her or Fanny.

You don’t know what makes you ask, maybe the way her walls are just a little lower after that run, maybe the way she hasn’t looked at her comms since she spotted you but you go for it anyway. “You want to walk with us?”

Natasha blinks. For all her training, she’s terrible at hiding surprise when it’s real.

“You don’t have to.” You add, quickly. “I know it’s slow-going. He likes to stop every three steps and sniff grass like it’s a delicacy.”

“No, I-“ She cuts herself off then softens at the two sets of puppy dog like eyes staring back at her. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

You don’t say anything, simply gesturing her down the path and walking so close together that your shoulders brush.

The dog stops again and again, noses something in the grass, sniffs the plants, eyes darting the tree lines. You get to a clearing, a good amount away from the compound and bend down to take his leash off, watching Natasha bend the same.

She crouches beside him and you watch her gently scratch the side of his neck, the good side.

“What’s his name?” She asks, letting him lick her fingers.

“Bear.”

“Looks like one.”

You smile. “He thinks he’s terrifying, actually he is in action. But he cries during thunderstorms and won’t sleep unless he’s touching someone.”

Natasha glances up at you, her voice drops. “Yeah. I know the type.”

After letting him run free for a while, stretching out the three good legs he’s got, you whistle him back and clip the leash on again. Together you fall into an easy rhythm, slow and steady steps, soft conversation flowing between you. You talk about the new puppies due to arrive soon, she talks about Fanny’s owner, her sister, who’s clearly the mastermind behind all his mischievous habits. Bear lumbers ahead at his own pace, tail swaying lazily. The sun’s lower now, casting long shadows across the compound’s gravel path. It’s peaceful.

You and Natasha walk side by side, not speaking for a while as the compound reappears through the trees.

Natasha finally breaks it, her voice low and unreadable.

“You ever think about leaving this place?”

You glance over. She’s not looking at you, just watching Bear meander to the grass again, where he sniffs a rock like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Like quitting?” You ask.

She shrugs. “All of it. This place. The job. The people. Just… disappearing.”

You take a breath. “Sometimes.”

Natasha nods like she expected that.

You wait a beat before adding. “But then I remember why I do this.”

She looks at you now. “The dogs?”

You smile. “Them but it’s bigger than just the dogs. I know I’m not on the front lines, I’m not risking my life for others but I’m helping, in my own small way. It’s the least I can do.” You shrug, feeling a little exposed. “It’s enough. Well at least it’s what I tell myself at night.”

She huffs a quiet laugh through her nose but it fades fast. “I think about it all the time. Leaving. I used to do it like clockwork, one job, one identity, gone. But now…” She pauses, searching for the words. “…Now there’s nowhere I want to go. But I don’t know if I want to stay either.”

You nod, letting the honesty settle between you. “That’s still progress.”

“How?”

“Means you’ve got something worth staying for. That’s more than most people. Maybe you just need to find something else that really makes staying worth your while.”

Bear lets out a heavy sigh and flops down in the grass, clearly declaring the walk over. You crouch to check his paw, brushing some dirt out from under the pads. Natasha stays standing, watching you, admiring you.

“He chose to live.” You whisper, softly. “When he came in, he could’ve just… shut down. But he didn’t. He kept trying to move, even when it hurt.”

You look up at her, you don’t say it out loud but the message is clear.

So did you.

She meets your eyes. For a long time. Something flickers in hers, something unguarded and achingly human.

“I didn’t come on this walk for him.” She blurts out, almost randomly.

You blink, thrown by the blunt honesty. “No?”

“No.” A pause. “And I don’t keep coming to the training room to watch Fanny’s progress.”

“Oh.”

“I think she’d hump the dummy again if it got me out of my own head.”

That draws a quiet laugh out of you. You stand back up, brushing grass off your knees and meeting her eyes.

“Well. Next time, we can skip the excuses.”

She tilts her head, just a little. “There’s a next time?”

You smile, soft but certain. “Yeah. If you want one.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But her fingers brush yours when she reaches down to pet Bear again. It’s not an accident.

“I do.” She says, quietly.

And for once she means it.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The sun was just beginning to dip as Natasha made her way through the doors of the K-9 facility, Fanny at her side, barely pretending to stay on the leash. She’d spent the afternoon ‘supervising’ Fanny’s training with one of the newer handlers, pretending to read intel reports she definitely wasn’t paying attention to, making sure the progress wasn’t slipping away because, of course she only truly trusted you with the mutt.

As she walked toward the exit, she hoped for just a glimpse of you. To see you and to remind herself she didn’t need an excuse to be here.

She hears your voice before she even rounds the corner. Firm. Focused. No-nonsense but somehow, still kind. “That’s it. Down. Hold. Good. Hold, wait for it…”

Natasha turns into the training room and stops in her tracks.

You’re on the main floor, standing in the center of a controlled obstacle course with one of the working dogs, a sleek black and tan Malinois, responding to every word like it’s gospel. He darts through tunnels, leaps cleanly over hurdles, hits precision stops like he’s reading your mind.

You whistle once and hold up two fingers. The dog immediately shifts into a crouch and crawls on command, eyes locked on the decoy target at the far end of the mat. It’s not just good, it’s damn impressive.

You’re not flashy and you don’t don’t show off. But this? This is an insane amount of control, of trust and bond.

And you look entirely in your element, sleeves pushed up, hair gathered back, sweat glinting on your temple, voice low but commanding.

Natasha watches in silence, jaw twitching slightly.

She thought she had a handle on the whole quiet crush on the dog handler thing. Apparently, she did not.

She doesn’t even notice Fanny yawn beside her, until the mutt lets out a loud “WOOF.”

You look up mid-command.

The Malinois snaps to a sit, perfect posture. Fanny, meanwhile, sprints toward the course like she owns the place and proceeds to trip over her own paws and crash into a foam tunnel.

“Fanny!” Natasha mutters, dragging a hand down her face

“Hi.” You call, laughing as the Malinois calmly walks to the water bowl like this is clearly beneath him. “You just missed the best part.”

Natasha’s eyes are still on you. “No.” She says, softly. “I don’t think I did.”

You arch a brow, cheeks warming slightly, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you snap your fingers. Fanny freezes mid-tail wag. “Sit.”

She actually sits. Natasha blinks. “How-”

“Bribery.” You say, with a wink. “And mild psychological warfare.”

Fanny barks, totally unbothered as you kneel beside her, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears and a treat from your pocket.

“She is improving.” You say gently, looking up at Natasha.

“Yeah,” Natasha says. “So am I.” You both pause. “I wanted to see you.”

Something’s different in her eyes now. Less guarded, more grounded. “You did?”

“I did.” She confirms. “And I’d like to see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah?”

“Yesss.” She drawls, laughing at your stunned expression. “I can pick you up here at 8pm?”

“I- Yes- Yeah, that sounds… good.”

“Good.” She repeats. “Let’s go Fanny.”

What the hell just happened?!

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The next evening, Natasha’s early.

She makes her way down to the K-9 facility, a little more nervous than she expected to be. She’s not in her usual Shield uniform or even a mission suit, just jeans, a black jacket, hair in loose waves like she’s trying to look casual, like this isn’t her first real date in years.

She tells herself she’s just checking in before dinner. Fanny’s leash is tucked under her arm and she’s practiced what she’ll say when she sees you.

But when she walks into the main room, you’re not there.

A younger handler is wiping down crates and glances up when Natasha enters.

“Hi!”

“Hi, I’m looking for-“

“Yes. Yes, I- She said- Well-“ The young handler stutters, clearly not expecting to see the Black Widow. “She’s at the Med bay.”

“WHAT?!” She almost growls.

“Yeah. Uh, there was an incident. One of the dogs- something happened during a mission. She went with the vet team to stabilise him. It was bad. Lot of blood.”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear the rest. She’s already moving.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The doors hiss open to chaos, barking, low groans and rushed footsteps. One of the older German Shepherds, Bear’s brother in uniform Natasha thinks, has his splayed on a steel table, half-sedated and clearly in pain. His leg’s twisted unnaturally, blood matted deep into the fur.

And you’re there, on the ground and kneeling beside him.

Your face is calm but barely. Hands shaking as you stroke the uninjured side of his neck, whispering soft reassurances that sound like muscle memory and like you’re holding back everything else.

The dog snarls, eyes wild. He snaps, once, twice and catches your forearm on the third, hard enough to draw blood.

Natasha jerks forward but not as fast as the man beside her, armed with a huge tranquilsor that would be enough to put out a rhino.

“Ma’am, back off-”

“No!” You say, through your teeth. “He doesn’t understand what’s happening.”

The dog snaps again, catching your hand this time. You wince but he’s already letting you go and whining softly.

“Shhh, I know. It’s ok.” You whisper, already reaching for the much smaller needle in your vest pocket. “He just needs to feel something safe before he goes under.”

You get close again, whispering something too soft for Natasha to hear and then you stick the needle cleanly into his shoulder.

The dog lets out a whine, shudders but slowly goes still.

The moment he stops fighting, you do too.

You slump down beside the table, breathing hard, blood trickling from your arm. One of the vet techs moves in to lift the dog away, muttering about surgery and nerve damage.

Natasha is there the second you’re alone. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She drops to a crouch beside you, pulling your arm into her lap, already inspecting the puncture wounds. “You could’ve lost a hand! Do you even realise how close his teeth were to your-”

“I know.” You mutter. “I know.”

She rips a gauze packet open with her teeth, one clearly suited more to an animal than human but neither of you care. Your blood’s on her gloves before you even notice she’s touching you. It’s not her anger that gets to you, it’s the fear behind it.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper. “But if they gave him what they wanted, he would never have woke up.”

She doesn’t respond, just continues to clean the wounds along your arm.

The vet returns briefly at some point. “He’s stable.” He assures before his face becomes a lot more somber. “But it’s touch and go. Nerve damage, internal bleeding. We’ll do everything we can.”

You nod, voice hollow. “Thanks.”

The door closes again and that’s when it hits you.

You lean back against the wall, blood still drying on your skin and your whole body starts to shake as you pull away from her.

The tears hit fast, harder than you meant to let them, pulling out of you in rough, uneven sobs. Your face twists and you instinctively turn away, as if you’re embarrassed by the weight of it.

“Sorry.” You choke out. “I just- He’s not just a dog. He’s- He trusted me. I-” But you can’t finish it.

Natasha doesn’t move for a second but then she very gently takes your chin and turns your face back toward her

“Don’t apologise.” Her voice is quiet. “He’s not just a dog to you. I know that.”

You try to blink the tears away but she’s already pulling you into her, one arm tight around your shoulders, your blood still on her jacket sleeve.

And when she says. “You made him feel safe. That’s what he needed.” You finally let yourself fall forward into her arms and just breathe.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

The sky’s dark by the time Natasha comes back from the vet ward with Fanny trotting beside her, leash taut, ears perked, tail doing that suspiciously innocent wag. Natasha had dragged you to Dr Cho, made her stitch you back together and clean your wound much better than she could have ever done. She had even stayed outside the dog’s surgery, so you wouldn’t worry he was alone.

You’re sitting outside the recovery wing, arm bandaged and fresh stitches, looking exhausted with eyes rimmed red, clothes still stained with blood but now, your breathing’s steady.

Natasha crouches beside you without saying anything at first. She just puts a hand on your knee, grounding. “He’s stable. They think he’ll make it.” She assures you.

You exhale, sharp and shaky. “Thanks for coming and staying.”

“You think I wasn’t going to?”

You don’t answer that. Fanny whines and licks your good hand. Natasha glares at her but the mutt leans harder into your leg.

“Traitor.” Natasha mutters, making you smile.

“She’s loyal to whoever has treats.”

“You don’t even have any.”

“She knows I would.” You both laugh but it’s quiet, the events of the night still heavy.

-⋆⟡⋆˙⋆🐾⋆˙⋆⟡⋆

You don’t really remember how you asked her to come with you. It might’ve been mid-sentence, mid-sigh, something like ‘I just don’t want to be alone tonight.’

She didn’t hesitate.

Now you’re curled on your couch, left arm braced with a pillow, still smelling faintly of antiseptic. Fanny has made herself fully at home, snoring upside down on your rug like she pays rent.

Natasha’s in your kitchen, sleeves rolled, hair tied back, humming something low as she works a pan over the stove. “You cook.” You say in disbelief.

“I survive.” She corrects. “You’re bleeding. The bar is low.”

But the scent of garlic and something buttery drifts into the air. She brings over two plates, a simple pasta dish on each, loaded high with toasted bread.

You blink, stunned. “Are you seducing me with carbs?”

“If it works, I’m making pancakes in the morning.”

You laugh, hardly able to pull your eyes from her and to the meal in front of you.

You both eat while the TV murmurs in the background, just quiet enough that you can hear Fanny’s snoring through it.

Once you’re both finished, you tried to clear the plates but she refuses to let you, not wanting you to get the bandages wet. So you wait patiently until she falls beside you, sinking into your soft couch cushions.

There’s a pause, a moment of peace.

You look over at her to find she’s already looking at you.

“You scared the shit out of me today.” She murmurs, quietly.

You swallow. “I was scared too.”

“You didn’t act like it.”

“Well, neither did you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second. “I didn’t want to lose you and it wasn’t just because of the dog. I trusted you could do it, I knew you could but- I got scared.” A sigh follows. “I don’t get scared.’

That lands like a soft hit to the chest. You reach out slowly, brushing your fingers along hers.

“I don’t know what this is.” You say, voice small.

“Me either.”

Fanny chooses that exact moment to wake up and hop up, wedge herself between you both like an obnoxious little cupid and drop a saliva-damp rope toy in Natasha’s lap.

You both stare for a second then laugh, half delirious at the late hour and also in disbelief.

“She really knows how to kill a moment.”

“Or make one…”

Natasha leans in before you can even think to stop her, hand gentle on your jaw, gaze asking for permission she doesn’t need to speak.

And then she kisses you.

It’s not fast or rough. Just steady, sure and real.

When she pulls back, you’re both breathless but still smiling.

“So…” You murmur. “Pancakes?”

“Only if you let me stay.”

“Deal.”

Fanny flops across both your laps and lets out the loudest, most satisfied groan imaginable.

“You did this, didn’t you?” Natasha laughs, scratching her head.

She doesn’t move, she just lets out another dramatic sigh, her tail thumping once against the couch.

And when Natasha’s lips meet yours again, Fanny closes her eyes with the contentment of someone who knows her mission is complete.

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanov #fan fiction #light angst #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #dog training #yelena belova #marvel #marvel au #wlw #fanfic #natasha x you #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff

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drabblesandsnippets · 11 months ago

Text

Sunshine - Part 4

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 8

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Plus-size female character (nickname is Sunshine)

Prompt: “Maybe this'll help you relax” | [Hot Bath | Another Drink | Cockwarming] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) Series Masterlist TW: Mention of (past) SA. During a blackout, Bucky learns more about Sunshine’s past.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Slow burn. Grumpy/Sunshine trope. Happy Bucky (is that a warning?) - he's a photographer in this AU. Mention of insecurities, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and body image (she's a bit of a mess, okay?). Internal dialogue. Sexual thoughts. Use of weed. Mention of car accident and minor injuries. Mention of emotionally immature parents. Mention of (past) SA.

---------------------------

Bucky barely got any sleep last night, having spent most of it thinking about Sunshine and the different ways he could confess his feelings. Ridiculous, elaborate plans that would likely just overwhelm her and risk ruining this before it can even begin. None of which he actually considered putting forth.

This isn’t about surprising her or winning her over. Bucky wants Sunshine to trust him enough to share her past, to allow him to learn what shaped her into the woman she is today. Not as a means to take advantage of their undeniable connection, but to see if this is even something she wants to pursue.

The intimate moment they shared last night is the only evidence he has that she feels the same way he does. It’s not enough to jeopardize their friendship, no matter how much he wants to ask her out on a date. No matter how much he wants to tell her how beautiful she is and how long he’s thought about kissing her.

Bucky’s determined to do this right.

Which means he also has to take into account what Sunshine might be dealing with if his assumptions are correct. He already saw a glimpse of it last night, the way she blushed and acted as if it didn’t suddenly feel like they were the only two people in the world. Trying to pretend that they were sharing a friendly interaction and not the start of something that most people only get to dream about.

Planning to listen to his intuition - something that’s rarely steered Bucky wrong - he decides to approach this from two different angles.

Before he leaves for work, he takes the time to write her a note, going through several pieces of paper figuring out how to word his message. Friendly, but not overly flirty. The point is to ease her worry that things are awkward between them, not to convince her that last night meant something to him.

Bucky will save that for tonight. And, if there’s any indication that Sunshine’s looking for a relationship, he won’t let her go one more night convincing herself that he doesn’t want her. He can’t.

-------------------

After tossing and turning for the last few hours, she finally kicks off the covers and sits up in bed with a soft groan. The last thing she wants to do is get ready for work, having to go into the office today, but the thought of calling out sick gives her too much anxiety.

She’s not sick. She’s just stupid.

Last night has been playing on a loop in her head, as if her brain is trying to torture her, oscillating between convincing her it was all in her head, to wondering if there really was some mutual flirtation going on.

By the time her alarm is going off, she’s done a spectacular job of sticking to being ‘realistic’ about the whole thing.

Bucky definitely wasn’t flirting. He was being friendly and she was reading way too much into it. She’s not his type. She imagined the whole thing. Even if he was flirting, it didn’t mean anything - it’s just who he is and now he’s comfortable showing that part of himself to her.

While getting dressed, she’s going further down the rabbit hole, imagining worst-case. It doesn’t even matter that he behaved like nothing was out of the ordinary after he was finished taking her picture. He kept his word, delivered her the final product and even joked that seeing her positive reaction to the headshots was payment enough.

But it still doesn’t stop her from believing that she’s going to find no coffee waiting for her. Or wondering if he moved out in the middle of the night to get as far away from her as possible.

If nothing else, she excels at nonsensical scenarios.

When she finally enters the kitchen, it’s like the wind gets knocked out of her. There’s coffee waiting, the familiar Good Morning, Sunshine! travel mug full and ready to go, but there’s also a piece of carefully folded paper next to it.

Oh god.

Every single possibility races through her head again, one thought slamming into another before she can even process the original one. Torn between wanting to quickly get it over with to see what the note says and wanting to postpone it for as long as possible, to delay bad news.

Already wasting enough time, her schedule forces her to gather her things and rush out the door, the unread note stuffed in her pocket, her heartbeat pounding in her ears with each heavy step she takes towards the subway.

He’s leaving. You made him uncomfortable.

The moment she finds an empty seat on the train, she uses all the tricks to slow her breath and ease the stitch in her chest. Her anxiety is getting the best of her, not letting her think straight, causing her to feel as if she’s already living her worst nightmare.

Knowing she can’t wait until she’s at work, she wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs, the linen of her pants soaking up her nerves.

Bucky wouldn’t deliver bad news like this. He wouldn’t treat her like she means nothing to him. Deciding not to silently admonish herself for believing he would, she opens the note instead, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Good morning, Sunshine!

Thank you for trusting me to take your picture.

If you ever want to do it again,

just say the word and I’m all yours.

(that goes for anything you want to do together)

I hope you have a great day!

Try not to work too hard,

Bucky

During the 5th reread, she almost misses her stop and shoves the note back in her pocket, planning to look at it at least ten more times today. At least she finally feels like she can breathe again.

Everything’s okay.

Maybe more than okay?

Instead of allowing herself to go down that line of thinking, she’s just happy that she didn’t fuck things up last night. Their friendship is the only thing that matters to her. She can deal with the rest of it later. Or, never.

-------------------

The expected thunderstorm arrives earlier than predicted, drenching Sunshine just minutes before she walks in the door. Finding Bucky standing there ready with a towel, her look of annoyance morphs into one of surprise and he grins at her, resisting the urge to wrap her up in his arms.

He’s also ignoring the desire to let his eyes roam, just barely catching a glimpse of the way her wet clothes cling to her body. Bucky wants to peel them off of her, expose every inch of glistening skin, lick up each drop of-.

Sunshine’s movements interrupt his thoughts, the towel mopping up the wetness along her arms as she rushes to her bedroom to change. Brief exchanges of hello, a passing complaint about forgetting her umbrella at work, and he’s suddenly alone again, searching for another towel to dry the floor as he laughs to himself.

This isn’t how he expected their evening to start, but Bucky’s not going to let it faze him. Nothing can ever go exactly as planned, he just needs to make sure Sunshine’s evening isn’t ruined. A little rain might seem inconsequential to him, but it could be her last straw after a stressful day.

Giving her space to dry off and join him when she’s ready, Bucky moves into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee and look through their cabinets for a snack. Just as he’s planning to prepare more than enough to share with her, the flicker of the lights stops him in his tracks.

The storm is building and there’s a very real possibility they’re going to lose power.

Praying the coffee finishes before they do, Bucky calls out for Sunshine and starts gathering supplies for the impending blackout, tossing everything onto the counter. Flashlights and batteries. Candles and lighters. A portable charger. A charged USB fan from his backpack in case it gets warm.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she says, joining him in the kitchen, eyeing everything he’s managed to find in such a short amount of time.

Bucky doesn’t miss the way his readiness makes her smile, but just as he opens his mouth to respond, fate steps in, reminding them who’s in charge, and they’re engulfed in darkness.

Sunshine’s soft, exasperated “well fuck me” seems to echo throughout the suddenly quiet apartment and straight to Bucky’s brain, threatening to send him into a spiral of dirty thoughts. All he can do is break into a fit of laughter to join hers, the exhilarating sound filling him with contentment.

Whatever happens tonight, it’ll only bring them closer.

A few minutes later, the soft glow of the lit candles creating an unintentional romantic atmosphere, Bucky joins Sunshine on the couch, setting her bong and glass container of weed carefully on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight furrow to her brow, but she’s laughing, as if she’s hoping for another rare night where he joins her.

It hadn’t been his plan - wanting to be as clear headed as he could be tonight - but, the look she’s giving him has him throwing away every last shred of the plan. None of this has gone the way he thought it would, so he may as well go with the flow.

“I dunno about you,” he grins, pulling his legs underneath him to turn towards her, giving her his full attention, “but I’d love nothing more than to get high and play some cards with you.” Producing a deck of cards from his jeans, her smile grows and he watches a bit of the stress from her day melt away.

Bucky may not know everything about Sunshine, but he’s paid attention long enough to know what she needs during moments like this.

-------------------

Bucky’s note was the highlight of her day, everything going downhill after that. Meetings that should have been emails. Unnecessary, awkward social interactions. The looming promise of a mid-year review. The only thing she wanted to do after work was come home, get stoned, and find something to distract her brain for a bit.

None of her usual choices are options now that they’ve lost power, and the fact that Bucky seems to understand without her having to say a word makes last night come rushing back. Even if there hadn’t been any flirting, it’s obvious that he cares about her, and not just on a surface level. That’s what she needs to be focusing on, not the delusional hope of having more with him.

The weed helps, encouraging her to relax and enjoy the moment with Bucky, the occasional dirty thought quickly brushed away. The usual anxiety and insecurities that are known to plague her are quieted, and soon she’s having too much fun laughing and joking with him to worry about anything else.

She doesn’t even mind when the joking turns into more serious conversations, the topic soon approaching dangerous territory: childhood and family. She listens with rapt attention while Bucky recounts the tale of how he and Steve met the summer before junior year of high school.

“I had just gotten my license,” he explains, glancing at his cards to decide his next play, “and was driving my mom’s old station wagon home from a friend’s when a guy blew through a stop sign, hit my passenger side and spun my car straight into a tree.”

She gasps and her eyes widen, her mind suddenly filled with horrible images of teenage Bucky hurt and in pain, but she’s too invested in the story to verbalize any thought or question, her own cards held tightly in her hands.

Not letting the tension build, Bucky’s quick to tell her, “I was lucky, but the tree put up a pretty good fight.” She watches as he pulls up his short sleeve to show her a faint scar above his left bicep, the thin line snaking around his arm and up underneath his shirt.

Using the excuse that the candles aren’t providing enough light, she leans in to get a better look, the couch dipping between them as she ignores the part of her brain telling her to touch him. The absurd thought is almost enough to make her laugh, but she covers it up with a soft clearing of her throat and settles back, meeting his gaze to say, “Please don’t tell me Steve was the guy who ran the stop sign.”

Easing any worries starting to grow, Bucky grins and shakes his head. “Of course not. The hospital was busy, so I ended up with a roommate.” The bright smile on his face tells her everything she needs to know, and she laughs when he confirms it. “Steve and I immediately butted heads, and then became inseparable. It didn’t take long for my parents to basically adopt him as their own, and right before 11th grade ended, they invited him to move in with us like it was nothing.”

After everything Bucky’s told her about his parents, she’s not surprised, but she’s unable to stop herself from blurting out, “Wow. Your family is a lot different than mine.” She’s still laughing when she says it, but that familiar feeling of being too vulnerable threatens to rear its ugly head.

For the first time, and not just because of the weed, she dismisses the fear, suddenly wanting nothing more than to share more of herself with Bucky. She’s kept so many things safely hidden, unsure of how he might react, or how it would change things between them. They just started to truly be comfortable with each other, and while she’s scared of erasing all that progress, the need for more of a connection with him is too great.

As if reading her mind, Bucky gently says, “I know not everyone is fortunate enough to have parents like I do.” He pauses to take his turn in the card game, then adds with a smile, “So while I might not be able to truly understand, I’d still like to try.”

Taking a moment to consider her next play, her eyes focused on her cards, she casually begins with, “My parents are the complete opposite of yours.” A glance up to see that Bucky’s attention is only on her has a tingle of excitement settling over her, a complete contrast to the usual jolt of worry and nausea she feels during these conversations. “Distant. Cold. Selfish. I think they call it ‘emotionally immature’ or something.”

Putting her cards face-down in front of her, she finally meets his eyes again, seeing nothing but sympathy staring back at her. There’s no pity, no look as if she’s suddenly broken. It encourages her to keep going, to share more of herself with him.

Giving him a slight shrug and a soft exhale of a laugh, she explains, “Basically, they didn’t know how to be parents or care enough to even try. Other than meeting our physical needs - roof over our head, food in the fridge - it was like living with complete strangers. But hey, it’s probably why I’m so good at living with roommates.”

“Jesus,” Bucky laughs, shaking his head at her. Her dark humor has a way of catching people off guard, but it’s obvious that he’s not just laughing to placate her. He genuinely seems to appreciate her jokes, even the ‘inappropriate’ ones.

“It’s true!” Her growing smile only seems to make him laugh more and she shrugs innocently, their attention on each other, the game now paused. “But, it’s also why I struggle at communicating and expect the worst in every situation.”

Bucky nods in understanding, a soft smile on his face. When his tongue flicks out to wet his lips, she can’t even resist glancing at his mouth before meeting his gaze again, her cheeks growing warm. With just a hint of knowing smile, he says, “It’s why I left you the note this morning. I figured there might be a little stressing out, and I wanted to try to help if I could.”

“You did.”

This time when their eyes connect, she doesn’t forget how to breathe, despite the dazzling smile suddenly lighting up his face. Her heart still skips a beat, but her body stays relaxed enough for her to take in a slow, deep breath.

As her lungs fill, warmth spreads throughout her body, and that deep yearning returns. That longing for connection and intimacy, to be loved and cared for by someone. It’s the only reason she has for what comes out of her mouth next.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything.” He says it so quickly and with such conviction that she actually believes it. For right now, in this moment, she trusts that she can tell him anything and it won’t be ‘too much’ or make him treat her differently.

She still doesn’t find the words until after she takes a much needed sip of water, keeping the sweating bottle in her grip to occupy her hands. “Sometimes I worry that I’m too fucked up for a relationship. That no one can handle all the things wrong with me.”

-------------------

This isn’t how Bucky wanted to get to this information, but he’s still grateful to learn that Sunshine isn’t necessarily single on purpose. Despite her sadness, it gives him a spark of hope that this is the invitation he’s been waiting for.

Treading carefully, he slowly shakes his head to disagree, telling her, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

His words make her laugh, but he takes it in stride, letting her speak her piece, listening to her list all the things she views as ‘wrong’ about herself. Her anxiety, her insecurities, her intrusive thoughts, her lack of family and inability to trust people.

Once she pauses, Bucky leans forward, not caring when their cards slide along the couch cushion, mixing together. What she needs to hear is more important than anything else. “Those are things you struggle with.”

With another soft laugh, she replies, “It’s the same thing.”

“No, Sunshine, it’s not.” Bucky’s smile fades slightly, giving her a glimpse into his serious side, desperate for her to understand how he views her.

There's nothing wrong with her and she's not broken.

He can see the emotion growing behind her eyes, the familiar ache to pull away, to break the silence with a joke. Bucky expects it, and he won’t fight her on it, but he doesn’t encourage it this time. He stands his ground, holding her gaze, an understanding smile gracing his face as he waits for her.

“You don’t understand.”

It comes out as a whisper, barely audible, but the apartment’s still quiet, save for the lingering noise of the fading storm coming in through the open window, and the slight hum of the battery-powered fan keeping them relatively cool.

There’s more to Sunshine’s story. Something from her past that makes her believe she’s not worth someone’s time and effort to learn how to love her. It makes him itch to hold her, to physically comfort her in whatever way she’ll allow.

They’re not quite there yet, so all he can do is encourage her to tell him, then he’ll be able to prove to her that she’s wrong.

“Whatever it is, it still doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

The soft sigh that leaves Sunshine tells him she’s ready to divulge more information and he grows quiet, watching her gather the forgotten cards into a neat pile. “My parents weren’t the only fucked up people in my family.”

This isn’t a time for assumptions, but wherever this is going, Bucky’s chest is already starting to ache, silently taking in how her trembling hands reach to load a new bowl. They’re both high as kites, but if it’s what she needs to tell him more of her secrets, he’s not going to question it or shame her.

After a large hit that she almost struggles with, she starts over, telling him, “When I was in high school, I started spending a lot of time at my aunt’s house, while my parents worked.”

She pauses yet again, this time to offer him a hit, as if grasping for the last bit of distraction she can find to delay this.

But Bucky doesn't provide her one, politely declining and offering her a soft smile when she teases, “Ya sure? It’s not an easy story. It might help you relax.”

He doesn’t need her to comfort him or make this easier to digest. Bucky wants all of her, especially the parts that she's been taught to believe aren't worth knowing. Carefully placing the bong back on the coffee table, he says, “I’m sure, Sunshine. I promise, it’s okay.”

An audible swallow, a slow nod of her head, and then a deep, steadying breath. Maybe he is starting to get through to her.

Gently clearing her throat, she explains, “I spent a lot of time at my aunt’s house, while my parents worked, and…”

She briefly glances at him again, smiling at the encouraging nod he gives her, before finally allowing her confession to come out. “My older cousin still lived there and he started… paying attention to me.” A nonchalant shrug, and then the words that make Bucky’s stomach drop, “Inappropriate comments turned into unwanted touching.” As if she needs to defend herself, she adds, “I didn’t know what to do. No one had ever talked to me about that stuff.”

“Sunshine,” Bucky says, the urgency in his voice begging her to keep looking at him. It takes her a moment, but when she does, the fear is palpable, the emotion clear in her eyes. “I don’t care if someone gave you step-by-step instructions and you still didn’t know what to do. None of the blame falls on you.”

She blinks back the unshed tears and nods her head, but still tries to dismiss it all with a shrug of her shoulders. “It took me a while to finally tell someone - a teacher at school - and when my family found out, they all just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. My parents were more mad that I got the school and the police involved than they were about anything else.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to hold back the emotion, the anger and sadness threatening to well up inside of him. Thoughts of wanting to find her family and enact some sort of revenge on every single one that caused Sunshine pain. It’s not his responsibility to fix this, but he sure as hell can ease some of her concerns.

“I know there’s nothing I can say that can make up for your shitty family, but I am proud of you, and I am so glad that none of them get to see the amazing person you are today.”

-------------------

She wants to cry. She wants to hug him. She wants to trauma-dump and have him console her. But, she’s not ready for any of that right now, no matter how much she feels like she can suddenly trust him.

There have been countless times where she’s shared this secret with someone and it’s backfired. Caused rifts and awkward exchanges. Reduced a friendship or relationship to nothing but innocent jokes and weird looks during conversations about intimacy and sex.

The way Bucky is looking at her doesn’t give her any anxiety about their future. She feels seen and heard, and extremely hopeful that things aren’t going to change between them. It allows her to be comfortable enough to remind him again that she’s scared of what her prospects are.

“Now you get it,” she tells him with a smile, offering out her hand like there’s nothing else for her to explain. “No one in their right mind is ever going to want to date me and deal with all my issues.”

“That's not true."

That conviction in Bucky's voice is still there, but it does nothing to prepare her for what he promises next.

"I definitely do.”

---------------------------

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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

Note

Pleeeeease, write a part two of Office Romance for us??? 😭😭😭

OFFICE ROMANCE - part 2

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com, more angst

ᯓ★ Word count: 7k

ᯓ★ Part 1

ᯓ★ Summary: from @zeynbellastark's comment under part 1: Will there be a second part where the reader and Tony's relationship is revealed and misinterpreted because of Nathan?

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes, nothing too explicit

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

A few months into your relationship, keeping things a secret is turning out to be a lot harder than you expected. Not because you aren’t careful, but because Tony Stark is the most needy and touchy boyfriend in existence.

He has no concept of boundaries. He’s constantly finding excuses to touch you, stand too close, or outright pull you into his lap when you’re in his office. He whines when you try to make him do actual work instead of flirting with you. He sneaks kisses when he thinks no one is looking. And worst of all, he pouts every single time you remind him that you’re supposed to be keeping things professional at work.

It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly dramatic about it.

Like right now.

"Baby," Tony groans, slumping back in his chair. "I need my daily dose of affection before I collapse from lack of love. Do you want me to collapse? Because that’s what’s gonna happen. Right here. In my chair. You’ll have to explain to the press that I died of neglect."

You don’t even look up from your clipboard. "You’ll live."

Tony gasps. "Heartless. And after all I’ve done for you."

"You mean after all I do for you?" You raise an eyebrow at him. "Like keeping your schedule organized, making sure you actually show up to your meetings, and preventing you from sending inappropriate emails at two in the morning?"

Tony waves a hand dismissively. "Technicalities. Minor details. The point is, I am suffering and you’re ignoring me."

You finally glance up, giving him a look. "We’re at work, Tony."

"So? I think it’s important for morale if the boss gets occasional hugs. Or kisses. Or, you know, a full-on makeout session." He smirks. "For stress relief purposes, obviously."

You roll your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you love me anyway."

You hate that he’s right.

But you stay strong. "No PDA in the office, remember? We agreed."

Tony groans dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. "Yeah, yeah, because someone is worried about people calling her a gold digger." He narrows his eyes at you. "You do realize that’s insane, right? No one with a functioning brain would think that."

You sigh. "Tony—"

"No, seriously, do you know who I am? I could date a literal queen and people would still say she’s the lucky one. No one’s gonna think you are after my money, because I don’t date women who need my money. I date women who are awesome. Which you are. The most awesome, actually."

Your heart squeezes, but you shake your head. "That’s sweet, Tony, but you know how people talk. And you might not care, but I do. I worked really hard to get this job, and I don’t want people thinking I’m only here because I’m sleeping with you."

Tony sighs, but there’s no real fight in it. He gets it. He just doesn’t like it.

"So no kissing in the office," he mutters.

You nod. "No kissing in the office."

There’s a pause. Then Tony smirks. "Can I lick you in the office?"

You nearly choke. "What? No!"

"Just checking," he says innocently.

You throw a pen at him.

Despite his complaints, Tony does try to behave.

For about two hours.

Then he starts up again.

First, it’s subtle. He stands too close when you bring him a file, his arm brushing against yours unnecessarily. Then, he starts calling you into his office for completely pointless reasons, just to have you near him. By lunchtime, he’s at his neediest.

"I miss you," he whines, dragging you into the break room with him.

"You saw me five minutes ago," you point out.

"Yeah, but I haven’t touched you in five minutes, and that’s unacceptable."

You look around nervously, making sure no one else is in the room. "Tony—"

He traps you against the counter, caging you in with his arms. "Just one kiss," he pleads. "No one’s around."

You hesitate, because you do want to kiss him. But the second you lean in, the door swings open and you barely manage to shove him away before Rhodey walks in.

"Hey, I was just looking for—" Rhodey stops, eyes narrowing. "What’s going on in here?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, stepping away from Tony.

"Absolutely nothing," Tony adds. "Completely normal, work-related activities."

Rhodey glances between the two of you, suspicion all over his face. "Uh-huh."

Tony clears his throat. "So, uh, what do you need, buddy?"

Rhodey crosses his arms. "I need you to stop being weird."

Tony scoffs. "I’m not being weird."

"You are being weird."

"I think you’re imagining things."

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. "Right. Sure. And you definitely weren’t just about to make out in the break room."

Your eyes widen in horror. "We weren’t—"

Rhodey holds up a hand. "I don’t wanna know. Just keep it out of the office."

Tony grumbles as Rhodey walks away, but when you glance at him, he’s smirking.

"See? He doesn’t care. No one cares. We’re being too careful, babe."

"You just proved why we have to be careful!" You groan, pushing past him. "And now I have to avoid Rhodey for a week."

Tony follows you out, grinning like a man who enjoys making your life difficult.

You do your best to keep things professional for the rest of the day, but Tony isn’t making it easy. Every time you turn around, he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you. Every time you walk past, his hand brushes against yours. And when you’re in a meeting together, he texts you inappropriate things under the table.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted.

But as usual, when it’s time to go home, Tony has other plans.

"My place?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. "You act like we don’t already spend every night together."

Tony smirks. "I just like hearing you say yes."

You huff, grabbing your bag. "Yes, Tony. Let’s go to your place."

He grins. "Best assistant ever."

You shake your head as he grabs your hand, dragging you toward the elevator.

Keeping your relationship a secret is exhausting.

But being with Tony? That part’s easy.

---

The moment you step into Tony’s penthouse, he tugs you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so close that there’s barely any space between you.

"You really missed me today, huh?" you tease, running your fingers through his hair.

"You have no idea," Tony murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against your skin. "It’s torture being at work and not being able to touch you the way I want."

You laugh, feeling warmth spread through your chest. "You did touch me all day."

"Not enough," he huffs. "Never enough."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is fluttering. He’s been like this since you started dating—clingy, affectionate, and completely obsessed with being near you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

"Come on," you say, pulling back slightly. "Let’s have dinner first. Then you can suffocate me with love."

Tony smirks. "Deal."

Dinner is surprisingly peaceful. You both cook together, which mostly consists of you doing the actual work while Tony steals bites of food and wraps his arms around you from behind. It’s domestic, warm, and easy—something you never expected when you first started working for him.

When you sit down to eat, Tony doesn’t take his eyes off you, watching you with a fond smile. "Have I told you how much I love you today?"

"Only about a hundred times," you say, grinning.

"Not enough, then." He reaches across the table, taking your hand in his. "I love you."

Your heart melts. "I love you too, Tony."

After dinner, he insists on dancing. There’s no music, just him pulling you into the middle of the living room and swaying with you, like he wants to hold onto the moment forever. He presses lazy kisses to your temple, your cheek, your lips.

And when he starts kissing you properly, you forget about everything else.

One kiss turns into two, then three, and before you know it, you’re tangled up in each other on the couch. Clothes come off piece by piece as Tony worships every inch of your skin, murmuring how much he adores you, how lucky he is, how he’ll never let you go.

It’s slow, passionate, and full of love.

Afterward, you end up in the bathtub together, warm water surrounding you as you lean against Tony’s chest. His arms are wrapped around you, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"You okay?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You hum, turning your head to kiss his jaw. "Perfect."

He smiles, squeezing you tighter. "Good. Because I plan on keeping you forever."

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. "You are so sappy tonight."

"Get used to it, sweetheart," he says, grinning. "I’m never gonna stop."

You stay in the bath until the water starts to cool, and even then, Tony refuses to let go of you. You finally convince him to get out, both of you wrapping yourselves in fluffy towels as you step into the bedroom.

That’s when Tony’s phone buzzes.

At first, he ignores it, but then it buzzes again. And again. And again.

He frowns, grabbing it from the nightstand. The second he looks at the screen, his entire body tenses.

Your stomach twists. "Tony?"

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are glued to the screen, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the phone so tightly you think he might break it.

You step closer, peeking over his shoulder. And the moment you see the messages, your heart drops.

Someone leaked photos of you together.

Not just any photos—intimate ones. Not explicit, but damning enough. You kissing in the office, Tony looking at you like you hung the stars, his hand on your lower back as you walked together. One of you in his car, laughing, him leaning in close.

And the headlines are even worse.

"Tony Stark’s New Plaything? Inside His Affair With His Assistant."

"Caught in the Act: How Tony Stark’s Employee Seduced Him."

"Gold Digger or True Love? The Question on Everyone’s Mind."

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

Your relationship isn’t even a secret anymore. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is how they’re portraying you. Like you’re just another woman using Tony for money and power. Like you seduced him, manipulated him into a relationship.

Like you don’t actually love him.

Your hands tremble as you scroll through the articles. "Tony…"

His expression is dark. "I’m gonna kill whoever leaked this."

You swallow hard. "It looks bad."

"It looks bullshit," he growls.

"People are going to believe it." Your voice is barely a whisper.

Tony turns to you immediately, grabbing your face in his hands. "Hey. No. I don’t care what people think. You know the truth. I know the truth. That’s all that matters."

You shake your head. "But my job, Tony. My reputation—"

"You think I’m gonna let anyone ruin that?" His eyes burn with determination. "I’ll shut this down so fast they won’t even know what hit them."

Tears well up in your eyes. "I worked so hard to get here. And now everyone’s going to think I just slept my way to the top."

Tony’s face twists with guilt. "This is my fault."

"No—"

"Yes, it is," he says firmly. "I should’ve protected you better. I should’ve kept us a secret like you wanted. I should’ve—"

You shake your head. "No. Tony, this isn’t your fault."

He looks at you, eyes filled with frustration and regret. "Then why does it feel like I just ruined everything for you?"

You exhale shakily, leaning into him. "Because you love me."

His arms wrap around you tightly. "More than anything."

You close your eyes, trying to push away the panic rising in your chest. "What do we do now?"

Tony takes a deep breath. "We fight back."

You nod against his chest, clinging to him as he strokes your hair.

You don’t know what’s going to happen next.

But you know one thing for sure.

Tony Stark is never going to let the world tear you apart.

---

The next morning, stepping into the office feels like walking straight into a battlefield.

The moment you enter, the usual chatter in the bullpen dies down, replaced by hushed whispers and not-so-subtle glances in your direction. Your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold your head high, keeping your face neutral as if you don’t notice the shift in the air.

You should have expected this. The leaked photos spread like wildfire overnight, plastered across every gossip site and social media platform imaginable. Your name is trending for all the wrong reasons.

"Tony Stark’s Assistant: Opportunist or Mistress?"

"Sleeping Her Way to the Top? Inside the Stark Industries Scandal."

"Another Gold Digger Secures Her Spot—How Long Until Stark Gets Bored?"

They make it sound like you schemed your way into Tony’s life, like you manipulated him, like you’re nothing but a mistake he made.

And judging by the looks people are giving you now, they believe it.

You walk towards your desk, trying to ignore the heavy weight of their stares. But it’s impossible to ignore the whispers.

"I knew something was going on."

"She didn’t seem special—guess she had other skills."

"Must be nice to sleep your way into a billionaire’s life."

"Can’t wait to see how fast he drops her."

Your throat tightens as you clench your hands into fists. The logical part of your brain tells you not to let it get to you, that these people don’t know the truth, that their opinions don’t matter.

But the truth is, they do matter. Because you worked so hard for this job. You spent years proving yourself, climbing your way up through hard work and dedication. And now, in the span of a single night, all of that has been erased.

Now, you’re just Tony Stark’s plaything.

You sit at your desk, trying to focus, but your hands are shaking as you type. You don’t even realize someone is standing next to you until a sharp voice cuts through the tense air.

"You really think you’re fooling anyone?"

You look up, meeting the cold gaze of Sarah, one of the senior executives. She crosses her arms, her lips curled in disgust.

"Excuse me?" you manage, though your voice comes out weaker than you’d like.

Sarah scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. We all saw the pictures. You must be proud of yourself, huh? Landing the richest man in the building? Too bad it won’t last."

Your stomach drops. "I—"

"You knew exactly what you were doing," she continues, her voice low and venomous. "I bet you played the sweet, hardworking assistant for years, just waiting for the right moment to throw yourself at him."

Your hands grip the edge of your desk. "That’s not—"

"Pathetic," she mutters under her breath before walking off.

You feel frozen in place, barely able to breathe.

And then the floodgates open.

A few feet away, two interns giggle as they whisper to each other, their gazes flickering toward you.

"Guess we know how to get promoted around here," one of them snickers.

"Yeah, should we start wearing shorter skirts?"

The security guard at the entrance barely spares you a glance when you pass him, but you catch the small shake of his head, like he’s disappointed in you.

Even people you used to be friendly with avoid your gaze. As if your presence alone is something shameful.

You want to scream.

You want to tell them they’re wrong, that you didn’t plan any of this, that you love Tony, that this isn’t some manipulative game you played to secure a future for yourself.

But what’s the point?

No one will believe you.

They’ve already decided what kind of person you are.

The final straw comes when you’re waiting for the elevator, and two employees step in behind you, continuing their conversation as if you’re invisible.

"Honestly, I don’t even blame him," one of them says. "Tony Stark has always been a womanizer. It’s just embarrassing that she actually thought she was different."

The other one laughs. "Yeah, it’s kind of sad. You can see it in the photos—she actually thinks he loves her. Give it a few months. He’ll get bored, and she’ll be back to being nobody."

The elevator doors open, and you step inside, your vision blurring.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the doors shut, and the first tear hits the floor.

By the time you reach your desk again, your breathing is uneven, and your heart is pounding so hard it hurts. You can’t do this.

You can’t sit here and let them tear you apart like this.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your bag and rushing toward the exit before anyone can stop you. You don’t even care about what excuse you’re supposed to give.

You just need to get out.

The moment you step outside, the cold air hits your face, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in your chest. You’re gasping for breath, your hands shaking, your entire body feeling like it’s about to collapse under the weight of it all.

Your apartment is the only place you can think to go.

Not Tony’s penthouse.

Not home.

Because right now, you don’t want to be in his world.

Right now, it feels like you don’t belong there.

---

Tony notices almost immediately.

He’s in a meeting when FRIDAY quietly alerts him that you’ve left the building. That alone isn’t unusual—except for the fact that it’s in the middle of the workday, and you never leave without telling him.

A bad feeling settles in his chest.

The second the meeting ends, he strides out of the conference room, pulling out his phone and dialing you. It rings. And rings. And rings.

Then goes to voicemail.

"Hey, sweetheart. Call me back when you get this."

Nothing.

Something is wrong.

He checks the security feed at his penthouse first. If you needed space, maybe you went home—his home. But when the footage shows no sign of you, his stomach twists further.

That only leaves one place.

Your own apartment.

And that means you really don’t want to see him right now.

He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take a deep breath. If he pushes too hard, if he storms over there, it could just make things worse.

He needs to give you time.

But he won’t just sit back and do nothing.

He turns to FRIDAY. "Get me every damn security feed from the office today. I want to know exactly what happened before she left."

It takes less than a minute before the AI pulls up multiple feeds. Tony watches as people whisper, glare, sneer. His fingers tighten into fists.

Then he sees her. Sarah.

That venomous bitch who’s always had something to say, standing over your desk, cutting you down with words he can’t hear but doesn’t need to.

Then the interns.

The guards.

The employees who looked at you like you were less than them.

The rage that fills him is cold and sharp.

They humiliated you. They made you feel like you didn’t belong.

They made you cry.

Someone is going to pay.

But first, he needs to find the source.

He moves to his desk, opening up Stark Industries’ private network. It takes him less than twenty minutes to trace the leak. The photos were uploaded from an encrypted server, but nothing is untraceable to him.

Nathan Ellis.

That pathetic excuse for a businessman who had the audacity to not only flirt with you but also harass you. The same guy Tony refused to work with because of his shady reputation.

This was revenge.

And Nathan made the mistake of thinking Tony wouldn’t retaliate.

"Oh, buddy," Tony mutters, a slow smirk curling at his lips, though his eyes burn with fury. "You have no idea who you just pissed off."

He cracks his knuckles and starts typing.

---

Your apartment feels suffocating.

You thought coming here would make you feel safe, away from the prying eyes and the cruel whispers, but it doesn’t. The silence is loud, your thoughts crashing over you like waves, pulling you under until you can barely breathe.

You’re curled up on the couch, knees hugged to your chest, your phone face down on the coffee table where you abandoned it hours ago. You haven’t checked the messages, haven’t looked at the calls. You can’t.

Because what if—what if Tony’s mad?

Not at the situation, but at you.

What if this is too much trouble? What if this is exactly why people don’t date coworkers? What if you just ruined everything?

A tear slips down your cheek, and you angrily wipe it away, sniffing.

You don’t want to cry anymore. You’re exhausted. Your body aches from how tense you’ve been all day, your head pounding from trying to hold yourself together.

You close your eyes and try to breathe, try to pretend that none of this is happening, that tomorrow everything will go back to normal—

A knock at the door makes you freeze.

You don’t move.

Another knock, firmer this time.

You know who it is.

But you’re not ready. You don’t have the strength to fight him, to argue, to pretend like you’re okay.

Another knock, followed by his voice.

"Sweetheart. I know you’re in there."

You swallow hard, eyes squeezing shut.

"Please let me in."

Your resolve crumbles.

You don’t even think. You just move.

When you open the door, Tony is standing there, his expression dark with worry. His eyes scan your face, your red-rimmed eyes, the way your shoulders are hunched like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. He just steps inside, kicks the door shut behind him, and pulls you right into his arms.

The moment he touches you, it’s over.

All the pain, all the exhaustion, all the fight drains from your body as you melt against him, gripping the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

He holds you so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hand cradles the back of your head, his other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you pressed to his chest.

"Got you," he murmurs. "I got you."

You bury your face into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the warmth of his body grounding you.

For the first time all day, you feel safe.

He walks you backward, gently guiding you toward the couch. He sits first, pulling you with him until you’re curled up in his lap, your arms around his neck, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

Neither of you say anything for a long time.

You don’t need to.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing a thumb across your cheek, catching a stray tear.

"You okay?" His voice is so soft, so careful, like he knows you’ll break if he presses too hard.

You shake your head. "No."

He sighs, resting his forehead against yours. "I know, baby. I know."

Silence again.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"I know who leaked the photos."

You tense slightly but don’t pull away. "Who?"

"Nathan."

Your stomach drops. "What?"

Tony pulls back, watching your expression carefully. "Yeah. I did some digging. The photos were leaked from an encrypted server, but I traced it back to him. He wanted to screw me over after I turned him down. Figured humiliating you was the easiest way to do it."

You feel sick.

Nathan—the same man who made you uncomfortable, who tried to push boundaries—he did this.

Your hands curl into fists. "That son of a—"

"Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart," Tony interrupts, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. "I’m handling it."

You blink at him. "…What does that mean?"

Tony leans back against the couch, one arm still wrapped around you, the other resting on the armrest. He looks so smug, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

"It means Nathan Ellis is about to have the worst week of his life. And then the worst month. And then the worst year."

A chill runs down your spine. "Tony—"

"First," he continues, ignoring the warning in your voice, "I’m making sure every single investor, business partner, and connection he ever hoped to have knows exactly what kind of guy he is. Not just that he leaked my private life, but all the other shady shit he’s done."

Your eyes widen. "Other shady shit?"

Tony shrugs. "Did some digging. Turns out he’s been embezzling money from one of his companies. That’s gonna be a fun headline when it drops tomorrow."

You stare at him. "You’re ruining him."

"Uh-huh." He kisses the side of your head. "That’s step one."

Your heart pounds. "There’s more?"

Tony grins. "Oh, sweetheart. I’m just getting started."

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "God, you’re terrifying."

He hums, pressing another kiss to your temple. "That’s why you love me."

You stiffen slightly.

Because yeah. That is why you love him.

And you almost lost everything today because of other people’s opinions.

You pull back, meeting his gaze. "Tony… what about the office? The way people treated me today—"

His expression hardens. "I checked the security footage. I saw everything."

Your stomach twists. "I—"

"They’re done."

You blink. "What?"

"Everyone who said anything to you today is done," Tony states, his voice sharp, cold. "I don’t keep employees who think it’s okay to treat my girl like that. If they want to gossip, they can do it unemployed."

Your lips part, completely speechless.

"I don’t care what people say about me," Tony continues, voice softening, fingers tracing your jaw. "But you? No one gets to talk about you like that. No one gets to make you feel like you don’t belong. You do belong. And if they can’t see that, they’re not worth keeping around."

A lump forms in your throat.

"Tony, you don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do." His grip tightens slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. "I let this go on for hours. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped it before it got this bad. But I’m here now, and I promise you—this won’t happen again."

Tears well up in your eyes. "Tony—"

"I love you," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And I’m not letting anyone make you doubt that."

And just like that, every wall you tried to put up shatters.

You grab his face and kiss him.

It’s soft at first—gentle, slow, reassuring. But Tony doesn’t stay patient for long. He pulls you closer, his hands cradling your face, his lips moving with a hunger that tells you he hated being away from you even for a few hours.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his, exhaling shakily.

"…I love you too," you whisper.

Tony lets out a breathy chuckle, pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice smug. "I know."

And just like that, you know everything will be okay.

---

The next morning, walking into the office feels completely different.

You’re still nervous—your stomach is in knots, and part of you is bracing for the worst. But there’s a different energy in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before.

The moment you step out of the elevator, people stare.

Not with judgment, not with the sneering whispers of yesterday. No, this time, they’re looking at you with fear.

A few of them instantly lower their heads, suddenly very interested in their work. Others swallow nervously, shifting in their seats. Some even stand up when they see you, as if to offer an apology, but you don’t stop walking.

You don’t need their apologies.

Tony handled it.

And by handled it, he cleaned house.

All the worst offenders from yesterday? Gone. Fired. Security escorted them out first thing in the morning, and apparently, it wasn’t a quiet affair. The entire office heard about it, and now, the atmosphere is heavy with the realization that this isn’t just gossip anymore.

This is serious.

Tony Stark doesn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting you.

As you make your way to your desk, the few employees left in the office shoot you nervous smiles. Some of them—those who didn’t participate in the rumors—actually seem relieved. As if they wanted to say something before but were too scared.

It feels good.

You settle into your chair, logging into your computer, still aware of the quiet hum of hushed voices around you.

Then, a familiar voice breaks through the tension.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

You barely have time to react before Tony strolls up behind you, hands sliding onto your shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.

The entire office stops.

Someone gasps.

You stiffen, eyes wide, but Tony doesn’t seem fazed at all.

He squeezes your shoulders before moving in front of your desk, leaning against it like he owns the place—which, well, he does, but that’s not the point.

He looks smug.

Like he wants them to see.

"How’s my girl doing?" he asks, voice smooth, ignoring the stunned silence around you.

Your mouth opens and closes, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Tony—"

"Did you sleep well?" He tilts his head. "You know, after all that stress yesterday? I was so worried about you."

You shoot him a glare, whispering, "They’re staring."

He grins. "I know."

You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands. "Tony—"

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning in slightly. "No point in hiding now."

He’s right.

It still feels strange, after all the secrecy, after months of sneaking around and avoiding suspicion. But now? It’s out in the open. There’s nothing left to hide.

And the way Tony is looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world that matters—makes it easier to forget the embarrassment.

You exhale, shaking your head. "You’re so annoying."

He smirks. "You love it."

Before you can argue, he leans in and kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the office.

Someone drops their coffee.

The entire floor is dead silent.

When Tony finally pulls away, he looks completely unbothered, like this is totally normal.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, pushing him away lightly.

He winks. "That’s why you love me."

Then, before he heads into his office, he turns to the rest of the employees and says, loud and clear:

"Anyone else got a problem with this? No? Good."

And just like that, the conversation is over.

The day moves on, and while the office is still awkward at times—people whispering, adjusting to the new reality—it’s better. No more judgment. No more cruel remarks.

Just acceptance.

And, of course, Tony being completely shameless.

By the time lunch rolls around, he’s stolen at least six kisses, wrapped his arms around you twice in front of everyone, and somehow managed to convince you to have lunch in his office instead of the breakroom.

Which leads to you sitting on his desk, your half-eaten sandwich forgotten as Tony kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in years.

"Tony," you mumble against his lips. "You have work to do."

He hums, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw. "Work’s overrated."

You laugh, pushing at his chest. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re mine," he murmurs, pulling you in again.

You almost give in.

Until a sharp knock at the door interrupts the moment.

"Boss?"

Happy.

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh, resting his forehead against yours. "If I fire him, do you think people will be mad?"

You snort. "Yes."

Another knock. "Boss, it’s important."

Tony groans, pulling away. "Fine. Come in."

Happy steps inside, looking incredibly unimpressed to see you perched on Tony’s desk.

"Press conference is set," he says. "Media’s already buzzing. It’s happening in two hours."

Your brows furrow. "Press conference?"

Tony grins. "Oh, did I forget to mention that part?"

You give him a look. "Tony."

He sighs dramatically. "Sweetheart, I may have scheduled a press conference to publicly ruin Nathan and clear your name. But only because I love you."

Your stomach flips. "What?"

Happy shakes his head. "He wants to make sure no one ever calls you a gold digger again."

Tony nods. "Exactly. They’re about to learn real fast that if they mess with my girl, they mess with me."

You stare at him, heart pounding. "Tony…"

He shrugs, completely casual. "What? You didn’t actually think I was gonna let them say that shit about you, did you?"

Your throat tightens.

He really loves you.

And he’ll always protect you.

You swallow hard, nodding. "Okay."

Tony grins, leaning in for another kiss.

Happy clears his throat. "Can you not make out in front of me?"

Tony waves him off. "Get used to it, Happy. She’s not going anywhere."

And as you press your lips to Tony’s again, feeling his smile against yours, you know he’s right.

You’re home.

---

A few minutes before the press conference, you’re pacing.

The media is already set up, cameras pointed at the stage, microphones lined up, and reporters buzzing with anticipation. Tony is off somewhere with Happy, probably going over some last-minute details, but your heart is still racing.

You know Tony.

You know he’s going to say something outrageous.

Something insane.

Something that will probably make headlines for the next month.

But you trust him.

Even if your nerves are eating you alive.

Just as you take a deep breath, Tony’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Sweetheart, I need you."

You turn to find him striding towards you, looking criminally good in a sharp navy suit, the tie perfectly done, the fabric hugging him in all the right places.

Your brows furrow. "For what?"

He stops in front of you, tilting his head with a grin. "I need you to fix my tie."

You stare at him. Then glance down at the perfectly fine tie.

Then back at him.

"Tony," you deadpan. "Your tie is fine."

He sighs dramatically. "Babe, come on. It’s crooked."

"It’s not—"

"Just fix it, please," he says, giving you that look, the one that makes your knees weak, the one that somehow makes it impossible to say no.

You groan, stepping closer. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet, you love me."

You ignore him as you reach up, pretending to adjust the knot even though there’s nothing wrong with it. Tony just watches you, smug, like he’s already won.

"You just wanted me to touch you, didn’t you?" you murmur, smoothing down his lapels.

His grin widens. "I always want you to touch me."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up. "Unbelievable."

Tony leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. "You keep me grounded, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, Happy clears his throat behind you.

"Stark, you’re up."

Tony sighs, stepping back, but not before squeezing your waist. "Showtime."

You follow as he heads toward the stage, but you stop just at the side, out of view of the cameras. This is his moment. You’re just here to support him.

Tony steps up to the podium, flashing the cameras a charming but dangerous smirk.

"Alright, let’s get this over with. I’ve got places to be, and I don’t enjoy wasting my time."

A few chuckles ripple through the audience, but the tension is thick.

"Now, I’m sure you’ve all seen the very dramatic headlines about me and my lovely assistant—oh, sorry, girlfriend—and how, apparently, she’s a master manipulator who somehow seduced me into dating her." He rolls his eyes. "Because obviously, I, a billionaire genius, couldn’t possibly make my own adult decisions."

The room shifts uncomfortably. Reporters scribble notes. Cameras flash.

Tony leans on the podium, looking unimpressed. "Listen, I know you guys love a good scandal, but this? This is just pathetic."

Someone raises a hand. "Mr. Stark, what do you say to claims that Miss Y/L/N is only with you for financial gain?"

Tony scoffs. "Right. Because I’m so easy to manipulate. Clearly, I just throw money at anyone who looks at me a certain way."

Laughter breaks out.

Another reporter tries. "But the leaked photos—"

"—were taken out of context," Tony interrupts, crossing his arms. "Do you seriously think a few pictures mean anything? Do you really believe that’s proof of some grand scheme?"

Silence.

Tony smirks. "Look, here’s the truth. Y/N didn’t seduce me. She didn’t trick me. If anything, it took me months to get her to even notice that I was in love with her."

Your heart clenches.

"And you know what else?" Tony continues, his voice dropping, turning sharp. "The fact that so many of you were so quick to attack her, to assume the worst, to act like she’s some gold digger while completely leaving me out of the equation?" He shakes his head. "That’s just disgusting."

The room is dead silent now.

"Y/N is the best thing that’s ever happened to me," Tony says, voice firm. "She’s smart, hardworking, way too good for me, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve this bullshit."

The reporters exchange glances. Cameras keep flashing.

Tony straightens, tilting his head slightly. "And because I know some of you still don’t get it, let me make this crystal clear."

Then he turns—

And looks directly at you.

Your breath catches.

You shake your head slightly, eyes widening. "Tony—"

He grins. "Sweetheart, get up here."

Your stomach drops.

The reporters murmur. More flashes.

You freeze. "What?"

Tony beckons you with two fingers. "Come on, don’t make me beg."

The entire room watches as you hesitate.

But Tony’s waiting.

And there’s no way you’re leaving him up there alone.

Swallowing hard, you slowly step onto the stage, your heart hammering.

The second you’re close enough, Tony grabs your hand, pulling you right to his side.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, "this is my girl."

Before you can react, before you can process anything—

He kisses you.

Right there. In front of everyone.

The crowd erupts.

Shouts. Camera shutters. Absolute chaos.

But all you can focus on is him.

His lips are warm, firm, sure. His hands cup your face like you’re precious, like you’re his.

When he finally pulls back, he smirks at the stunned audience. "That answer your questions?"

The press conference is officially over.

---

Tony’s penthouse is quiet when you arrive, a stark contrast to the chaos of the press conference. The moment the elevator doors close behind you, you exhale, letting go of the last bit of tension clinging to your shoulders. Tony’s hand slides down your back, grounding you, pulling you into his warmth.

"Home sweet home," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You hum in agreement, tilting your head slightly to give him better access. "I still can’t believe you did that."

He grins, guiding you towards the couch. "You mean declaring my undying love for you in front of the entire press?"

You let him pull you onto his lap, rolling your eyes. "Yes, that."

Tony shrugs, looking completely unbothered. "Babe, I’d rent out a billboard if it meant shutting those idiots up." His fingers trace slow circles on your thigh, his touch lazy but possessive. "You’re mine. I’m not gonna let anyone make you feel like you don’t belong with me."

Your heart clenches, warmth spreading through your chest.

"I love you," you whisper, leaning in.

His eyes darken slightly, his grip tightening. "Damn right you do."

You don’t give him the chance to say anything else—you press your lips to his, swallowing whatever cocky remark was about to leave his mouth. Tony hums into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you, holding you against him. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of you tangled together.

One kiss turns into another. And another.

Then suddenly, you’re not on the couch anymore.

Tony carries you effortlessly to the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss. Clothes are shed, whispered promises exchanged between gasps, and before you know it, the night dissolves into nothing but heat and tangled sheets.

Later, when your bodies are spent and the adrenaline has melted into something softer, Tony pulls you to the bathroom, insisting on a bath.

You don’t protest.

The oversized tub is already filling with warm, fragrant water by the time he settles behind you, pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both soak in the comfortable silence.

"This is nice," you murmur, tracing light patterns on his forearm.

"Mhmm," Tony hums, his lips brushing against the damp skin of your neck. "We should do this every night."

You laugh softly. "I don’t think your schedule allows that, Mr. Stark."

"Then I’ll change my schedule," he replies, his voice casual but firm. "You’re more important."

Your breath catches slightly, and you tilt your head to look at him. He’s watching you, his brown eyes soft but intense.

"Move in with me," he says suddenly.

Your heart stops.

Tony smirks, like he knows exactly what kind of chaos he just unleashed in your brain. "That’s the face of someone overthinking."

"I am not—"

"Yes, you are," he teases, squeezing your waist. "So let me make this easy for you. You already basically live here. Half your clothes are in my closet, and let’s be honest, when was the last time you actually slept in your own apartment?"

You open your mouth. Close it.

Damn it. He has a point.

Tony grins, sensing his victory. "Just say yes, sweetheart."

You shake your head fondly. "You’re unbelievable."

"And yet, you love me," he reminds you, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

You sigh, melting against him. "Unfortunately."

He nips at your shoulder, making you giggle. "I’ll make you regret that later."

"I’d like to see you try."

Tony chuckles, but then his voice softens. "So… is that a yes?"

You turn slightly in his arms, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "It’s a yes."

His arms tighten around you, and you feel his grin against your skin. "Damn right it is."

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youhideastar · 2 months ago

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Hello! I just needed to say that your tags on that ABO post (#maybe someday I will write that essay on how I think a/b/o starts from a fundamentally ace perspective#ie that it starts from a premise of no desire#into which desire arrives as a rare unexpected unwelcome and often traumatic deviation from the baseline) shook my brain like a magic 8 ball and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

I mean I guess I kind of already have since I follow your blog but like. That is genius and also I think that approach helps explain part of why I loved your ABO bingo series so much!

Anyway just wanted to say that, hope you're having an awesome day!

Aaahhhhh thank you so much! All credit to the initial poster for kicking my brain into gear on this. (For the curious, here's the series the ask mentions!)

But yes, to expand on those tags, there's so *much* about a/b/o as a genre that, to me at least, starts from an ace perspective.

For example, in most a/b/o universes where there are, in fact, betas (as opposed to another common take on omegaverse worldbuilding where there are just alphas and omegas), then the inherent starting premise of the world is that there are two kinds of people--people whose lives in large part revolve around intense, consuming, and uncontrollable sexual desire and people whose lives don't--which is to say, the inherent starting premise is that some people are (at least symbolically) ace. Indeed, in most of these fics, that's considered unremarkable in-universe... which is, from that point of view, a fantasy of a world where asexuality is commonplace and accepted. (Then again, it's rare for the main characters of such stories to be betas - it looks like a fantasy of ace acceptance, but the symbolically ace characters are relegated to the sidelines, as if a life that doesn't revolve around that kind of desire isn't worth telling stories about.)

In another example, a/b/o fics often posit a worldbuilding where the norm is that a person will only go into heat or rut (i.e., experience sexual desire) in reaction to a particular person--maybe a "fated mate"--and indeed, that the presence of sexual desire is proof of some kind of intense emotional connection between two people... which is basically just a sci-fi-ification of the experience of being demisexual. It's really that straightforward.

And that's without even getting into the ways that heat and rut often appear in fics as funhouse mirrors of what garden-variety allosexual desire looks like to people who don't experience it themselves. The original post says that "magical pheromones made them do it" sounds just as plausible to an ace person as "looking at someone in their underwear made them do it," but you don't even need the word "magical" - the idea that hormones could make you lose your head with desire and behave in ways that would embarrass you (or worse) once their influence wanes is both a sci-fi conceit for fanfic porn and actually how many, many people on this planet go through their lives on a regular basis.

What's ironic is how, despite all this, most a/b/o fic makes no room for real ace people (as opposed to symbolic aces, i.e., betas), especially sex-repulsed ace people. What are those folks supposed to do when heat strikes? Or other people who, for various reasons, might not want sex or be in a position to consent to it? I think a/b/o often teeters on the edge of body horror; in those situations, it tips right over. Most a/b/o worldbuilding does nothing to address this--and I think that's one of the great blank spaces in the genre that is ripe for exploring with all kinds of interesting fic!

#asks #fic asks #omegaverse #a/b/o #meta #I'm sure many very legit mainstream publishers are lining up to offer a book deal for “Omegaverse: Collected Essays” 😂

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whenwillyoullearn · 3 months ago

Text

Ninjago x reader headcanons: You suggest (and try!) pegging

This is part 1 with Jay, Kai, and Zane. Part two will have Cole, Lloyd, and Nya. While the reader does not have pp, I didn't write with a gender in mind!

Jay:

Ok, so if anyone’s done this before, it’d be him, but we’re still gonna say he hasn’t.

After you suggest it, there’s the smallest moment where it’s still sinking in, and then his eyes widen, and he blushes

He might stammer a little, and you notice that he’s not really looking at you, his eyes are unfocused, far away somewhere

(He’s imagining it. God help him he’s about to have a systems crash not even Zane could comprehend.)

But you ask him if he’s ok and he comes back. He tries and fails to sound casual when he voices his own interest in the idea.

Yeah, you can be the first one to open him up, he’ll basically let you do anything (cuz he’s a good boy and you take such good care of him!!!!!)

Even if he’s trying to be quiet, he can’t hold back from whimpering a bit and whining your name, and you’ve barely started.

You better praise him or he’s going to get really needy, really quick.

He likes it on the bigger side. You both settled on a pretty average size for the first time but it doesn’t take long for this to stop being the case.

Let him suck the strap! Choke him on it!! Have him keep it nice and warm in his mouth while you do other things!!!

He’s still a switch, but give it to him good enough and he could come untouched. He gets cockdrunk so easily it’s unreal.

And he loveeeeeeeeeessss to eat you out afterwards. Seriously, fuck his brains out and then sit on his face. He’ll die. Nevermind actually he’s already dead because this is clearly Heaven.

Kai:

He laughs a little bit, and glances back at you with that smirk of his. And then his face falls, and his laughter pinches off into a nervy little sound, and then nothing

because. Oh. Oh you're serious aren't you? WHAT????

It doesn't matter how many people of whatever sex he’s slept with—this man has never considered bottoming in his life

He’s too much of a Tough Guy (aka he can't imagine being physically vulnerable like that while keeping his pride in-tact)

He gets flustered, and grumbles a bit, and whenever it gets mentioned he has to make a conscious and continuous effort to not just be scowling at you (he's not mad that's just how his face reacts to his hesitance)

But he trusts you a lot, moreso than anybody else he's been with

And he sees how much you want this - not to the point of doing something he really doesn't want, obviously - but you do want it!! And he wants to give you the world!!

So he considers it. Privately.

And he starts… experimenting. Privately.

He realizes that he can get into this

But he doesn't go any further than his own fingers. He’s waiting for you. He wants to surprise you, turn you on.

But this also has the effect of making him greedy. He wants, and not all of that want can be satisfied with just his fingers!! He needs more!!!!

When the day comes, he will prep himself, but you can watch.

After that he’s gotta be put in his place tho—at least a little bit. Even if you’re more soft spoken or submissive you gotta remind him to behave.

But you could also totally hold him down and rough him up a little and fuck him into the mattress, he’d love it. He’d be egging you on and complaining that it’s not enough.

No restraints or anything for his first time tho

Times after that? 👀 Never say never

Average size preference but he does like a challenge sometimes sooooooooooo

Zane:

Unfazed. He’s a curious mind, and down to experiment if it makes you happy.

But… the nindrussy is a problem. Because it doesn’t exist.

Like 50/50 shot he’s already got a dick at this point tho, so might as well go all the way.

If you are technologically inclined, you two can work together on it!! New date night activity just dropped!

Or it might become a sort of secret project he works on in his off time… he doesn’t like keeping secrets, especially from you, but he justifies this one as a surprise. (Although he might have to blackmail Jay or something to help him install it RIP)

Nevertheless, he announces the project’s completion to you (in private) with a smile.

He’s excited to try this, but overall pretty calm. He’d ask you if theres a certain position you’d like to fuck him in, to show his appreciation for you giving him this new experience!

If you want him more unsteady you could prolly surprise him a little by eating him out first.

Oh, did somebody say self lubricating?? Sorry not sorry, it’s just so much more convenient. I mean we’re building this thing custom here so give me a reason not to I’ll wait.

Oh look at that there’s no need to stretch him either! You can just get right to the good part! Technology is so amazing😌

There’s also a sensitivity setting, and this is how Zane learns that he LOVES overstimulation.

If you had the time then he’d honestly let you go for HOURS. It feels good and he likes giving his body to you since you already have his heart ❤️

#lego ninjago x reader #ninjago x reader #18+ mdni #jay walker x reader #kai smith x reader #zane julien x reader #x reader #reader insert #jay walker #kai smith #zane julien #headcanons

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paulinet · 3 months ago

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Would you consider making a continuation to your headcanons about MedPoc having a feelings for someone? Perhaps with how they'd "confess" (if they would ever outright tell y/n 😪) along with how Medicine Pocket would act in a relationship :3

Retribution shot

Part 1; part 2.

Warning: comfort, evasion, nervousness, profanity, denial/hurt, ooc Medicine Pocket, ooc X, relatively gn reader, Medicine Pocket - they/them.

Synopsis: the realization of unplanned feelings is followed by acceptance, and then... And recognition. Also unplanned.

Word count: 2000≈

From the author: it was complicated. No kidding. Medicine Pocket is kind of like that "guess what I'll throw out" type of character. I have at least more than 3 ideas lying around for the gn reader, including headcanons about how Medicine Pocket would behave in a relationship, so that's not all.

I'm trying in gn reader, but it's very difficult for me, so I'm sorry if sometimes the strong bias will be towards the feminine. It's easier for me. I will most likely lean into a female reader in future writings.

I also don't know how to write dialog. I'm a tired, but it came out well. I'd publish a sequel anyway.

English not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

Chances are, you won't even know they're confessing their love to you, because they're not.

They do it in such an indirect and aloof way that you might think you are a little less annoying to them than others. But there's nothing wrong with that, after all Doggo aren't savages (only to their own people) and they have friends, so it's hard to draw any conclusions here.

Actions aimed at least some outpouring of feelings for you are chaotic and indirect. They withdraw and spend a lot of time working, or they spend almost all of their free time trying to have a moment with you.

It's hard to understand the line of thinking.

When Medicine Pocket emotions run high, they swear more. Their vocabulary is vast, but it slips more often when they feel they're at their limit.

But they're rude in a way that seems so much gentler. As a joke, you know? That's the first thing you notice.

"Medicine Pocket, you okay? Your flask is smoking."

"I fucking see. That's the way it's supposed to be, it's just overdosed on goddamn copper."

"...The bottom's cracking."

"Why, you wanna hold it? I doubt your delicate hands can handle-."

"Watch out!"

All their actions are very "invisible" to them, to you, to others, but the most attentive will notice that something is wrong. For example, X. (Yes, I also believe that he will be indirectly involved in this).

For X, it would be like another Goldberg machine, only more complicated. And that's what he wants to see!

How Medicine Pocket do a bunch of different things, like tell you more about yourself or share new discoveries, just to come to a simple and open action and tell you "I love you".

Well, and the Laplace is very boring lately, so the boy is looking for something to amuse himself.

"Medicine Pocket, are you planning to call y/n over and go get those Laplace-derived biological materials together?"

"Who cares? It takes two minutes to get them, why do I need y/n?"

"That's very good to hear, because I've asked them to help with my new experiment at this time."

"... So?"

"Thought it would be really nice if they helped me more often."

"And have you tried helping them with their work? Like they have time for you."

"Oh, do you know their schedules so good?"

"What the fuck are you getting at? It's not that secret, even kids can memorize it."

"That's great. So my conclusions are correct. I know everything, Medicine Pocket."

"What do you know? That you're an idiot for asking such questions?"

"I've known everything for a long time, Medicine Pocket."

"..."

"... You little asshole."

It's over. This is crossing all boundaries. Medicine mind blows and they brain starts brainstorming, and that's only just X. And the researcher could imagine how ambiguous he'd be talking to you about it. Not just you.

Why do they need everyone around them to know about their crush but you?

Now they are backed into a corner and left with no signposts to choose from, only one single choice: confess. And they stubbornly hit the "re-save" or "exit" button. Because confession was not in their immediate future. AT ALL.

After this conversation with X, they have a panic attack, though they won't admit it. They keep working, but it's more as if they're looking through their fingers and making monotonous motions. And that pisses them off, too. And the best solution comes to mind - get away from work to get some fresh air. Somewhere to let out the energy and just calm down.

Even as they walk through Laplace's corridors, their thoughts do not let them go. The dominant thought is of anger at X. Should he have pushed them to the edge of the cliff?

Confess? That's... That's not part of they plan. You don't make fantastic gestures to them about how much you love them and want to go out with them. Why should they have to do absolutely everything to win this relationship? Isn't 50/50 usually what a relationship needs?.. Or are they confused about something?

They are hopeless in a relationship because there was no relationship.

But... keep quiet? Keep quiet, pretend the conversation with X didn't happen, pretend he doesn't know about Pocket feelings, and go on with life as usual? X is their friend, of course, and not a rat or a bastard who would interfere in any of this, but they're sure he'll sniff out the information discreetly out of curiosity. Do they need more trouble?

So they just go to their training field where they can shamelessly blow off steam and engage in various activities: running, jumping, biting toys, etc. It doesn't take long really, and behold - they're already on the edge of their spirit. They've really let it all out.

Their carcass fall to the ground with a clatter, Medicine breathe loudly and sprawls in a starfish pose on the sand. At least their head are clean now, and they can close their eyes and lie in the dust, dirt, and tiredness.

If it worked that way.

"Medicine Pocket?"

When your voice, loud enough, reaches their ears, the thought occurs that they are imagining it. Oh, come on, it's not true.

"Sleeping? X said you haven't been feeling well lately," you continue, not even realizing what is going on in someone else's head right now. The researchers aren't ready to meet you right now. They can imagine them ghosting you away with whatever they can, like a pesky butterfly you don't really want to chase off.

Just when they think things have normalized, your presence turns everything upside down. They feel bad and good all at once. Bad - because X is an asshole for sending you here, and good - because you came and worrying about them.

So the explorers decide to pretend to be asleep. No, they don't have the strength or courage to confess right now (as if they would). And guess what, they'd rather have a heart attack than get up and confess.

"Are you asleep already? You don't usually get tired that fast," you sit down next to them, or rather behind their heads, so that you can see their lithe bodies upside down. Even in dust, dirt and sweat, they are still attractive. Is it possible to be like that? Maybe it's just that the sun is too bright today and the wind is so cool that it makes your hands shiver?

You reach for their blond hair. Slightly damp with sweat, still soft. There's a type of person who grows gorgeous hair even without maintenance, while others spend half their paycheck on it and still get straw. Whether it's side effects from all those drugs and medications they're experiencing on themselves is unknown. You comb they quiff lightly with your hand and pass it between your fingers.

Such a routine action for you and a heart attack for Medicine Pocket. Seriously, stop. If they die here on this earth from all this romance crap, it will be the most miserable death ever. Considering how often you've done it out of self-interest lately.

And despite this, not a single muscle in their bodies moved.

"X sent me to follow you and get some fresh air. So I pushed things back for another half hour. Or an hour," they're almost ready to smile. You always make time for them, and they are so happy! But the mention of X neutralizes that happiness by wanting to bite him off something so he doesn't stick his nose in other people's businesses.

"You need more rest. The bags under your eyes look like you haven't slept in decades," for days on end, they are distracted by everything they can to avoid thinking about it all and arousing the suspicion of others. A very easy mission on the face of it, but to see the details, you have to hold the microscope close.

You remain silent for a while, before considering what to do next. If Medicine Pocket are asleep, you don't want to wake them up right now, let them rest. Sitting here in silence is more than comfortable.

But things... You've put them off so many times already. You're a slacker.

Then...

Then you decide to take a bold step that you would never have allowed yourself if you hadn't been sure of your suspicions for the past couple of weeks. A little mischief, and you can hop off to work.

Medicine is breathing evenly, blood humming in they ears and the shadows above them blocking out the sun's rays. That combination knocks it down even more, especially the silence for a few minutes now. Will you leave? Will you stay? This is the only time they would prefer the first option.

And before they can come up with several escape plans, ranging from sudden sleepwalkers to death (after all, the situation was tense), they freeze and lose what remains of their composure.

Because they feel your hot lips on their cold forehead.

Just a few seconds. Those tiny seconds are enough time to rethink all the plans and throw them in the trash. Medicine opened her eyes in shock to see your calm face, which immediately becomes agitated.

You don't have time to pull away, clenched by your own shock, before they abruptly waking up, sit down, turn their whole bodies toward you, and grab you by the shoulders with gloves covered in dust and dirt. Not hard, but enough to hold you in place.

"Why you did it," their voices are clear and even, with a touch of hoarseness after the long silence.

"What? Medicine, you-"

"Why. You. Did it." more clearly now, loudly, but brokenly.

They freeze.

And they're looking right into your eyes with a kind of hope. The hope is that you did so not out of an impulse that they're cute or whatever, but out of an impulse of the same kind of crush. And while your shock wears off, their fingers dig into your shoulders. It doesn't hurt, but you feel every emotion that stuns their bodies.

They are simultaneously scared, excited, and hoping for a positive answer. They're really scared. Why the fuck would you make such a big deal out of nothing? What do you mean by that? That they're just cute and that's why you can kiss them on the forehead? That's bullshit.

Yes, this simple act breaks down all their already tenuous walls and makes them demand answers here and now.

Because then it might be too late. And when can they catch the moment?

The grip on your shoulders remains as strong as ever, and it's worth realizing that there's no escape. They won't let go without answers.

"..." you're silent, gazing into the yellow ripples in their eyes. Everything is purposely frozen, like in those romantic movies. How cliché, right?

You clench your hands, casually grab the fabric of your clothes, and inhale the cold air through your nose.

What else is there to say in that situation? Why deny it if the truth is going to come out one day anyway? Especially when you have felt and seen that you are not a "friend" to them for quite some time. And the instant reaction to such a small gesture makes the situation weird, if not confirming.

"I love you."

And you both don't say a word. That's the first time you've ever seen that look on Medicine Pocket face.

Shocked. Inspired, stunned by your words, as if you were someone intangible, they continued to squeeze your shoulders with their fingers. Their mouth opened slightly, and they abruptly took a deep breath.

"You really mean it."

"Who says words like that for nothing?" you say on automatic, frowning slightly.

Medicine Pocket can hear their heart beating. The way it thumps against their chest and pumps blood painfully, as if they've been having heart trouble for a long time. The fatigue is so damn strong for some reason, the muscles are breaking a little. The sweat made the explorer freeze, the wind enveloping the unprotected areas of their bodies with clothing.

"Damn it, you're serious," they lower their heads and take a steadying breath. Their voice is tired, and so hoarse, like they have a chronic cough and haven't been treated for a long time. How annoying is this condition.

They're happy. Excited.

You look at the reaction to the confession with confusion, and you don't know how to interpret it. Do their feelings for you have nothing to do with what you've been noticing? Are you wrong? Or are they nonetheless...

"If you don't feel anything in return, it's okay-" you began, but Pocket raised his head in surprise and interrupted you.

"You're nothing... Oh, you.... You'd know how much I've been through!" Medicine Pocket huffed loudly, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.

Their brows furrowed, their yellow eyes burning in venomous fire, they pressed their lips together. I swear you're looking at a resentful, betrayed puppy. The only thing missing was the drooping ears and tail.

"You're not lying?"

"Do you think it's my hobby to trick people into feeling that way?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. I love you. Really."

You say the coveted phrase again, more insistently. You need to know what Medicine Pocket thinks about it. Let them move their tongue instead of sitting around accusing you of something.

Now the researcher are sulking.

They're finally taking a desperate step or they'll go crazy.

Their hands, like a silk ribbon, move weightlessly and lightly to your cheeks. They dusty and dry dirt, cold but gentle. Their fingers sweep strands of your hair away from your face and yield forward slightly to your surprised gaze.

And their lips gently touch yours.

Ineptly, apparently for the first time, they savor your lips, not caring at all how bad they look from the outside. Their hands squeeze your warming cheeks, keeping your head back and guiding you closer to them. How lucky it is that no one can see this right now.

And their heart is beating an even faster rhythm.

You place your palms on their wrists, hold them, and pull away with difficulty for a deep sigh. Medicine Pocket open their eyes and stare at you with rapt attention, not even thinking about letting go.

And they kiss you again, more freely and without thinking, not shy and looking directly into your eyes. They move closer, take a deep breath.

And kiss again.

And another. And more.

Until the kisses turn to joy, to simply pressing their face against yours. The excited smile doesn't leave their faces, and soon you're laughing in their wake, falling lightly to the dusty, dry ground.

"All right, all right, that's enough for the first time!" you accept defeat and just press your forehead against theirs as they put their arms around the your neck and throw half their body over you. Medicine look at you blankly, in one spot, and don't stop smiling.

They worried too much. How foolish. All their thoughts confirmed, all the irrefutable evidence in front of them. Isn't that a blessing?

"There was no stop command, darling," Medicine said with a toothy grin.

"Now I have to re-train you? Isn't that too much you to ask now?" typical socializing with them in such a joyous setting.

"Enough to get back at you for all the times I've suffered," they whined, and dramatically closed their eyes and put a hand to their still aching hearts. It's calmed down a little, but put your hand to their chest and you can tell without a doctor's examination that it's fast to the point of insanity.

You laugh, placing your hands on their shoulders. They're finally relaxed. You could even see from afar, as you walked, that they were tense even in their "sleep."

"I was expecting something more romantic," you admit, though deep down you realize that biochemist and romance go down completely different paths.

"Mm-hmm, yeah? And what's that? Dinner on the Eiffel Tower and a moonlit confession?" Medicine Pocket makes theyself comfortable, resting their chin on your shoulder. You could swear there's a tail behind their lab coat.

"Well, certainly not in the dirt and dust."

"This is my typical habitat, you'll have to put up with it. It'll be easy. You love me, don't you?"

"Yes?" you're ordering eyes, but decide to take the initiative and kiss them briefly on the corner of the lips. "I don't hide it."

HOW HARD IT WAS- ahem. It's really hard to write something like that to be honest, I don't want to be trite. I also pay a lot of attention to detail, so if there's anything that's overly focused on, that's my bzz.

I've enjoyed working on this. I'll try to write something else once I've digested everything above.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Thanks for reading!

#medicine pocket x reader #reverse 1999 x reader #medicine pocket reverse 1999 #medicine pocket #reverse 1999 #x reader

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hermitw · 3 months ago

Text

I think Sukuna might be the best representation of DID in fiction.

after rereading the manga again, I might have a longer analysis [edit to add: check my Sukuna's DID or 4th manga read tags for more] on Sukuna's DID (dissociative identity disorder / multiple personalities). this post is going to have some manga spoilers, but focus mostly on what's been animated.

there are a lot of in-depth analysis on Sukuna's trauma and what they could have been, so I won't speculate about it here [this post linked some that still rotate in my brain]. but what is clear is that Sukuna has severe trauma, which is what causes DID. You can't be born with multiple personalities. it's like a mirror breaking, the mind compartmentalizes in order to survive. your reflection is still yours, but the pieces reflect your face at different angles. (I hope this makes sense, I'll reply to comments / asks if anything needs to be clarified.)

I'm not an expert in this, I just have 9 years of coming to understand and work with my own, and while I'm down to answer questions about DID, for the sake of this post, let's focus on Sukuna with a bit of background knowledge.

Here’s a short little glossary of terms that will come up:

alter: the word “alter” can be controversial to them. I use the word “alter” typically to describe one that we don’t know much about, or to generalize.

Headmate: an alter with familiarity, camaraderie, one who is easier to understand and work with. “Headmate” tends to be the preferred term for themselves.

personality: a vague term that I use if I'm not sure whether the personality is an alter, or just a way of behaving.

(this is just so I have clarity when speaking about alters/headmates/personalities, this is not an official guide.)

In the end, every alter/headmate is like a roommate, just sharing the same body instead of the same apartment.

System: this includes all of someone’s alters/headmates.

Multiple: someone who has DID.

Fronting: the alter in the driver’s seat/front of the car - if they’re the one moving around, speaking to another person, going for a walk, etc, they’re the one fronting.

Co-fronting: Two or more alters/headmates are in the front. Working together on the same task, or having disagreements, trying to do different things. Just meaning that they are both in the front of the car.

I hesitated to write this, thinking that I needed to reread JJK and pay close attention to Sukuna, the expression in all his eyes, etc. and take lots of notes to be able to identify and share profiles on each alter, how many, etc. (and bc we are so often misrepresented, dramatized and demonized in stories but at this point I think Sukuna's like the most innocent jjk character so)

I’m not sure if that’s possible, and that’s part of what makes Sukuna the best representation of dissociative identity disorder in fiction.

DID is called the hidden disorder for a reason. It’s there in order to survive, and survival means to not let the disorder be noticed. Even for the person who has DID, they can be in denial about it for years despite suspecting it, and it can be a thing where some alters are aware and accepting of the condition, while others in the system are not. I get the impression of this calm, emotional awareness from Sukuna at times, but not since waking up in the modern era.

we aren't like Jekyll and Hyde, the changes can be visible but there's also a lot of masking so it's arrogant to think anyone can look at a multiple and identify who is fronting. our physical differences are largely attributed to differences in muscle tension, resting vocals, etc.

I’d also like to note the co-fronting phenomenon, which is when it isn’t just one alter who is in control, but several who are driving the car together, so to speak. Sometimes it can feel like you’re driving, or in the passenger seat, but others are climbing over the backseat and trying to mess with the controls.

and the misconception that every alter has a name and appearance - they don't always come that way. often, they already exist long before coming across some piece of art, a fictional character or a photoshoot and look at it like that's me, sometimes adopting the name as well. but until having that sort of mirror, there often isn't a visual form. alters aren't necessarily human, btw. they can be extraterrestrial or angels or, maybe in sukuna's case, a curse.

[side note: sukuna's disbelief in (or rejection of) his own humanity could be for lots of reasons, not due to an alter, but more like comorbid with DID. things like blacked out medical trauma, religious trauma, growing up queer but without being exposed to any representation or language for it - same could go for undiagnosed disability, physical or mental, not ever seeing another human who looks like him or seems relatable - these can all contribute to that. even if all Sukuna's alters are human, or never specify an identity with anything. Sukuna could also feel like a curse after being called that growing up and internalizing the sentiment - but it isn't realistic with the constant use of RCT that would exorcise a curse. it's common for autistic people to feel inhuman, like we're missing a soul or more closely aligned with robots or aliens or clones etc, and it's even projected onto us (changelings etc). every multiple that I know personally has a very visible physical disability, autism, or both (I'm sure that there are many of us out there without these, but the fact that all these elements easily apply to Sukuna is just. thrashing in my brain). so when Sukuna says "I am a curse", you could argue that it's an alter who believes themselves to be a cursed spirit, but I don't think he means it that way.]

often when you ask a multiple how many their system has, you'll hear something like “it depends on who you ask.” we don't even have all the answers. so how could anyone from the outside looking in?

recently I've learned about subsystems, which would make identifying alters in another person even harder. think of a system like a solar system with the alters as planets, but if a system has subsystems, then that's like a galaxy with its own solar systems which can switch out. that's the best way to describe it, from my understanding.

For a system to work harmoniously, or even integrate, i think the key is awareness, acceptance, and autonomy. To listen and understand the other alters/headmates, even if you don’t share their tastes, to let them have their outlets and expression. If they aren’t given the chance to work together like this, then there’s a better chance of acting out when they do front. Which will be less in control, because the thing that got them to that place was dissociation, the other alters stepping back and now they have the driver’s seat, unsupervised.

DID is different for everyone, each system and alter has their idiosyncrasies while a lot of experience can be relatable between them. In some cases, one (the host, if you'd like to use that term) can feel like a hollow shell, but assumes that whatever nearby alters’ opinions, religion, hobbies, etc. are their own - until those headmates step back, and then it’s like… you can remember spending whatever amount of time working on whatever project, but you also don’t know who did that. it's common for handwriting to change, you won't recognize your own even though you clearly wrote it, friends will say “remember when you did this?” and it doesn't even sound like something you would do. for someone who hasn't spent a lot of time becoming aware of and communicating with their alters, missing time is going to be there. when alters switch, it isn't as smooth of a transition from fronting to co-fronting, but far more dissociative. this can include depersonalization/derealization. or it can even mean watching yourself get dressed (maybe you can tell who is in control by what they put on) and go for a walk while other alters are scared and begging to turn back, but they can't control the body.

for the sake of this post, I'm not going to discuss Heian Sukuna (but if sukuna had reached integration, it would have been 1,000 years ago. integration isn't permanent) much until I've reread the manga again.

DID in JJK

episode 1

so I'll go in chronological order: we first see Sukuna acting crazy with that fish bowl effect, rambling about edgelord villain shit.

we see this same thing later in Shibuya, when Sukuna's putting on some theatrical king type character.

we can view these personalities as alters, if you'd like to. I see them as masks (which can go hand in hand, no mutually inclusive, I'm not confident with separating sukuna into identifiable alters). every time Sukuna wakes up, around strangers, that's vulnerability that he cannot cope with. which can fly someone into dissociation, unable to accept that they have been seen unconscious.

so he overcompensates for it with edgy speeches. acting unhinged or composed, it's all the same to me. DID is the hidden disorder because we adapt to survive in different environments.

overcompensating appears in even more ways in shibuya, which… I have a lot to say about.

but first, let's start with Sukuna's innate domain. this is Sukuna's safe place to go when he isn't fronting. Sukuna might be able to listen in, but prefers not to.

first time at school

and Sukuna speaking through the mouth on Yuuji's face or hand? that's just like co-fronting. it's like when one alter wants to have this conversation but doesn't know how to shut up, Yuuji tries to cover it but that doesn't work. sometimes all you can do is walk away (in this case, from Gojo).

Sukuna and Yuuji's co-fronting is always one of conflict. they could have had a symbiotic relationship (which is like DID after gaining awareness, acceptance, regular communication etc). but Yuuji never listened to Sukuna, just called him annoying to Gojo. Sukuna tried to communicate. this is like DID for someone in denial that they have it, shutting out things that are “crazy” or “not real” (assuming that Yuuji saw his body like a haunted house, because Sukuna was a “cursed object” and not a soul).

Detention Center

Sukuna and Yuuji fighting for autonomy when they share a body is also so early DID to me. they don't get along, so Sukuna can only truly front when the other is dissociating, stepping back and letting him take over.

Yuuji tries to call Sukuna out, but only to make demands and ask for help. which is… not great, and Sukuna (everything Sukuna's ever done was in a desperate attempt to claw for his own autonomy, imo) feels so uncomfortable being manipulated like this, just a puppet, a tool, toyed with and rejected.

Sukuna tries to make up for this, again with his edgelord stuff, threatening Yuuji's classmates. like, yeah i can exorcise the spirit but I'll kill people too.

Sukuna tortured and mocked the cursed spirit that had his own finger in it. this is the only time Sukuna ever tortures anything. (whether it has something to do with his self-image, I'll let go of now but it rotates in my brain.) we could argue that he's just taking his time to drag out this moment of freedom. or to feel as powerful as he can. or even to intimidate Yuuji, in case he's watching.

when Sukuna says “come on, switch back already,” that's so DID. Usually when a body is sick, no one wants to front so one of the headmates just gets stuck there. it's so funny to me bc this is practically a meme among multiples. (not evidence for Sukuna's DID, unless you feel like he's done this before).

then Sukuna goes outside and is in teacher mode. trying to understand Fushiguro's technique and train him. say what you want about brutality of it, but Todo's introduction was so much worse. it took me 5 times through jjk to forgive him for that. and every time, Sukuna just looks more harmless. not to mention that Sukuna has such RCT that he could easily heal Fushiguro. I feel like sukuna's main inherent trait is this caretaking mentor thing, but you could argue adaptability here. like, oh, here's a student without competent supervision. he needs to be taught how to survive and exorcise curses better. I can do that. it's also part of Sukuna begging to be seen.

and ripping out Yuuji's heart… that was an act of desperation. of “if you won't work together with me, then I have no other choice.” but looking at Sukuna's face there, that expression is so conflicted. he doesn't want to do that. he's in such an awful position. Sukuna could have been asking Yuuji to bring him another body, something like a cursed corpse to transfer into. we just don't know, because only Yuuji heard Sukuna's voice then. the first episode shows us they are capable of speaking internally. but Yuuji won't listen unless sukuna speaks audibly. even then he isn't listening to understand.

Sukuna was able to keep Yuuji alive enough (no pulse without a heart, but sukuna doesn't need one) from within his innate domain. Just like Yuuji not being frozen solid in Shibuya, when Sukuna was dissociating hard.

part of me keeps asking if sukuna offered Yuuji another chance at life because he was so uncomfortable in a medical setting. if that's why he disappeared for a second in shibuya, too.

last mission of season 1

when Fushiguro uses his domain for the first time, kills the curse who absorbed Sukuna's finger, and then curls up on the ground with it. we see Sukuna there, giving approval within his innate domain. why?

I think that Sukuna wants Fushiguro to have his own innate domain. that they could have been symbiotic from the start. Sukuna sees himself in Fushiguro, they both crave a lot of personal space, and Sukuna wants him to at least have that. someone without their own domain might be lost when used as a vessel - like the death painting wombs’, like Yuuji if he weren't designed to be this perfect cage.

Shibuya

so much happens here.

Yuuji is trying to rescue Gojo, who sukuna wants to fight more than anything (though maybe Yuuji doesn't recognize this is a love language to those two), but never thinks to ask Sukuna for help. Sukuna who has motivation to unseal Gojo. Sukuna who could easily heal Yuuji's liver.

Yuuji chose to take Sukuna to the grave, no deals to be considered. In the most desperate time. he's just ignoring sukuna completely (a bad sign. alters who are given no acceptance, acknowledgement, or chance of expression will find their own catharsis. they will front when no one else is. and they might be prone to lashing out. not being allowed a healthy outlet? they'll find another).

Nanako, Mimiko, Jogo

first, we get Sukuna waking up with his face being held. it doesn't matter that he'd already accepted death - this is unacceptable. how can hypervigilance live with that? I mean, look at Sukuna's face. we can often find hidden emotions behind the mask by looking at Sukuna's lower eyes. we can use this, and the way they can move independently, as more DID evidence. different alters controlling the eyes? I've heard cases irl where alters seem to reside in different parts of the body.

so sukuna puts on this theatrical appearance, all composed and “bow to me” type shit.

we can watch this mask break, his fronting alter freeze for a few seconds.

when mimiko's head explodes.

first, this is not Sukuna's CT (the explosion thing against mahoraga was a long process, this was sudden and unintentional). Sukuna has some trauma involving Kenjaku, more than just being put into the custom-made cage of Yuuji. I'm not sure what exactly it is, but “stitches in his forehead” was enough for him to know. The twins were asking Sukuna to kill Kenjaku - the one thing that he couldn't do, because of a pact (I'm assuming).

think back to when Gojo explained CE vs CT to Yuuji. those two soda cans. it struck me as weird that it never seemed to come up again, when everything in jjk seems to be on a cycle or parallel of some sort. until finally I realized. Nanako and Mimiko are the soda cans.

Mimiko was killed by Sukuna's uncontrolled cursed energy. her death was an accident. I meant to also write a post on age regression in jjk, especially on this moment and Tengen but idk if I'm the best person to do that. it just seems like there's something there, with kids not being able to control their CT and people dying because of that (inumaki toge, for example). and the many times where Sukuna's face, eyes especially, appear more childlike.

you could argue that Nanako's death was simply self-defense. I see it as overcompensating. Sukuna slipped up, Sukuna watched himself regress in front of witnesses, and he needs to appear in control. so to take back that image, Sukuna cubes Nanako. Cursed Technique.

they didn't know that the freak inside their late parent's body was such a trigger for sukuna. they just wanted sukuna to kill him - I think Sukuna wanted the same thing. oh, they make me so sad.

Sukuna entertains Jogo for a while, and remains in his edgelord era. a few of Geto's family didn't survive when he showed up and said they aren't allowed to move until he says so. not killing anyone directly, but putting on a show of power.

this is the only time I remember sukuna acting so weird, it feels out of character, even. (DID is looking back at memories you have of not being in control and getting mad at whoever was fronting for acting out of character lmfao)

Uraume

Sukuna not recognizing Uraume at first isn't necessarily DID evidence. Uraume's in a different body, Sukuna hadn't come across them since the Heian era. but speaking of Uraume. Sukuna is distant, even with them. partly because he recognizes that Uraume got the please tell me what to do anxiety, and fills the role that they need (another DID trait is filling whatever role you need to in whatever context).

But Uraume didn't know sukuna had a twin (or maybe sukuna felt like it was obvious, considering they met when he had two faces and four arms). it's around this time when we find out Sukuna doesn't seem to remember his childhood. Just guesses that maybe his mother was starving. that he must have been a creepy kid.

there's also the way that he doesn't seem to remember his own death, despite it being from self-mummification which is a lengthy process, and not an impulsive decision.

I have to wonder if Sukuna died integrated. at least, the first time that I reached integration was when I was doing Buddhist meditations, breathing techniques, etc. several times a day every day. studying that was really helpful, life-changing even. and after abandoning integration, it mostly feels like a forgotten past life.

Mahoraga

Sukuna pointing his hand like a gun at the camera to see himself like that on the screens?? he was trying to comfort himself (maybe be recorded, too, but I think it was really just to feel better, to see himself weild power).

THE SWITCH after defeating Mahoraga, it's like that entity of Sukuna stepped back. Yuuji appears for a second (no tattoos, tired numb looking face, not present, in both manga and anime so it isn’t just someone forgor), but he isn't ready to front, and Sukuna's time in control (from eating so many fingers at once) isn't up yet.

Then Sukuna is back, taking Fushiguro to Shoko, and killing Haruta, and telling Yuuji to savor this feeling (which imo was sincere. Sukuna had the time of his life. Mahoraga saw him so small in comparison. The feeling Sukuna was talking about was not hurting people - this only happened on accident. Mahoraga threw sukuna into a train, and the train into a building. and then came after him, so rly, mahoraga's fault you know?

Sukuna dissociating at the thought of taking Fushiguro to medical attention…?

Mahito (junpei flashback)

at first, they seemed to get along, right?...not really. Sukuna was laughing at Yuuji, whose orders he was sick of, before Mahito joined in. suddenly making demands was the only interaction that kid ever offered him.

Sukuna wasn't paying attention to anything until being called up like that. it didn't take long for him to feel disturbed by Mahito [if you want your skin to crawl, Mahito analysis is here]

the laugh sukuna had was an obnoxious hollow mask. maybe I'm projecting (that's what this whole post is, isn't it?) but it reminds me of the first alter I gained awareness (and 10 years of denial over DID despite that) of. they would come out at school, some class clown type despite the way (without them fronting) my face would turn red at the thought of being perceived. I would often know that I was missing time while joking. I'd be standing next to my mother, face feeling weird from smiling, and no memory of what I said. Just find myself there, not knowing what to do, so I would just leave the room.

that's what I see in sukuna's laugh with Mahito. even before then, the facial expression etc. is all such a mask.

and Sukuna disappeared quickly and quietly. retreated back to his innate domain. took no interest in Mahito (who I think of all people, Sukuna might be most disturbed by).

the first few times through jjk, I didn't expect sukuna to have depth of character, because he seemed to be so random and impossible to pin down. like he really didn't get to be a character. which all makes sense now.

Mahito in Shibuya

Sukuna mostly dissociates in their innate domain, but undeniably was aware of Mahito after the 0.2 second domain expansion.

If sukuna were such a prideful, arrogant, selfish prick, they might have stolen the show, obliterated Mahito easily to piss Yuuji off. Sukuna had already killed Jogo, who Kenjaku wanted to absorb, so while there's a chance that Mahito was explicitly off-limits, it isn't what I'm thinking.

Every time I see sukuna faced with Mahito, I see age regression. Look at those eyes. They're drawn bigger, more child-like, even glassy, which we only see when Mahito touches sukuna (manga and anime, both times).

Mahito certainly found the time to talk to Sukuna then, but there was no reply. Just this nonverbal stare.

Sukuna didn't appear for the rest of the Shibuya arc. Not when Kenjaku said “are you listening, Sukuna? Heian era. I said your favorite word. Jingle jingle” (ok so im paraphrasing but Kenjaku rly is such an abusive parent like, be so grateful I'm creating the golden age of jujutsu for you, even tho that time was hell for you and I brought u back to life in a cage :) Uraume was there defending Sukuna, and there wasn't even the opening of an eye or the appearance of an extra mouth. just absence.

even more evidence?

Sukuna seems to be inspired by Lucy from Elfen Lied. iirc she only has 2 alters (which is common in fiction, easier to show, I don't know any irl cases like that but still like it tbh). the baby diclonius look just like Yuuji, same hair and color. same technique, I at this point suspect sukuna has medical trauma also (kenjaku's Meiji era experiments, the way Kaori's pregnancy was carried - how was Yuuji born with a sealed finger in him?? and the way Kenjaku felt seen by Yuki's concept for the culling games, forcing people to adapt, and Sukuna's constantly running RCT even feels a bit suspicious. maybe too much of a reach, idk).

anyway the last time I watched elfen lied I noticed this in the first episode. JJK reference? the worm cut in half and Mahito's snail head?? I lost it. Gege I see what you've done and ily.

#jjk manga spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk manga #jjk spoilers #sukuna #jjk theory #jjk meta #sukuna analysis #dissociative identity disorder #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk analysis #jjk sukuna #multiple personalities #jujutsu kaisen theories #jjk theories #jjk thoughts #Sukuna's DID

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the-aleator · 19 days ago

Text

endeavour musings, xvi

featuring: Terminus, s8e3 + why this better not be the end 1. WIN -- wut?. (Sidenote: I love the fact that Thursday calls her Winnie as a pet name. Pretty sure he does that in s6 too.) 2. The Bundy Clock scene. Yes, I do like the character exchange between Morse - Thursday afterwards, but it's one of the scenes where I think RL cheats at the expense of other characters to make Morse seem like a genius. (A previous example of this was in Oracle (s7e1), where Morse gets to explain to Thursday/Strange that the unique splaying of Professor Blish's fountain pen proves that it was him at the murder scene. Are fountain pens a historic topic that current audiences might not know? Well, yes. Is it something that Thursday + Strange would have known? Absolutely. [FYI, Thursday likely would have been taught as a child in the 1920s with a DIP PEN. He also has about 12 fountain pens on his desk in s1-3.] [Historical note: Handwriting as a means to identify criminals has been in practice by CID since the mid-1860s.] Again, a Bundy Clock would have been regular knowledge circa 1970 re bus riding, and would have been the kind of dogged police work that someone would check. I think this is lazy writing, and it's been happening more and more since s6. 3. We name-dropped 'Terminus' in Striker. 4. The Mystery Plot in this one is a bit of a stinker. Overly-convoluted, utterly implausible (maths do not work like that), and way too crowded. This is again an episode where multiple people are murdered in a particularly gruesome way to drive the plot forward, and I do Not Like it. Also, I gather they actually wanted to make a Slasher and TPTB said 'no' so they changed it to a Christie style big house in the country mystery but only half-heartedly so it's a weird conglomeration that doesn't really work. They took the setting of a Christie but didn't either understand / care how they actually work, which is about 1. social commentary 2. the Twist which is a clear reveal 3. justice in a communal setting / judgement. So it's a bit of a mess. 5. The number of female murderers in this show is actually ridiculous. Also: the number of serial murders in Oxford is doubly ridiculous. The implausible deus ex machina rescue at the end is trebly ridiculous and makes me yearn for Degeullo. 6. The Salvation of this Entire Episode rides on Thursday's shoulders: the scene where he tells Morse off for "checking their homework," where he calls him out for being a drunk, where he gets yelled at by Win, where he talks to Bright re Sam, where he talks to Creech, the Sun Comes Up scene. I do give 100+ pts to Morse for the "stop" scene in the bar after Thursday has called him on his drinking.

7. WIN. I don't appreciate that basically all the character development in this ep got given to Joan instead of Win. Also, none of these scenes work for me at all: I feel like RL has here a character who's just sort of a stock 1950s housewife trope and then he's trying to add emotional depth but it doesn't cohere so it just turns into a bizarre mess both of flat character and emotional responses that seem way off character. Part of it is we never see Win's response to Sam by herself, it's only ever through her response to Thursday. I understand that Win is supposed to have had it in this episode but honestly that's happened in s5, s6 and s7 so far so I just want Win to get some real character development and behave like an actual woman with character grit intregrity and a brain in her head, including: life experiences being bombed in the Blitz and working in the ATS and raising two children and generally being an awesome woman and mom with a great husband (who admittedly has a saving people thing). [This TED talk brought to you by the women of the-aleator's family who ironed their towels, did professional jobs, did their husband's accounts, travelled the world, and kept their families together through multiple deployments.]

8. I really don't get the people who say that the Strange-Joan plotline is just like Joan marrying her Dad. But I also agree that I don't love it as a romantic end-game, and that's definitely where we are going.

9. Shaun Evans / RL and I are going to have to disagree on Morse's drinking. Is Book!Morse a functional alcoholic? Yes, although how much given it was the 1970s.... Is Thaw!Morse? More arguable. Do I believe in the character progression that Endeavour is now a full-on non-functioning alcoholic as a result of Venice, is going to somehow "improve" his drinking enough to become the DCI Morse in the next 15 years? Characterisation marches on, but that seems like a real leap. 10. The Bright scene about staying with Thursday is so lovely and sad. Dorothea coming to Thursday's house at the drop of a hat is also lovely and sad but in a different way: he knows her well enough to know she'll want whiskey instead of tea. (Somebody please start a special AA/therapy group for all of these characters!) 11. {This post is getting LONG, so I'm going to placehold my notes on: intimacy, understanding, memory, secret relations for another post}. Last quick notes:

-As someone who lives in a place with more than 4' of snowfall every year, the fake snow / cold acting made me laugh.

-Also, Thursday's canonical father was a "devil with a drink," (why hello again Fred Thursday's CPTSD) and he implies he can't take care of Morse because of Sam; why won't you accept you've been adopted Morse (he just tidied your coat for you accept it)

-Strange calls the black Jag "his car" referring to Morse: are we supposed to think he's purchased it from the station? Or is just the one he always uses?? -Strange need to bite his pride and go hat-shopping with Thursday: he'll set him right.

-Dr DeBryn wins the best dressed for the 32nd episode.

#itv endeavour #endeavour morse #fred thursday #meta #endeavour itv #fred thursday's traumatic backstory #this is a story about love #this is a story about war #winifred thursday #reginald bright #jim strange #dorothea frazil #endeavour terminus

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zoniteillusion-pyritedreams · 2 months ago

Note

The way you read for celebrities is unusual - like I’ve never seen this type of style before and I find it really intriguing and sweet😽 esp when you add in your own commentary in pink I think it’s really cute and poetic 😻

If you have time can you see how Enhypens sunghoon (you recently did a reading for him) would behave around the person he had a serious crush on and pursue them?

Thank you🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

I'm so happy you like the way I do readings! I think that other people do amazing readings too but I do think when it comes to public figures or celebrities a lot of people try to like detach a bit when they're doing them? I don't know if that makes sense like try not to make themselves seem too familiar with them but I do readings for celebrities or regular people the exact same way. I also have part of it might be because again I normally do these readings with the help of the goddesses that I work with and for me personally it's very much so Big Sister vibes with Aphrodite and Nyx.

So I find myself also sitting there and writing out my thoughts in a way I would have I was talking to like an older sister or my friends cuz I think it's just easier to understand that way. You know what the technical Parts I feel like sometimes I get a little silly what about getting too silly so it's like this is still technically the card means but like a little spice thrown in. Let's get into the reading this is actually very fun especially since I use music to do this I'm like the first song that pops in my head I didn't even get to press Shuffle yet was OMG by new jeans which really set the mood.

"How Sunghoon of ENHYPEN Acts When He Has a Crush (with help from Aphrodite & NewJeans OMG)”

Vibe Check Song: "OMG” – NewJeans

"They keep on asking me, ‘Who is he?’ / My heart is glowing, so I can't sleep at night...”

Oh yes. We’re talking full-on soft boy in denial. He’s gone, bestie. Crushed. And it’s giving late night overthinking, can’t-sleep-because-you-smiled-at-him-once energy.

Main Energy Card: Uranus Reversed

Sunghoon’s normally icy exterior? Cracks immediately.

When he catches feelings, it’s like internal chaos he doesn’t want to act out of character, but his brain short-circuits. Cue: avoidance, weird behavior, probably gets quieter than usual, yet watches you like a hawk when he thinks you’re not looking.

Hidden Truth Oracle Tea (he’s ✨ spiraling ✨):

“I look for you everywhere” / “I replay our conversations over and over” – He’s 100% romanticizing that 15-second moment where you had complimented him . He’s archiving your smile in 4K.

“I hide behind material things” – He might flex subtly. New shoes, extra effort in his outfit. Randomly giving you a gift or present. I'm talking all of a sudden, "Oh it was a two-for-one deal I don't need two of them here you go." Or "Prada gifted it to me and I don't know anyone else who would want it so here you can have it."

“I left when I saw you with someone” / “I lost myself for a little while” – Possessive in silence. If he thinks you're into someone else? His inner Scorpio takes over and he will ghost just to protect his pride. Poor would be nursing his wounds while still stalking your IG to see if you make it official or need a shoulder to cry on.

“I want you” / “I love you unconditionally” – But deep, deep down? He’s so soft for you it hurts. Would most likely drive his friends and/or the other members off the wall. If he can't talk to you and he knows that they're still conversely with you constantly asking him how you're doing. Maybe even giving them advice on things to do if they mention you feeling down or upset etc.

Love Oracle Energy – The Blueprint of His Actions:

Friendship → Trust → Decision → Fate → New Love

He’s the type to build a slow burn. Starts as a “cool friend,” but secretly plotting like, "How do I become their safe place?”

Finances + Warning – He might try to impress you practically: gifts, gestures, paying for your snack, or sharing useful info... but gets nervous and retreats if he thinks you don’t feel the same.

Tarot Tea from the Wildwood Deck (feat. shy otters, reversed stoats, and ✨feelings✨):

Page of Vessels (Otter, Reversed) + Page of Bows (Stoat, Reversed):

He is awkward-cute around you. Think clumsy compliments, blushes, fidgeting, or laughing too hard at your jokes.

Ace of Vessels + Ace of Arrows – The boy is in his FEELS. Daydreams. Imagines holding hands. Might write lyrics or poetry and never show you. He wants something meaningful, something that breathes life into him.

Nine of Vessels (Generosity) + Eight of Bows (Hearthfire):

He’ll try to be near you. Group hangs? He’s there. He may act more giving, sharing food, small helpful gestures. A soft boy with warm intentions.

The Shaman + The Guardian:

Despite his hesitance, once he decides you’re it, he gets bold in secret ways. Protecting your peace, speaking up for you, observing every detail about what makes you feel safe and loved.

He's very much a mushy mess aka the ice prince has melted and turned into a puddle. He also be pretty bad at hiding it I feel like unless it's the one where it's like newly getting to know each other like a new friendship for me etc. He definitely gives me met them twice and fell in love Vibes not necessarily love at first sight but like the first initial meeting oh there's something about this person okay. The second meeting getting to talk to him a bit more observing them a bit more and then all of a sudden it's like I think I want this person they might be my person. Then it just gives very obvious to those who know him well like all he's gone. Very fast and Falls hard. There would be no he fell first but she felt harder he's just both of them is basically he fell first and he fell harder.

BUT... here’s the tea on his obstacles:

Six of Arrows (Transition Reversed) + Eight of Stones (Skill Reversed):

He struggles to make the move. Feels stuck between fantasy and action. He wants to impress you but doesn’t always know how.

Three of Vessels Reversed / Five of Stones Reversed:

There’s fear of rejection, or of being “too much.” He won’t want to chase if he feels you’re not clear about liking him too. (Validate him gently, please.)

He's VERY hyper aware of the image that he has as a idle slash celebrity. So his biggest fears and fall back the reasons why he might come off and wish you all she or not actually make a move is what if you're only in love with that idle image of him? What if you don't like the weird him?

Like Aphrodite he was giving me images of like a couple sitting there in the living room and doing like a 5000 piece puzzle, building a Lego set, having a random drama or movie playing on the screen a batch of cookies baking in the kitchen the kitchen looking slightly like a typhoon just rolled through it. I'm talking oversized hoodies comfy pants fuzzy socks on energy drink in his hand tea and hers. Random conversations about their day lots of giggling lots of whole survives. Like that's kind of the image I feel like in terms of like what he would want or what he would be like very relaxed and with someone that he likes and he's afraid that because the real him is very soft boy. It's very resting his head in his hand and just staring at you, very constantly holding your hands back hugs smoking up to you enjoying your scent nose in your neck and your hair excedrived like what if you don't like that though? That's what he's afraid of like you want the Ice Prince with the calm cool cool guy. But that's not him he's the type where he'll be staring at you and end up accidentally tripping over thin air and then when you laugh a little and ask him if he's okay he'll sit there and say some dumb pun or be like the floor has it out for me because it's the first thing that pops into its head.

OVERVIEW OF HOW SUNGHOON ACTS WITH A CRUSH:

Soft boi™ with a frozen smile and a chaos brain.

Romanticizes every interaction like a drama plot.

Builds trust first, acts like a “just a friend” but wants more.

Gets flustered, watches from afar, gives subtle gifts, tries to play it cool.

Verdict awkward cute and down bad. A little Lore / TMI p100% remind me of a guy I would high school with named colin. Most of the girls in our school did not like him I like him cuz he had a great personality and stuff but he was definitely the type of guy where he could be a bit awkward he was a little nerdy really liked science and things also didn't have like the look that people found attractive at that point in time during the late 2010s. Long hair glasses really pretty puppy dog blue eyes freckles wore band T-shirts of bands he actually like listening to slightly baggy jeans and whatever sneakers he felt like wearing or thought looks cool and 9 out of 10 times they were like super expensive name brand.

He was very sweet though. And have the same Vibes of liking and wanting to be friends first before going ahead and dating someone. Doing the little subtle things like I wasn't oblivious bitch and it wasn't until one of my teachers actually pointed out like you do know he likes you right? Because like he would sit there and every morning when I showed up he had a coffee for himself and hot chocolate for me I can't have caffeine it fucks with my system. But you go out of his way to buy me a hot chocolate he would sit there during lunch and if they had something that I would like because he had lunch before I did and sometimes they would sell out things in our canteen. He would buy extra for me so like oh they have those really delicious homemade brownies or chocolate chip cookies that they're making okay well he's sitting in there and buying three or four I guess you could call them packs our school would have those like take out plastic see-through containers and they'll put like six cookies in there that they made or four brownies because one of the Lunch Ladies was a volunteer lunch lady and actually owned her own Bakery and would occasionally bring baked goods to sell. Or if it was one of those special occasions where for the juniors and seniors they would allow you to order Chinese food, Japanese food, Pizza Etc from the local eateries near the school he would sit there and he knew exactly what my order was and you just buy it for me. That's the vibes Sunghoon is giving. Acts of Service King who's a little awkward a little shy doesn't exactly know how to just physically say it with his mouth hey I like you do you like me too we should date. Instead it's here I bought you this here I did this for you so how do you feel about me now and a friendly way of course?

Won’t chase hard unless you give the green light—but when he does? He’ll melt you.

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #tarot reading #kpop tarot #tarot & tea #kpop

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gl1tchy-4rt · 2 months ago

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PizzaENA Facts! (Text post)

So we got the results from the Poll and you guys wanted to hear about the PizzaENA AU, so you asked and i'll deliver!

(and sorry this time around I could'nt draw, I got sick :()

1# What are ENAs?

In this AU, "ENA" stands for Emulator of Neurological Advances, in essence a re-creation of the human mind inside of a computer, replaying emotions and trying to replicate the way a person should react.

All entities, not only Peppino and the other, Are ENAs one way or another,

This is because they re-create how we act, but the reason why they aren't considered a "successful recreation" is because they act and behave Surrealistcally (a de-constructions of reality) and in a Dadaistic manner (without sense whatsoever) and the had changed so much from their original programming that "The Gods" cannot change them without breaking the functional "spaghetti code" that the entities have per minds.

Peppino on the other hand is not a re-creation, He is an actual human mind inserted into the program.

2# The Body Language of "The Gods"

Have you seen how the ENAs seemingly "dance" for no good reason? (Like in the example pictured below 👇)

Well this is because in other to keep the mind active and healthy inside of the program, "The Gods" "shake the brain awake" with electric impulses, this tingling sensation feels like a need to move for The ENAs and so they move.

3# The Split Mind

ENAs Have two sides/personalities but the why in Peppino's case is quite peculiar...

You see Peppino already had this two personality traits before being inserted in the Program (He was anxious but also quite easy to annoy) and while he hated both traits, the one he hated the most was his anger and tried to repress it, This is why in the world his 'Anxiety' is his Main side while his 'Anger' is the secondary one.

In other words, The other side is the part they dislike or repress of themselves.

And with both sides exaggerated, it feels like talking to two different people at the same time, infact sometimes both sides with talk to eachother.

4# The Cracks

The multiple cracks in The ENAs body I because of the discordance between the two half's, but also because the Program cannot fully comprehend the Human mind, so that's why they have to "reprogram" themselves in order to handle their Memories.

The moment both halfs and program truly connect, The Cracks will be gone and a Perfect ENA shall finally Exist.

5# The Houses and World

This one is quite easy, many of "The Gods" were fans of something called "the Artistic Vanguards" and the Entities needed "dreams" and a world, since their world is created from the Entities's collective consciousness.

(This painting not only influenced the world but the ENAs themselves!)

"The Gods" inserted those works in the program, giving them "dreams" and a world.

This is why their world is so influenced by the vanguards and one might blame this for why the entities are "insane", however the entities were insane before the dreams so thats not to blame, besides "The Gods" have gone too far to go back.

#6 Dying

Both ENAs and Entities are unable to truly die, they can be destroyed and enter a state of "Limbo" but they all eventually respawn.

-----------------------------

So yeah that all I can think to write right now hope you guys enjoyed

And see y'all next time!!!

#pizza tower #pizza tower au #text post #PizzaENA AU #ena au #ena dream bbq #ena joel g

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jmflowers · 1 month ago

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Instalment 4: If she'd pressed send...

My beloved @lesbiangabriellle asked me for this fic a loooooong time ago and I've been puttering away at it ever since. This first part is technically complete and very nearly went onto AO3, but I think I'd like to write the rest of it before it ends up there.

(Fits into 9th October 2024)

She hits send before she’s really thought it through.

The message pings off into the ethers, seeking out its destination, her heart screaming in her chest to claw it back. Stupid, stupid, stupid, echoing in her brain when she realizes she’s sent a text - not a WhatsApp message - and it can’t be deleted.

God, it’s barely been 24 hours since Carla nearly - almost, sort of, kind of, maybe wanted to do something to her, with her - and already she’s behaving like a confused, lovesick teenager. Swerving their usual morning coffee together in the cafe, avoiding her gaze in the pub, sending blooming text messages like they don’t typically share a bottle of wine.

Or two.

They’re friends she reminds herself. Good friends, really, if they can both pull their heads out and not let their brief - non-existent - indiscretion ruin it.

Which is exactly what Carla had said she wanted; “Can we draw a line under it?”

Can we not think about the way my heart had stuttered in my chest when you brushed my hair behind my ear?

And besides, she reminds herself, Carla’s straight. Had a husband, even, until recently.

Until yesterday, technically.

“You okay, Mum?” Betsy interrupts, dropping onto the other side of the booth. Her brows are furrowed, telling of some momentary reprieve in her self-centered focus. She’s been softer all afternoon; grateful and jubilant and keen to make amends.

Keen enough to notice that her mum is feeling flustered.

“Me?” Lisa manages, “I’m fine.”

”You don’t look fine,” Betsy challenges, leaning across the tabletop like she might reach out and grab the very thoughts barrelling around inside Lisa’s head. As if she can read the exact reason for the turmoil on her mother’s face. “Did something happen?”

Lisa swallows the urge to get up and leg it, pulling another swig from her drink instead. Gulping past the lump that’s formed in her throat that Betsy of all people might see through her mask.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Betsy reiterates - again. Putting on that brave face Lisa can’t even bear to look at right now; acting as though she’s so much older than she really is… than she has to be. “It’s just you and me, now mum’s gone and I know I need to step up. Well, at least try to.”

And, of course, it would be Betsy (a cruel, sick joke from the universe) who’d recognize that, on some level, her mother has - kind of, sort of, not really - betrayed her.

Betrayed the memory of her other mother and the love they’d once shared.

Right as they were just beginning to get things on an even keel between the two of them again.

“I’m fine, Betsy,” she tries once more, sounding closer to - but not quite - as fine as she’s pretending to be. She’s still too unmoored, she knows, by that text message swirling in the air around their heads, weaving its way through the satellites above to its final resting place in Carla’s phone.

Yet another thing she knows Betsy can never, ever find out about. Lisa’s two for two on those in the last 24 hours.

“Fine,” Betsy spits, pushing away from the table in her frustration, that gentle edge of her tucked away again for safe keeping. Still a kid, after all. “I’ll get us some dry roasted.”

She’s gone before Lisa can fix it, before Lisa can reel back that part of herself that’s so adept at building up walls between herself and her daughter. (Even if it is, somehow, better that Betsy is mad at her evasiveness - instead of mad at her actions.)

Her daughter, who just keeps desperately reaching for some semblance of the truth from her mother’s lips.

God, if only Lisa were capable of not being such a mess.

Carla’s phone vibrates on the desktop.

She’s been trying to look enthralled in some paperwork for the better part of an hour, the last few stragglers of the evening’s rare late shift still visible through her open office doors. Their eyes feel like daggers, even if they don’t mean them to.

Even if not a one of them could ever guess why she’s been so tetchy today.

She knows they’re only looking because she’d left hours ago - stormed out, really, after yet another blowup - and then returned, still on edge. Still wired.

“Alright, you lot,” she calls out towards the factory floor, “pack it in. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

There’s a whoop of joy, no one daring to question her uncharacteristic show of generosity, machines whirring off and then the sound of lockers slamming as they clear out in a herd. Quickly, before she has a chance to maybe change her mind.

“Good night, Ms. Connor,” someone hollers as the front door swings open. She waits, breathless, for the whoosh of it shutting behind them.

The newfound privacy brings with it some relief and she leans back in her chair, exhaling loudly. Trying, just a bit, to uncoil the tension that’s been wound around her gut since last night.

“You straight birds,” Lisa had said.

She tries not to dissect just why the vitriol in Lisa’s voice had hurt so much. But she knows - knows more than she’s really ready to admit - it’s because of that pull she’d felt. That gravitational drag of desire that always arrives the first time you want to kiss someone.

(Maybe it hadn’t been the first time.)

Only, it had made Lisa run. Made her skip their usual morning meet-up in the cafe. Made her act like she couldn’t possibly ever want Carla like that.

“You think I’m a tourist, right?”

“Yeah, tourist sums it up nicely.”

As if Carla’s some hopeless, lonely cow, seeking comfort in all the wrong places. As if all of these muddled feelings inside her aren’t genuine.

And it stabs at the tentative, optimistic thing in her chest that can’t bear to lose this - this friendship - that’s bloomed between them. Because try as she might to deny it even to herself, Lisa has become her best friend these last few months.

If she hasn’t gone and mucked it all up.

Her phone buzzes again, finally drawing her attention, a text message notification flashing on the tiny screen. She flips it open, startling when she sees Lisa’s name alongside the string of emails awaiting her response.

Sorry you had to dash off before

It’s simple, succinct. So very Lisa it makes the corners of her mouth lift, just a little.

Of course, she’d follow up the whirlwind of the last 24 hours with a text message. Not even an explanation or an apology or a circle-back to their sort-of conversation. Just a hey, maybe I miss you, in that half-hidden Lisa-way she has of speaking. Of saying anything but what she might actually mean.

Carla types out her answer before she can think of all the things she really wants to say. Hits send before she can second guess herself and the flutter in her stomach.

Couldn’t let Betsy spend all your money on my drinks x

Tries not to dissect the x she instinctively places at the end, too.

“Is that Carla?” Betsy asks, leaning across the table to peer at the notification that’s popped up on Lisa’s screen.

She’s back in full form, now that there’s some food in her stomach. All the snotty, teenaged attitude tucked away behind a hotpot and a packet of crisps.

“Hey,” Lisa scolds, grabbing for the device, “it’s none of your business what’s on my phone.”

Betsy rolls her eyes so hard it’s practically audible. “You look at my phone.” She shrugs before Lisa can formulate a response, suddenly indifferent to the brewing argument once Lisa’s set her phone facedown at her side, pointedly ignoring the message that’s just arrived. “Would you please buy her a drink to say thank you for giving me my job back?”

“You could buy her one,” Lisa suggests instead, “in the cafe, tomorrow morning.”

Where Carla will be, Lisa knows; just like she’s been every other day for the last month of their friendship. Routined, predictable.

Dependable.

“She hasn’t actually paid me yet,” Betsy snipes, tilting back in her seat. Her eyes flit around the room, restless with her dietary needs finally met, searching for whatever might hold her attention next. She must find it, rising from the booth a moment later with a muttered, “I’ll be back.”

Lisa sighs, reaching for her phone. Trying (desperately) to ignore the flutter in her chest when she sees that it is, in fact, a message from Carla.

A message she’s probably not got the guts to read, if she’s really being honest with herself. Only, the unopened notifications drive her crazy and so she bites the bullet quickly, eager to get it over with before Betsy returns.

It’s more cordial - teasing, almost - than she was expecting. She’d half anticipated the seemingly usual biting wit of Carla-wronged: burning the bridge again before they’ve had a chance to properly mend it.

Biting Lisa’s head off, maybe, as she’d done a few days ago; brittle words and slammed doors fitting her like a second skin once more. Carla, prepared to push her away with frantic force, if only to make it easier.

Because Lisa had been a right gobby thing the night before - before, before - spilling all her darkest secrets over a few too many glasses of wine. It would make perfect sense, in the afterglow of a new day, for Carla to realize her mistake in pulling her close.

In trying to - maybe, possibly, sort of -

No, Carla could never actually want someone as messed up as Lisa is proving herself to be. Of that much, Lisa is absolutely certain.

She types out her own message back, attempting to toe the line that Carla has laid out so gracefully. Attempting to push aside whatever murmur of feeling is persistently churning about inside her gut. She tries for something equally aloof.

Your lack of drinks certainly hasn’t slowed down her spending

Chalks the little x at the end of Carla’s message up to a trademark of their age and nothing more.

“I think you’re both pining for each other.”

Ryan’s words bounce around inside Carla’s head long after he’s finally retreated to his room.

She should go to bed, too; has important meetings scheduled for the morning that deserve her full, well-rested attention.

Only, even with a proper pillow beneath her head, she knows she won’t be any more rejuvenated come sun up. Won’t be any further away from the swirling, confused feelings that had sprung back to life when Ryan had so effortlessly teased.

“You want to kiss her.”

She does, she’s realized; can feel that desire more clearly with it put into words.

And she tries not to think about how Lisa’s hair might feel between her fingers - she does - but it’s late and it’s dark and the thoughts twist about inside her brain, unbidden.

Because it hadn’t been the alcohol talking.

Hadn’t been just the alcohol talking.

Or the divorce coming through, or the way the light had reflected in Lisa’s eyes (warm and enticing and familiar). There’s a safety to Lisa’s companionship, even amidst these uncharted waters; a comfort in the kinship, the ability to confide, the support.

And it’s been so long since Carla’s had a friendship like this.

It’s that alone that has her reeling it back in - the fear of losing Lisa completely. Want and desire and pining be damned: Lisa’s presence in her life is important.

Lisa, who doesn’t want her like that. Regardless of Ryan’s (less than helpful) observations.

She jumps when her phone buzzes on the coffee table.

It’s been on silent - or so she’d thought - muted in favour of the quiet evening on the couch watching mindless telly. Soundless, save for the consistent illumination of email notifications flashing on its screen.

(The flip phone she’d bought is kind of a moot point, really, since it still does that.)

She reaches for it, half-expecting one of those emergency alerts to have broken through her settings. Not anticipating a simple blooming text message.

From Lisa.

Her heart rate shouldn’t accelerate, but it does. She swipes through to the message with a hand pressed against her chest, feeling an awful lot like a hopeless schoolgirl. Like a needy, desperate thing with a silly little crush.

And maybe she is - maybe she is pining for Lisa.

But Lisa’s texted her twice in the span of a few hours, so maybe Lisa is pining for her, too.

She’s not the texting sort - she isn’t. Much prefers to call Betsy than engage in the string of one-word answers her daughter is so prone to. Would rather meet over coffee with a friend than catch up on life in disjointed word bubbles on a tiny screen.

And yet, she still finds herself huddled beneath the covers, reading and re-reading Carla’s last response like it might hold the key to the distinct thud happening in her chest.

I’m sure we could make up for that another time x

It’s not even an overtly assuming message: they do go out together, they do take turns buying drinks, they do sit across from each other sharing gossip and thoughts and quiet.

They do.

But the insinuation feels loaded, now, for reasons Lisa isn’t quite ready to verbalize.

Carla’s straight, Carla’s straight, Carla’s straight, she reminds herself. Tries to remind herself.

It’s different, in the dark; thinking about the feel of Carla’s hand at her jaw. The brush of her fingertips. The wine-warmed shine of her eyes.

Harder to hide from how it had made her feel, when she’s alone in this too-big bed.

Because it’s gotten intimate between them - it has. (Whispered confessions have a way of doing that an’ all.) And it’s the intimacy that feels familiar, the camaraderie of female friendship that’s simply toed too close to the sun.

It’d been the same with Becky, at first. The lines blurring slowly as they got closer and closer.

Only, she’d known Becky was interested in women long before they’d become friends. Long before Becky had slipped her number into Lisa’s hand.

With Carla…

She shouldn’t even be thinking of Carla, she knows, not like that. Never mind the whole straight thing - she has other responsibilities.

Betsy and work and Becky’s memory.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she’d be hopeless at casual, knows firsthand how easily she could find herself falling - face-first, nose-diving, careening - into something more. Has lived exactly that more times than she’d care to admit.

No, even if Carla did want her - laden baggage and all - it would be doomed from the start.

And yet, still, she finds herself texting back.

That would be nice

Nice.

Lisa had called the prospect of getting drinks together nice.

Carla stares at the message in the dim light of her bedroom, reading and re-reading the singular line of text as though she might decipher something more from the space between the words.

She’d been halfway to the ensuite when her phone had buzzed, finally giving in to the hour on the clock. Had practically dove across the room to grab the flippin’ device the moment it had chimed instead of carrying on with her nighttime routine.

Not that it means anything.

Because it’s not like she’d been waiting for Lisa to respond. It’s late; they should both be asleep. They’re adults, for goodness’ sake, with jobs and responsibilities - not a couple of teenagers huddled over their phones texting back and forth into the early hours.

Except, they are.

They are texting back and forth.

And Carla likes it.

It’s been barely 24 hours since Lisa ran from her flat and yet, already, Carla understands that she’s missed her. (Even with the awkwardness of after.) Had missed her even before her day had really begun, suffering through a frankly unbearably boring cup of coffee at the cafe with nowt making her chuckle into her mug.

And now they’re here - reaching across the ethers to each other with a persistence that has her heart racing.

Her fingers are clammy when she begins to type again, phone clutched between her sweaty palms like a lifeline. A lifeline tying her to Lisa and their friendship and a moment she’s not stopped replaying in her head since it happened.

Tentative and careful be damned.

How about tomorrow night? x

#carla x lisa fic #minefic #unfinished fic #swarla fic #this girl be travelling for a month posts #carla x lisa #coronation street

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actual-changeling · 1 year ago

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Do you think Aziraphale has been verbally, emotionally and psychologically abused by Heaven as well?

I will answer this question like one asked in good faith even though my gut is telling me there's a 50/50 chance it is very much not one.

So!

There are two parts to his answer, or rather one question is actually two.

Firstly, we have to talk about whether heaven is abusive, what that abuse looks like, and how it differs from hell.

Secondly, how did the results of question one affect Aziraphale, if it is different from what the other angels in heaven face, and what additional trauma might he have experienced due to being on earth.

I could write a 10k meta post about this and go into the finest detail, but I will just try and stick to the main points for now. It's still going to be way too long because I am so fucking tired of people accusing me of 'hating' Aziraphale or harassing me on my posts or in my inbox.

Is heaven abusive? Yes, and it applies to both heaven as an institution and the Archangels running it.

Getting to know Muriel and what their life looks like was extremely helpful in properly defining this, because they showed us that although the Archangels tend to travel and work as a group, most of the angels are incredibly isolated.

The result is complete emotional neglect, which not only impairs your ability to form and maintain healthy relationships with other people, it also stops your from learning emotional regulation and how to behave and feel as a part of (angelic) society. We see the consequences of that in Muriel, who comes across as overly naive, socially awkward, and out of touch with not just people but themselves.

When your entire life has been shrunk down to what happens inside your own head, suddenly being confronted with having to live outside of your mind is jarring, overwhelming, and foreign.

How do you talk to people when no one ever taught you how to do that? How do you behave around someone after a lifetime of being alone? How do your regulate your responses to their behaviour?

Who are you when there is someone else to perceive you?

Figuring that out is complicated and it takes time, and while most of the angels are only distantly aware of how humans live and what kind of interactions some of the other angels might have, the effects of that neglect stay the same whether they are aware of it or not.

Muriel shows us that angels are not born/made as a blank slate, and neither are humans for that matter. Tabula rasa as a philosophical belief is one thing, but reality is very, very different.

Angels also appear to have the same inherent need for connection, for a caretaker that loves them unconditionally, for someone to help them figure out how to be, and that provides a safe space to make mistakes. Without some or all of that, you grow up into a disregulated, socially awkward if not inept person who does not know how to have relationships or how to properly exist.

It is one of the reasons why autistic people are a) almost always traumatized to some degree and b) do not know how to socialize. No one ever works with our brains, and the resulting neglect is very similar to not receiving any help at all.

If you are now curious what happens if you're both autistic and were completely socially neglected, the result is uh. me. Hi! Not nice, but at least I am very sure I win the award for being my therapist's most fucked up client, so that's something.

Yet the angels are not solely emotionally neglected, the system/household they live in demands a low self-esteem, a lack of individual identity, and complete adherence to a defined ideology and behavioural pattern. In short, you are told how to be a useless, tiny part in a bigger machine, that your only purpose is to succeed at your tasks, and any opportunity for individual development is removed or destroyed.

If you are now once again curious what that might be like, uh, yeah, hi once more. Obviously my childhood was not exactly like an angels life, but the core characteristics were the same, just realized differently. Again, not pretty, really, really fucks you over.

Take that and the neglect, combine it into one person, and then drop them in the Garden of Eden—hello Aziraphale! Crowley got dropped into hell first, experienced more abuse, and then dug his way up into Eden before joining him.

Aziraphale experienced everything Muriel (and Crowley, and every other celestial being) also experienced, with one main difference: He is the one who got away.

We have to remember that out of every single celestial being, Aziraphale got the best deal. He did not fall, he got out of heaven (more or less) permanently, and was then largely left alone.

Does that erase anything I laid out above? No, of course not!

It simply provided him with the opportunity to heal, to take his cPTSD and who knows what other disorders he developed as a result, and start recovering.

Canonically, heaven did not bother him, like, ever, except for the odd note about 'frivolous miracles' or ten minutes of catching up every millennia. They only started monitoring him once they started to suspect he was involved with Crowley and trying to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Aziraphale worked on some things, he got better in many regards, especially with Crowley there to support him, but after six thousand years, many aspects have stayed the same or regressed back to the start over and over.

I will tell you a hard pill to swallow now: If you refuse to acknowledge your issues to instead live in a world of nicer denial and compartmentalization even when you have been offered the chance to change it, that is partly on YOU.

Is it fair? Fuck no! It's not fair at all, and I have had so many breakdowns over that fact. I did not break it, this is not my FAULT so why should I have to fix it all on my own? Why do I have to do the work, not them? How come they get away with it while I am going to have to carry this for the rest of my life?

I still have to do it though. I have to do the work, no matter how uncomfortable and exhausting, because I want to get better.

This conversation has so many facets and is a lot more complex, but this is already long enough, so if you have any questions or want to know something specific (while asking politely and in good faith) just send me an ask; I will do my best to answer it.

We are now only missing the last part of question 2, and that one is also so fucking complicated reducing it to the main points almost feels wrong, but I will do it anyway. Again, just ask if you have questions.

Abusive households are horrible, and you want to get out and away, but they are also the only thing you know. The world is scary, too big, too open, where did all the rules go that were previously defining your life?

Surviving in an abusive environment means you establish routine after routine after routine for every possible horrible scenario, you write a mental rule book to try and reduce the abuse (don't make them angry, don't cry when they're already shouting, don't do this, don't do that, do x but not y), and THAT is your socialization. THAT is everything you know, everything you are, everything you know relationships to be like.

Once you are away from that, you are completely and utterly lost. Even breathing feels like making a mistake, you feel watched, judged, rated, berated, you have them stuck in your fucking head. So you keep sticking to what you know, your behavioural patterns that have kept you safe your entire life.

The problem is that they kept you safe, past tense. In a healthy environment, all of those coping mechanisms are now maladaptive and harm you instead of keeping you safe.

However, breaking out of them and starting from scratch is terrifying. So, so, so terrifying. I live in constant fear, I feel judged and unsafe in my own flat with the curtains shut and the lights on. I feel like I am about to get subjected to another one of his fits for daring to use the stove.

No matter what you do, your body and brain are SCREAMING at you that diverging from what you know will kill you—and then you have to do it anyway.

Do it alone and afraid and awkwardly but DO IT. Otherwise you will always find a way to recreate the environment you grew up in, whether that is people getting into unhealthy relationships and replicating the patterns they know (which Aziraphale does with Crowley, e.g. the push-pull of his affection) or eventually even returning to it because they ruined you, but a part of you is so, so attached to them you just have to try and change them.

Some people can move on from it without going back, but sometimes you need to try and experience that failure for yourself before being able to move on, and that's where Aziraphale is at.

He needs to try and fail to be capable of finally committing to recovering.

So, to summarize this entire shitshow: Yes, Aziraphale experienced emotional neglect and abuse, and while it is different to what Crowley went through and objectively less intense and physical, it is still just as valid and horrid.

Just because a car accident is objectively worse than falling off a bike doesn't mean the biker's pain is unimportant. Both can kill you, both can hurt you, and both deserve to get their injuries treated.

Questions?

#alex answers asks #alex talks good omens #good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale meta #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #heaven is terrible #trauma discussion #long post

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