#plus gratuitous close-ups on his fingers

[daddy-long-legssss]

an hour long compilation of miles playing the 'used to be my girl' riff

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )

18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.

After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.

Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.

Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.

There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.

After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?

You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.

Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.

Truce?

You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.

Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.

Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.

Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.

You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.

Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.

If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.

You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.

No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.

Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.

That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.

It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.

A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.

Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.

Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.

“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.

“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.

“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.

“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language.  “What you owe me is an apology.”

Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”

He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.

“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “

The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols. 

To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”

You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.

“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”

He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.

“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”

The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.

“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression.. 

He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.

“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”

He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”

Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.

Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.

Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.

Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.

The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.

Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.

The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.

That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.

In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.

Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think. 

It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.

“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away. 

Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.

At least that gives him something to gift you.

Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.

Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns. 

He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.

The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.

Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe. 

Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.

Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.

That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.

He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.

He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.

Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as  “a large purple massage wand.”

A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.

Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–

“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.

He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.

Christ.

So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.

No bra.

His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…

Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.

Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?

He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.

It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.

He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.

Not yet.

He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.

Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.

He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.

( chapter three )

[tinypandacakes]

Trapper, Keeper Ch. 13 — Calm

Tags: dubious consent, dark romance, power imbalance, gaslighting, manipulation, yandere, Stockholm syndrome, injury recovery, fluff and smut, slice of life, implied non-consensual drug use, size difference, gratuitous use of pet names, metaphors, and descriptions of König’s eyes

Wc: 15.3k [135k total]

“I see you,” König said. “Always so much to prove. But you don’t have to do that with me.”

Toughened fingertips ghosted over the heated swell of your cheek, down the length of your jaw. König’s fingers rested under your chin, tilting your face, guiding you to him. You swallowed, chest aching.

“There’s no mission or rank to reach here. No lieutenant or sergeant to impress.” Dulcet tones lured you into docility. “You must be so tired of all that.”

You were tired — more than he knew. But not just of the stressors of a difficult, busy life, but of staying on guard, of worrying over things you desperately tried and failed to control. Your resolve was worn down like a seaside cliff shaped by the will of the water, eroded by waves until the rocks crumbled and splashed into the ocean. What use was resisting an immense force like that?

Give in, give in.

König was close enough that you could smell the freshly ground coffee on his breath. Your eyes fixated on full, pink lips likely still tacky with the essence of cinnamon and sugar and the little white scar cutting through one side. You wanted to kiss it, ask what happened, who hurt him. Your heart thumped heavily, a betrayal you were powerless to stop even as you felt it happening.

“Nobody has to know about what we do here.” His voice dropped to a whisper as his mouth curved into an easy smile. “I certainly won’t tell. Will you?”

“No,” you admitted, nearly lightheaded as you looked up.

Guileless eyes peered at you, blue clematis blooming on the vine, graceful and proud as it curved around a wrought iron trellis. Pretty, but poisonous for little creatures who might be tempted to nibble on the tender stalks, to fill their bellies with toxins masked as lush petals and crisp, sweet greens.

But…just a bite couldn’t hurt.

Just a taste.

Just—

König bent closer, his neck craning to close the distance between you. “It’s only us here, little one,” he reminded you, his mouth so close that the bristles of his mustache tickled your upper lip. “All that matters now is you and me.”

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[riddle-me-ri]

He has a crush on another villain henchwoman. She is arguing with her boss in the next room and he hears a slap sound. When he goes to find out what happened Y/N is touching her red cheek looking shocked. 

For Riddler BTAS, ZY, YJ, Arkhamverse

A/N: protective Eddie, protective Eddie, protective Eddie. I’m so here for it. Also for these scenarios I’m coming up with a villain of my own, and it’s all the same bad guy, and he’ll just be referred to as “boss” via the reader, cause I can’t come up with an original villain name nor do I wanna use some of the other rogues cause I don’t want anyone to think I’m implying anything about that rogue (albeit I know none of them are opposed to hurting anyone, but no one they cared about or that was close…well to an extent..I’m just gonna drop it rip)

Also, so sorry uhh this scenarios slightly deviate from your set-up Pati, I just didn’t want it to get too repetitive lol but the idea and the reactions are still there 

Trigger Warnings: strong language, abuse, and violence. If this sorta scenario is triggering, please disregard!

Riddlers x F!Reader - You Shouldn’t Have Done That

Arkhamverse Riddler: 

The loud slap from behind the door made his blood run icicle cold. 

In his mind, all the times he’d been slapped, punched, choked, and beaten by Batman played back in rapid succession. He will never admit how much those assault hurt him or how much the trauma genuinely effected his psyche. As much as he’d like the idea of someone holding his face or caressing him, he knew he’d likely flinch away in fear of being struck again. 

Now, that, that is probably what you are experiencing. He refused to have that mental and physical damage happen to you too.

Edward twisted the door knob until it was about to be yanked off the hinges. Until he quickly recovered and began picking the lock. 

He could hear you start crying softly from the thin door, but he had to remain focused. 

The door slammed open. You were on the ground, your back leaning against your boss’ desk. Whimpering, curling into yourself in the fetal position. Your boss looming over you with some proud smirk on his face. 

“See? This is what happens…WHEN YOU TALK BACK TO ME!” 

When Ed finally took in the scene before him, all he saw was red. “You won’t DARE want to find out what happens NEXT IF you HIT HER AGAIN!” 

Your boss jumped and spun around to the direction of the voice. 

“R-R-Riddler…what the hell are you-”

“That’s Mr. Riddler to you! Back away from her IMMEDIATELY! I promise you will regret what happens if you disobey!” 

“What? Her?” Your boss started chuckling. “C’mon, she ain’t worth–”

“Just goes to show how imbecilic your working cranium ACTUALLY is, and just how little you truly know…if not nothing. GET OUT!” 

Your boss was fairly new to the underworld, slowly trying to climb the ranks higher and higher. He had yet to come across any of Batman’s iconic Rogues Gallery. He never planned on it. Plus no one wanted to be part of Riddler’s games if they could avoid it. Your boss ran past Ed and out of the office, but not before Edward planted a tracker on your boss’ coattails.

The lump in his throat got bigger, his heart beat faster, and his cheeks reddened when you gave him a soft thankful kiss for the rescue. 

Capullo/Zero Year Riddler:

You were a sniveling mess. You kept trying to dry up your tears that were still falling. As you rubbed your nose along your sleeve, there was a slight sting to your cheek. 

Your boss was an asshole but you would never have thought…you didn’t even do anything wrong. You didn’t even “talk back.” You were just asking a question. 

As you made your way out of the building, officially putting an end to this shit day. You were taken aback by a man wearing a gratuitous amount of green. 

“Hellooo..” Edward was leaning against the side of his car, wiggling his fingers at you. 

Oh, shit. You forgot you were going on a date with him after work. 

Ed stood up from his car and walked toward but could tell something was off. 

“Hey, what’s the matter–I haven’t even said any–”

“Don’t!” You cut him off, “please, just don’t not today..”

“I’m sorry…I-I we’ll have to make a rain check..”

You tried to walk past him and catch a cab, but he pulled you back. 

“Ed! Please…”

You looked up at him and were shocked to see a rather stoic look on his face. He was examining your cheek, no doubt still brightly red with some lingering finger marks on it from the strike. Then bright blazing green eyes stared into your own. 

“I-It’s fine.”

“Who?”

You shook your head. Ed started walking straight towards your building. 

“Wait–Ed! No!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Just stay here.” 

You reached your hand out in a feign attempt to stop him, but he was already walking straight into the building. 

A few minutes go by, before you know it a flood of people start screaming and running out of the building. You’re still standing by Ed’s car. Startled and confused in all the hysterics surrounding you.

Something about Riddler…something about gunshots and the boss man…

Edward strolled out behind the crowd, swinging his cane and whistling a happy-go-lucky tune. 

“C’mon honey. Let’s get your face cleaned up and I’ll treat ya to dinner, huh? I may even foot the bill this time.”

BTAS Riddler: 

Edward was anxiously shuffling on the balls of his feet. He’s never felt this way about anyone before, but he wanted to make the proper steps to court you. A good place to start he figured was leave a bouquet of flowers on your desk, with a sweet note attached to it.

However, as he made his way to your office, he rudely bumped shoulders with a taller, scruffier looking man storming out of your office. Ed was annoyed, but tried not to make a scene for your sake, as he opened your door to your office. 

Only to find you in your chair behind your desk. You were weeping, tenderly patting your reddened cheek. You look up at Edward who stood there speechless. Hurriedly, you tried to wipe your tears and fix your uniform. 

“E-Eddie…um..w-what a nice surprise..I um…sorry, sorry. I’m a little out of sorts at the moment.” 

“Y/N…darling, d-did that man who just left..”

“Edward, please!” You jumped from your seat to meet Ed in the middle of your office. “H-He’s my boss…I…I’m okay..”

“No, you’re not! No one has the right to harm you! Whether it’s your boss or the Batman!” Ed declared. He handed you the flowers and began making his way out your office. 

“Eddie, please.” You put a hand to his shoulder which made him stop to look back at you. 

“Please…just…not here…hm? I need you here with me, please?” You sniffled. 

Whatever rage was flaring his green eyes softly simmered as he looked at your soft tired face. His death grip on your door knob slowly dropped. He grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder and brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of it. 

“Of course, darling.”

The next morning at work. 

“Hey, what happened to the boss?” One of your co-workers asked. 

You stopped from getting your daily coffee to eavesdrop. 

“I heard the Riddler put him through the ringer, literally fried the boss man’s brain. He can’t walk, talk, nothin! Reduced to a full grown infant!” 

You couldn’t help but smirk behind your cup at the news. 

Young Justice Riddler: 

Edward was not always one for confrontation, especially when he knew he would be outnumbered and/or outstrengthed. If he could talk or weasel his way out of something he absolutely would. 

However, when he saw you get struck by your boss. Sure he was frozen in place but not nearly as long as he usually was.

Ed never was great at hiding his feelings for you, and this next move solidified that notion. Removing any sort of doubt you may have had left. 

“You shouldn’t have done that!” He threatened your boss. 

“Oh, yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it, sonny?” Your boss asked, condescendingly, looking between you and Ed. “Bitch deserved it.” 

“No she didn’t!” Ed snarled. “But you deserve this.” 

“Eddie?” You asked softly as you scooted over to the side of the room he was on. 

He pulled out a small device that looked like a small remote control from his jacket pocket. Before your boss had a chance to let out another smart quip, thousands of volts of electricity left the small remote control and landed on various parts of your boss’ body. Especially his face and head. 

Edward held the button down, sending more and more volts to your boss’ nervous system. 

“Eddie!” You shouted.

You saying his name broke him out of his reverie and he released the trigger. Your boss plopped to the floor like a dead weight. Every now and then he was twitching. 

“A-Are you okay?” Ed got down on your level on the floor and looked over your wounded cheek. 

You took his hand in yours and smiled softly at him. “I-I’ll be okay, especially with you around. Thank you.” You leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

Now there were two unconscious bodies on the floor.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 13

Explicit: Slow Burn, Gratuitous Smut, Porn with Plot, Canon-Typical Violence, Mildly Dubious Consent, Angst, Tatooine Slave Culture

This chapter: Mention of blood, injury, allusions to previous sex acts.

Notes:  I think Hondo Ohnaka has a black tongue. I also think Weequay blood is black and thick like oil. Plus, I'm pretty sure Cad has med supplies and some kind of facility on his ship. In his profession he needs a way to heal. Makes sense to me Todo 360 is also used to helping.

Word count: 6.2+

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter || Next chapter 》

Zulara had shut the door on the man outside; she rushed around her paltry quarters in an expeditious bustle. She grabbed the first thing she could find to wear as she called to Hondo. At the unexpected knock she had forced him to hide. He stepped out of the refresher feeling rather undignified that she should keep him a secret, and from who?

The thought of Cad Bane crossed his mind.

“There’s a man here,” she said between brisk, urgent movements. Zulara had pulled her gown right off, tossing it down upon the floor. She didn’t notice the pirate staring as he had never seen her completely nude before – almost. But in her haste it did not matter, as hours earlier Ohnaka’s tongue had been buried in her mound, Zulara more concerned with the fact the sentient she desired was rapping on death’s door, or so said this brown-eyed soldier.

“A– a man? What sort of man?” Hondo inquired of her, trying to play off his interest in the tempting vision that was Zulara in the buff. His eyes had widened to their full expanse beneath his goggles, a hint of black flickering across his bottom lip. He approached the girl as she made to adorn a pair of leggings, circling her with arms folded and hands clasped behind his back. He studied her, as if acquainting himself to a work of art, or appraising an object that held untold worth and merit.

“You have many a suitor, et appears.” The Weequay primped; preened, just to give himself something to do it seemed. His ego had suffered a mighty blow, but he tried to mask it by picking a mote of dust off his crimson coat.

“He’s wearing armor. He said- ” The tears welling in her eyes were obvious, Zulara unable to obscure her emotions as she fitted the tights about her waist. She snatched up her top; it was short-sleeved and black, though Hondo clasped her by the hand before she could slip on the garment; he wasn’t in a rush for her to cover her exquisite assets.

“He said what, dear? What sort of armor?” Hondo made to kiss her open palm, but Zulara pulled away. He was left deserted, curling his fingers inward to close off the empty space she had created with her abrupt removal of herself. Oh, that one had hurt even worse.

“Green. Green and red. He had a breastplate… and a jetpack,” Zulara stated as she shimmied her blouse up and over her dark hair. She stuck her arms through, then pulled her raven strands out across her back. She went for her boots next, teetering as she tried to stay her balance. She was doing her best to hurry despite Hondo trying to postpone her imminent departure from him.

“Bane’s hurt! I have to go!” she finished.

“Green and - Ded he say his name? Why, es et little Boba Fett? Bane’s hurt? Boba es with Bane?! Was Boba de one who hurt him?” Not again, he thought; the questions poured right out of him, like cheap red wine, the Weequay venturing towards the single viewport of her small abode. “Why, I have not seen dat boy en years."

There was a pause. "Ettttt es probably for de best," he guessed.

Zulara nearly shouted at him, tugging him back by the sleeve of his stolen raiment. “No, please! Stay hidden! I don’t want anyone to know you’re here,” she implored, wrapping her other arm about the pirate’s waist as she coerced him into a feeble hug meant to bar him from the outside world.

Hondo turned on her affronted, one hand rising to implicate that he was wounded, his palm being brandished over where his heart would be if he were a human being. “Sweet girl, I daresay, I have never been so offended en my life,” he scoffed indignantly.

“I’m sorry, Hondo.” Zulara whined his name, embracing him more tightly. “I didn’t mean anything by it, only that-”

“Yes, yes. I understand. We both know you favor dat damned Duros for whatever reason." He himself would not admit to worrying, though he had known Cad for countless years. Still, they were not on the best of terms. Hondo would hold his tongue.

Zulara’s arm rose; she cupped his cheek. Her fingers found their way between his frills. She caressed him gently as she gazed deeply into his steely eyes. “Don’t be cross with me,” she pleaded, liquid beads tumbling down to leave remnants on her clothing.

Hondo gasped, grasping her by the wrist. He shuddered straight away, a tremble rocking him to his very nerve-endings. “Du not start what you cannot finish,” he scolded rapaciously. “Next ting I know, you will be asking me tu cover for you.” He was quite aware this whole affair would have implications, and that Kayson was sure to come knocking down her door.

Zulara bit her lip, realizing in that moment his frills were sensitive, though his line of thinking had been accurate, as she begged him not to tell her master. “Please, Hondo. He forbade me from seeing Bane. Don’t tell him where I’ve gone … just-” she pulled her hand back to gesture broadly. “Lie!”

“I’ll see what I can du,” he sighed. “Though after being so insulted, tu tell you de truth, all I really want tu du es visit de nearest cantina for a drink tu lift my spirits.”

Zulara kissed the pirate’s cheek to perk him up. That sealed the deal, her fate, and his role in this game she played. It was only fair after all, as she was the prize to be won in another sort of deception that veered further and further in Bane’s favor, much to the Weequay’s continuous, ubiquitous dismay.

“Thank you,” she said, turning from him, her focus now on the man who waited and the bounty hunter who had stolen her heart away as she bolted out the door.

Hondo remained. He sat in silence upon her bed. He shook his head quietly to himself, noting he could just hitch a ride and leave this forsaken place. The only thing that kept him here was his lack of funds. That, and this cunning girl. He still wanted to best the hunter if he didn’t wind up dead.

Call it payback for all the grief Cad Bane had caused him throughout the years.

---

Boba Fett turned his head in the direction of the girl’s scant dwelling, having heard the activation of her automated door. He made a motion towards her meant to coax her forward, but he didn’t need to. She had already ran past him and peered into the backseat of the speeder.

Fett had kept an eye out. Cad Bane was still breathing, though he was weak. He hadn’t woken up, and he preferred it to what might happen should he rouse. He caught the unknown woman’s eyes as she whipped around, hands gripping the non-ferrous metal frame as she wept outright.

“What’s wrong with him?” she inquired fretfully.

He had taken a moment to study her - her figure - those attributes that deemed her a woman. She was shapely, tone, and pretty – her eyes were dissimilar and lovely - she had a heart shaped face that matched the one worn on her sleeve, lips of ruby, and skin of mauve or amethyst.

“Jabba the Hutt is to blame,” he stated plainly. Even though he was Boba Fett’s employer, he felt no need to hide the truth. “We need to get him to a bacta pod. There is one aboard his ship.”

Zulara had heard of him. Everybody had. She had even seen him once at an event in town. A blob of flesh with a tail, surrounded by slaves and servants. He had been carried by some ten or fifteen men upon a palanquin; he was a crime lord who considered himself royalty.

She frowned, then turned back around. She lifted one leg daintily, knee first, then climbed right in the back, situating herself on the edge of the bench seat Bane lay sprawled upon. Zulara gingerly tilted up his head while being mindful of his hat; she adjusted and placed him upon her lap, “Poor thing…” she whispered, knowing she had also made him suffer, following up with a demand of Fett. She didn’t once think about how he had left her, or about herself.

“Chini, wachamio!”

Boba did not need to know what she had meant, or its significance. It was comprehended quite easily from her take charge tone. A girl who had seemed so shy, so demure, was now giving orders in what he recognized as Twi’leki, most likely the language of her species, though she lacked Lekku; he surmised the other half of her was human.

“Right,” he shot back, having somewhat disassociated. He took to the driver’s seat and headed towards the docking bay where the Justifier had been residing amongst a slew of other starships. He had seen it while snooping, prowling the nooks and crannies of Mos Eisley on his lookout for the Duros at the request of Jabba, something he may have wished he had never done.

Boba considered her from the rear-view mirror, Zulara’s fingers roaming almost lovingly across Bane’s cheek, his lips, his sharp planes and angles. She kissed him once maybe hoping that he would stir. When he didn’t she only began to cry again, though softly. Her hand idled above his largest injury, Cad’s green blood having already been smeared across her skin and clothing.

“These are claw marks,” she announced as if it were not obvious, though it perhaps confused her as Jabba’s ilk had hardly anything at all in the way of arms or hands.

“It was the rancor,” Boba informed her simply, keeping his eyes ahead.

“R-rancor?” She sounded faint, her body bending forward as she enveloped the unconscious man in a shield of warm and supple flesh. She murmured something to him, not markedly clear on his end, but he caught three words:

“Please, don’t die.”

Bane stirred; his eyelids flickered open to stare at her. He made a face close to a scowl, catching her by the hand. He said nothing. His breathing was still labored. He roughly exhaled, then seemed to gradually pass out cold again, his arm having dropped limply at his side.

“The stun’s worn off – the old fool was planning to walk back through the desert like that - he’s too weak. Something’s wrong. He’s pretty beat to snot, injured internally.”

The girl was still recovering from a glimpse of those searing, scarlet jewels. She was beside herself, stuck motionless, wondering if he would open them once more. Maybe it was stupid or naïve to feel something when she barely knew him, but he had shown sympathy to her situation despite their recent, somewhat jarring interlude. Perhaps he hated slavery, perhaps he only wanted the girl carnally. Still, it did not change her present sentiments.

“What is your name?” Boba thought to interrupt her, distract her from the reality that was Cad Bane torn to shreds across her thighs.

“Zulara,” she said coolly, despite her knuckles brushing lightly across his ex-mentor’s mandible as if he were a household pet, or her genteel partner, not a murderer or a bounty hunter.

“A beautiful name,” he said, adding his own after the fact. “Mine is Boba Fett.”

The girl’s eyes lifted to stare at his within the mirror as he regarded her. Ohnaka had been right about him; she wondered how he had known; what his history was; how they all three connected; how their fates might be bound together. And here she was. Stuck in the middle, somehow.

“How much farther?” she beseeched him, the woman cradling the broken man as if she loved him.

“Almost there.” Boba redirected his attention, focusing instead on the path laid out before them, the pedestrians, and the buildings that flew by on either side. Ultimately, he gave them privacy, thinking it was not his place to observe her in such a despondent state of mind.

---

“Hello? Who’s there?” Todo 360 questioned over the external comm. His nervousness was apparent in the vibration of his vocabulator. Boba had banged on the hatch three times rather forcefully in succession, and the droid knew it could not be Bane – he would never have a need to knock.

“Todo,” Boba’s voice rang out. “Open up!” He paused, waiting, then tacked on the reason for his visit in addition, hoping to appease the service droid enough to let them in. “Bane’s bad off. He needs the bacta pod.”

“Why, I’d know that voice anywhere! Bane made his instructions very clear regarding you,” Todo remarked.

In his mind, he would be doing a disservice by letting a double-crosser like Boba Fett aboard the Justifier. However, on the off chance he was being honest, the little droid felt anxious – what if something really was wrong with Bane?

“I – I don’t believe you! This is some kind of trick, and I won’t fall for it. Besides…” Todo 360 tapped his tiny fingers together behind the shut tight divide. “Why should I believe you? You were the one who nearly murdered Bane in cold blood all those years ago! If it weren’t for me, he surely would have-”

“Damn it, Todo! Shut up and check the surveillance-cam!” Boba Fett insisted.

Zulara struggled to stay upright as the droid and this strange youth argued over things that were quite curious. One of Cad Bane’s arms was draped about her neck as she tried her best to give him his dignity. The other arm was thrown across Fett’s shoulder, the man taking the brunt of it as well he should. Bane was tall, at least six feet five inches, not accounting for his weight, which Zulara was petite compared to him. She shifted her stance but kept her mouth shut.

This was the same droid she had seen on two separate occasions - Bane’s personal automaton - one with an attitude to match his owner’s and that gave her pause. He had nearly caught her.

Would he be able to recognize her despite her eventual escape? The loss of her black cape? Suppose he didn’t let them in? Suppose Bane bled out before then? The poor girl’s heart rate increased as she started to partially cry again, though she tried to hold it in.

Fett glanced to her. He had left his helmet in the speeder. His full expression was visible to everyone, as there were many passers-by. “Relax, he’ll do the right thing. Just give him time. Todo’s a bit neurotic, for a droid.”

It was his attempt to try and comfort her the best way he knew how. She was hardly an acquaintance, and even though he had threatened Bane with getting to know her - to visit her - he had never imagined it to be under these circumstances, if at all. It was more so a bluff to get under the Duros’ azure skin. He never liked the idea of using innocents as bait, and he wouldn’t start now either, despite this woman having some sort of bond to his purported enemy.

Zulara only nodded. She might have said something, but about that time the hatch began to open, the finicky droid visibly shaken on the other side.

“Oh, no! Why didn’t you say so! Oh, dear… Mister Bane? Sir? Is he … has he ceased functioning?” Todo’s hands rose, two little fists clasped in front of his metallic chest. His photoreceptors peered up at them, yet he could not display the totality of his true concerns upon his faceplate.

“Quick! Hurry! You must take him to the med room! I am afraid this kind of thing has happened many times before…” he said as his head shook sadly.

The service droid’s neck swiveled to the right soon after. He stared Zulara down with two wide yellow eyes. He gazed at her as Fett began to lead the way, dragging Bane’s dead weight along behind as the woman tried to help. “Who are you? Boba, why is she here? Who is this woman!? How do you know Bane?!”

His frantic interrogation continued without relent the further they went inside the ship.

“Calm down, Todo. She’s a friend,” Boba Fett responded. Zulara did not care how she was labeled if only Cad would be all right. “Let’s get him to the lift. Med room is on the upper deck. Stupid place, if you ask me. Should be down here next to the main entrance for situations like this.” Boba failed to mention that was where he used to sleep.

“Well, I’ve never seen her before in all my days,” Todo chirped. “Oh, like you are a friend I suppose?! A traitor is what you are! After Mister Bane took you in, after everything he did for you … you had to go and put a bolt in his head! Thank goodness for his hat!”

The droid stomped after them the best he could, a deep-seated annoyance coloring his tone. ”He has to wear a durasteel plate because of you! Terrible headaches, worse mood! Even crankier nowadays! Can you imagine what I have to go through?! Why-”

“Enough!” Fett snapped at him, though Zulara had been listening to every word, every shady detail Todo had let slip. Perhaps her countenance exuded her true feelings, her increasingly sour mood, but with a face like hers it was liable to come off as a sultry pout.

She would not linger on it as the turbolift’s doors parted. She assisted the best she could and did not once complain or say a thing, even as Todo examined her. Despite Boba telling him to hush, he only dropped his volume, prodding Zulara in the knee as she wavered somewhat unsteadily.

“I don’t trust you, person,” he whispered callously. “Not if you’re friends with him. For all I know, this is all your fault. Yours and his,” Todo muttered to her.

“Please, I-” she began to whisper back, bicolored eyes canting down to meet his, though the short ride came to a halt. A small hallway was revealed, lined with two-to-three extra sets of doors. The cockpit must have been ahead, as the largest of them was forward facing and closed off like all the rest.

“This way.” Fett guided them onward and to the left. Todo skirted them, igniting his rocket boosters. He propelled himself a few feet off the ground; he hovered up to the access panel. He opened the room for them, Zulara met with a wide array of varied things, but the one that was the most important was the bacta pod that sat amidst the center, though it looked to be out of use for quite some time.

“It’s not even hooked up,” Boba growled, helping Zulara to lay Bane on the ground.

“Mister Bane hates using it,” Todo informed them. “The bacta – he doesn’t like the way it feels, or smells, or-”

“I get it,” Boba sighed.

Zulara sat upon the floor and curled her legs up beneath her bottom. She replaced Bane’s head right into her lap as Boba meandered throughout the near to barebones space. Todo accelerated in her direction to close the gap between them, coming to a stop at her shoulder’s edge. He poked her again, one finger digging into the meat of her slight bicep.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Bane doesn’t like being touched unnecessarily, much less by strangers!”

“But I’m– I’m not a stranger, I-” she girl tried to explain, though thinking hard on it. He had never mentioned her; perhaps she was unimportant. It was more than likely she meant nothing and that he wouldn’t even want her here. “I just want to make sure he’s all right,” she murmured. “Then I’ll leave.”

Todo watched in fascination as water formed in the organic’s eyes. His neck craned forward to peer at Bane, then jerked back up to stare at her again. He floated; he ambulated to her other side, the one that was nearest to Bane’s head and hat. He leaned above his master, looking for signs of life perhaps, as this woman began to lament, her chest heaving in ragged breaths.

Todo drifted backward on his thrusters, finally alighting on the ground. He began to wring his hands, the service droid perplexed; he was distressed. He looked to Boba who was busy, perhaps for solace, though that was absurd. He huffed and shook his head, though his timbre was more somber.

“I see. It is good to know Mister Bane still has… friends.”  He did not comment on her tears directly, instead admonishing himself for his behavior. No one he had ever met had been this upset over the aging Duros except himself. “Maybe I have been too hasty. Bane always says to be suspicious of strangers, but you are not a stranger, so it should be all right that you are here.”

Boba Fett snickered from his place by the bacta pod; he was setting calibrations and affixing wires where they belonged. “Sounds like something you would tell a kid. ‘Don’t talk to strangers,’” he uttered flatly.

“Yes, well, we all know you aren’t one to take Mister Bane’s advice,” Todo retorted testily.

“You’re right. It must be because his advice was always terrible,” Fett quipped back. He attached another cable, this one meant to pump the gelatinous healing substance from an external tank; it would be fed into the coffin-like contrivance one gallon at a time. The control panel was now activated, the machine making a low humming sound. “Zulara,” he said sternly, “start undressing him.”

Zulara hesitated; the droid gave his two credits once again. “His advice is not terrible! You’re the one who’s terrible! And ungrateful. Mister Bane-”

“Todo, I will temporarily deactivate you if you don’t stop making such a fuss. You’re getting on my nerves,” Fett admitted readily.

The droid turned his back on the beskar armored man; he placed his hands akimbo with an incensed chuff. He faced Zulara as she timidly removed Bane’s hat from off his head. “I’ll take that!” he declared.

Zulara handed it off to him; she carefully resituated the Duros upon the ground. She gazed at him, the blood that had coagulated. A prayer faintly left her lips, something in her mother tongue. She started at the bottom, finding the hidden seam that would allow her to unzip his unique footwear first.

Her fingers graced the leather, vacillating, shaking. She tugged upon the stop, taking her time, not wanting to move too suddenly. It may have been that she was fearful he would be displeased by it as Todo said, should she be caught red-handed.

“The tank is filling quickly. Do you need help?” Fett asked more softly.

Zulara did not answer, but placed one boot off to the side. She had lightly fingered the length of a Mitrinomon thruster, fascinated by those things that had sent them flying away from Kayson in the alley. Finally, she spoke, “not yet.”

She made it a mediation. She let her instincts guide her for the gadgets that were complicated as Todo made sure to watch her like an edgehawk, criticizing nearly her every move. Zulara mostly ignored him, or blocked him out, finding the magnetic clasp that would allow her to remove his gauntlets. One sparked, prickling her with stray electricity; she thought maybe she would fix it for him could she find the time - no harder than blaster repair, she theorized.

The girl disengaged the breathing tubes like she had watched him do earlier that evening, followed by the cracked canister of depleted oxygen. His armor had served its purpose for the most part though it was split, and his leather tunic had been ripped into ribbons, exposing bits of the black insulated suit and his cobalt skin.

Zulara realized she had barely gotten to touch him, only his face, his growling mouth. He had remained clothed while she had been naked, vulnerable, and susceptible to anything he deemed appropriate.

“Todo, come make yourself useful and figure out if I put this thing together right,” Fett demanded, forcing the service droid to interrupt his vigil and close observation of the girl with another round of criticisms, though he did as he was told – more so for the sake of Bane than Boba.

“I am a techo-service droid, not a nurse droid! But yes, I will make sure that you haven’t made any grievous errors that might cost Mister Bane his life. I don’t put it past you to do that on purpose.”

While the droid made a full inspection of the bacta pod, Zulara unbuckled Bane’s now useless armored vest. She pushed the two halves apart, gently pulling both his arms out and through to find the crease that housed yet another hidden clasp.

She peeled the tight-fitting garment from him - his upper bodysuit - seeing the full extent of his detriment. Two deep gashes had slit him from his pectorals down towards his abdomen. She stared a moment. She watched him breathing shallowly. She paused her movements to bend, pressing one ear to the uninjured side of the Duros’ lean chest.

Cad Bane’s heart still beat strong; the girl was thankful for that alone. She sighed her relief just as she felt something move, fingers twisting amongst her silky tendrils.

She gasped, though she did not budge. The hunter grumbled something to her though she couldn’t make it out. She lifted herself up just an inch or two to try and catch his eyes before they closed. Her own hand rose to cradle his gaunt cheek as his had drifted down to rest beside himself.

“Bane?” she whispered shyly. There was no response. She wondered what it was he had said to her. She hurried then, peeling off his chaps, his pants, everything but his insulated blacks. She removed the skull cap with extra care; she removed the metal plate, then glanced to Boba and the droid. They were bickering again, though Zulara interrupted them.

“Do I leave these on?” She was feeling bashful, despite him having been inside her.

“Leave the bottom part of the suit, remove the rest.”

Zulara was somewhat happy for that answer and she complied. The last thing left to strip were his leather gloves, exposing his fingers to her.

His hands were large, lithe, and beautiful though worn. His scales were dry. She thumbed its roughness. She lifted that appendage to her mouth and kissed it, unable to help herself. She would remain transfixed, waiting on what should happen next, hoping Bane might rise to consciousness again from the touch of her downy lips.

“How long have you known Bane?” Fett jarred her from her thoughts. She felt embarrassed, thinking perhaps she was acting too familiar.

“A week or two,” she stated with a blush, still lightly caressing the back of the hunter’s hand with the underside of her lilac thumb.

“Then why are you so fond of him?” Boba had come to hover, folding his arms across his armor. His brow was arched; she felt judged, though tried to hide her feelings. “You barely know the man.”

“He tried to set me free,” she whispered faintly, toying with the collar around her neck as she reminisced. He had failed in his enterprise, but she appreciated it, nonetheless. It was more than any other man had ever done for her.

“Interesting,” Fett said, seemingly satisfied, but his eyes spoke volumes. He appeared untrusting or confused, perhaps unwilling to believe, though he bent down to her level and took Bane beneath the arms. “The pod is ready, help me get him in.”

Zulara nodded, more than ready to aid him in this task. Todo tip-toed backward as they approached, his little fingers once more tapping against each other. The girl had supported him as much as possible, watching as the mystery teen used all his strength to lift the catatonic man. He held him beneath his legs and his upper back, setting him within the viscous substance.

Finally, Boba motioned for her to grab the nearby apparatus, the girl setting it around Cad’s cranium with a rubber strap, then inserting the mouthpiece where it rightfully belonged.

There was a faint sound as if he were breathing peacefully, Boba Fett settling his old nemesis down within the pod. He repositioned him the best he could, made sure he was submerged, then took one last look; he studied every detail, then he pressed a button to activate the transparisteel domed lid.

Zulara watched it descend, closing the hunter off to her. Her fingers brushed the glass, her neck turning for her gaze to fall on Boba as he stood by idly.

 “And how do you know Bane?” she asked with an accusatory lilt, head tilting.

“That’s a loaded question,” Fett said dismissively, rounding on her and heading towards the door to leave.

“We have the time!” Zulara turned with him, trailing along behind. “Where are you going? You’re leaving me here alone?”

“You’re not alone, Todo is here with you,” Boba said, marching out into the spacious corridor.

Zulara moved to face the droid who felt inclined to wait, yellow lens glowing, reflecting back at him through the surface of the lid as he watched his master sleep. He seemed agitated. She thought to ask him what was wrong as he paced beside the pod, muttering to himself his seemingly endless woes and troubles.

“But what if something goes wrong?” she asked sheepishly.

“He’ll know what to do,” Boba assured her. Even though Todo was a nuisance and a bother more times than not, he was programmed for many tasks by Bane himself, medical care being among one of the many skills allocated to his memory banks.

Cad Bane was a loner, he rarely entertained guests of any sort, though to be entirely by himself was a risk in and of itself. That’s where his little confidant came in, his trusted partner of a kind, one without a restraining bolt and one he favored, despite all Bane’s complaints and his ill-natured disposition.

Zulara frowned and Boba faltered. He withdrew a small device, a handheld comm. “Here, take this,” he said against his better judgement as he passed it off to her. “In case of an emergency. It will connect directly to my personal frequency, just don’t abuse it.” The girl’s eyes glistened, and he thought to add something. “Perhaps I’ll check on you.”

The half Twi’lek nodded slowly, cradling the tiny electronic mechanism within her palm. She sighed, then rejoined Todo as Boba left the room. He walked the familiar path back to the main entry point of Cad Bane’s starship, opening the hatch to exit into the chilly, desert night. He stared down at the platform lost in his own thoughts, forcing himself to carry his suddenly low spirits across the ramp to quit the docks. He hopped into the land speeder but merely sat there, spying the green blood stains on the upholstery through the rearview mirror.

Even if deep inside he disliked the man, hate was too strong a word. Though the Duros may have never done the same for him, in that moment he had repaid his debt for any training, any life lessons or things taught, passed down, or relayed. Boba Fett may have taken up his father’s mantle - his family trade - but he would be damned if he would follow in the footsteps of his mentor, the notorious bounty hunter aptly named Cad Bane.

---

Back at Jabba’s Palace, Aurra Sing had entertained herself with a drink. The band was boring; she had heard this number a dozen times before. She perked up at the appearance of little Boba Fett – that’s how she saw him, though the clone had blossomed into a young man.

He approached her table; he removed his beskar helmet. She smiled at his long face; it amused her when he felt conflicted; she thrived when he was in a state of mental anguish. He was easier to manipulate.

It wasn’t always so – she had cared for him - but he was weak. He had trouble performing the jobs she had given him, namely the ones to maim and kill.

Even now, he had forgiven her. He hadn’t held a grudge though she left him back on Florrum. He said he had time to think in prison about his life, his future, and he would not remain so unforgiving for all the good she had brought to him, though her brand of it was twisted and self-serving.

It could be said his experience with Sing was traumatizing, but he once had a home with her; a place to sleep; to lay his head; food to eat.

In fact, Aurra had trained him alongside Cad for a time, among others - Bossk and Castas. He was thankful, yet he had no family. No one to call his own. He was grateful that she had been around, despite being a poor influence and an even poorer role-model.

But could he blame her? Aurra’s life had been no better. She had never even known her father; her mother was too poor to raise her. She had favored his father, Jango. Maybe she even loved him – why else had she so diligently helped him all those years ago? She was just as eager; searching; seeking a path towards retribution on the Master Jedi who had cut him down on Geonosis before his time. 

The only person he had cared about claiming his revenge upon was already dead – Mace Windu – he had heard the news straight out of Coruscant. He had raged and torn apart his quarters that very night. It was his job to take his life!

He supposed it should have made him happy, but it only made him suffer. His life was meaningless; he had no one to guide him. Maybe that’s why he had initially reaccepted Aurra back into his life; she was a steadying force among his restless thoughts.

If anything, he had learned one lesson from all of this; it was something he tried his best to get the hang of, yet his heart often said otherwise. It was a theme; it kept repeating. Every bounty hunter from here to the Western Reaches seemed to live by it: look out for yourself. Credits are your only friend.

“Is he dead?” she asked casually, her tone uncaring and disenchanted, seemingly dissatisfied with her own life overall, no matter what Boba’s answer was.

“No. He shouldn’t have to die like that.”

Aurra rolled her eyes; she flipped her long ponytail across her shoulders. Her gaze narrowed as she questioned him. “What do you care about Cad Bane? You almost killed him once. He would just as soon leave you for dead than repay the favor.”

“You mean like how you left me for dead?” Boba’s voice was stern. He was not in the mood for any of her bantha spew.

Aurra scoffed, feigning shocked. They had been through this before. “Boba, honey, you know I wouldn’t have tried to escape alone if I thought I could save us both. It was poor luck.”

“I know my father showed you charity, but do not think I am so tolerant. I know you only stick around in hopes that you can ride my coattails into glory for yourself.”

“Is that what you think of me? Just some charity case?!” Aurra snapped, knocking her glass off with a crash, her spindly fingers barely reaching to carry out the act.

Boba Fett sat in silence, staring at the threadbare surface of the table while Aurra glared at him with jewels of emerald green, full of malevolence. He sighed, speaking softly, hating that the woman was so hotheaded, perhaps more so than Bane.

“I don’t know what to think. I only know that we have a job to do, and if you wish to accompany me I only ask that you try to keep your temper in check and your attitude to a minimum. It would be wise of us to make our move while Bane is incapacitated. It will give us a head start.”

Aurra threw her chair back and stood up to her feet. She turned her back on him, long arms folding to brush against her micro-vest. She scowled at nothing in particular, but managed to hold her tongue. She remained a few more seconds, then sauntered out the door.

Fett simply shook his head. Sometimes, he wondered if he was cut out for all of this, or that maybe he should search for employment with another, some sentient who lived or reigned on a far-off planet, or closer to the Core. Anywhere but here, this stifling place that reeked of Hutt and sweat, yet he remained.

It was time to formulate a plan of action, with or without her. He was considered Jabba’s favorite for a reason, regardless of the blood that flowed within his veins, though he wanted more than anything to live up to his father’s name.

But in that moment he felt like an imposter, just a boy who had been scolded, and not the infamous bounty hunter everyone made him out to be. 

His mind wandered briefly to what Bane had said. There was something deep inside himself; he was not impervious to doubt, yet he refused to think his sense of right and wrong was something to be remedied, no matter the riffraff or the scoundrels he surrounded himself with.

It was times like these he missed Jango the most; his wisdom. He would have known the answer, even if Boba didn’t know the question. It was a dog-eat-dog galaxy out there and Fett would be damned if he was fodder for the hound. He rose and followed Aurra out. 

“A wise man gets more use from his enemies than a fool from his friends, right father?” he mumbled to himself.

[bleulone]

i love your analysis so much! i have a question as well, like, how do you envision polin's sex scenes ? thanks for your answer (:

    Hey! Thank you very much :)) I have no idea if they are that even good but I’m happy you like them. It’s just my brain tending to produce some iNsIGhiTfUL analyses though they usually end up drowned under a huge wave of stupidity and horrid spelling/grammatical mistakes XD. So, about Penelope and Colin’ sex scenes, I guess we’re getting spicy in this house 🌶. I mean, I don’t blame you. Who’s not hot for Polin ?! The steamy Polin hours have already begun and they’re legit challenging my patience. (Be still my Polin heart, be still).

   Okay, without further ado, let’s talk about sex baby, shall we ? It’s a pretty long answer/meta so bear with me.

    I don’t know if you’ve read Romancing Mister Bridgerton, but a quick reminder (for those who haven’t... yet), there are a bunch of iconic steamy scenes that I’m dying to watch on screen. First we have the famous “thank you” scene where Penelope, now a 28 year-old spinster, asks Colin to kiss her because she doesn’t want to die without having been kissed... then ends up thanking him— which happens to be humiliating for our 33 year-old boy because he thinks that she thinks he did it out of pity while he absolutely did not. The man definitely felt butterflies in his stomach... and in other places as well lol. We also have the ICONIC carriage scene where Colin gives Pen’s generous bosoms™ the attention they deserve. This is followed by his proposal. Later on, after the announcement of their engagement, there’s a pretty hot make-out scene on Lady Violet’s sofa. Finally, we have their first time in Colin’s bedroom, after sneaking out of their own engagement party... which leads Colin to push the wedding date forward. At this point, I just love their horniness, especially Colin’s who’s just so freaking amazed by Penelope for more than 300 pages straight (duh! who isn’t ???).

    When you say envision, I suppose you mainly refer to the way those scenes will be filmed right ? I’m afraid I don’t have an advanced knowledge in film-making but let me start by telling you what elements need to be depicted. I would love Shonda and Chris to capture the real essence of our boos’ feelings : the yearning, the love, the respect and the guilt (specifically on Colin’s side) in their eyes. The more we move forward throughout the seasons, the more we see different layers of the perceptions of they have of each other, going from a childish idealization/immature ignorance to a sudden realization. A mature one. Penelope goes beyond the facade of the charming devil-may-care guy to meet the seriousness and temper of her significant other. Meanwhile Colin discovers how confident, powerful and attractive this woman is and always has been. It echoes what I’ve written about the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story in this meta. By the time season 4 hits, man... their heart eyes and eye-fucking will jump OUT XD, all fibers of their beings, burning with need. The fact that this evolution took literally years is very emotionally painful, which is why I find it important to keep the slowness aspect of their relationship before and during their love making. I’m really looking forward a slow build-up toward their intimacy. It would differ from Daphne and Simon who merely shared one hell of a kiss in Lady Trowbridge’s garden then shared their sexy times after they married or Anthony and Siena’s rough sex... In fact, there’s a certain (sweet) ardent tenderness in Polin I like due to the fact that they’re slowly (re)discovering each other, as adults. Since they were both introduced in season 1, the audience will have all the time in the world to notice numerous evidences of the many natures of love they have for one another : from an affectionate and friendly love to a more carnal and enduring one.

    Okay so, in terms of filming, with Netflix’s Bridgerton being a show which promotes the female gaze, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise watching those sex scenes being shot from Penelope’s perspective, like it was the case with Daphne in the first installment of the series. Most of the time, sex scenes in Historical Romance are not gratuitous. Their presence serve an important purpose in a hero/heroine’s journey. In Penelope’s case, they’re here to help her learn to embrace and love herself. In other words, sexuality is synonym of freedom. I don’t know if they’ll show a lot of skin, but I won’t be complaining considering the fact that we’ll have the chance to get a chief kiss treat on screen : a plus size woman in a major successful Netflix period drama getting a love story as romantic and steamy as other more “fit” female characters. No, your weight doesn’t prevent you from being desirable at all. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t watched a plus-size female character portrayed as an attractive protagonist in a period drama (please if you have, let me know, I can be wrong). Having a beautiful half bare curvy body like Nicola’s being equally filmed like numerous slim actresses will be so inspiring and powerful to watch, especially for (young) women who struggle, like Penelope, to love their body shape which, to them, doesn’t “fit” the “beauty standards”. By showing her female gaze and portraying her as seductive, Pen’s “supposed” imperfections transform themselves into mighty assets, loved and worshipped by our dashing Mister Bridgerton. That’s body positivity at its finest darling ;).

    It will be deliciously erotic watching the undressing process being exquisitely slow, garment by garment, while their gaze are all heated and hungry. Their sex/make-out scenes should be tender and passionate, sweet and raw. The lightning, colored by a dark blood orange yellow or a blue depending the locations^^. Moreover, the depiction of the exploration of Penelope’s desire can translate itself thanks to multiple close ups. For instance, I can imagine a few ones on Pen’s fingers gently roaming over the smooth skin of Colin’s firm chest and back/touching his hair right after he removed his shirt. And a disheveled Colin letting his hands and lips making a journey of their own, mapping, conquering the alluring unknown territory that is her gorgeous voluptuous body... kissing her on the places he knows oh too well will give her pleasure (is this me wanting him to go down on her?— um yeah I sure hope it IS! If he doesn’t, trust me imma riot... AGAIN). Even a close up on her face while Colin is performing his addictively pleasing torment will be a marvelous proof of the female gaze. By the way, why not even adding a post-coital scene after their first time ? I can picture Penelope waking up first and contemplate her handsome soon-to-be husband. She’d bring her hand to his face and let it travel all around his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his neck and let it rest on his heart— making sure that what she’s just experience was real... obviously, Colin will wake up in the process and he’ll take this as his cue to go for another round of sexy times under the sheets.

   Showing Pen reaction is essential according to me because she was stuck with the idea that she would never experience the luxury of being loved, giving pleasure nor receiving it... she ended up being happily wrong. Throughout her multiple intimate encounters with Colin, I want her to progressively realizes that she can be an active partner. In the carriage, she knew she had an effect on him, but it’s not until their first time that she actually realizes it. Hence the reason why I WANT the mirror’s introduction in one of their sex scenes. Here’s as a little reminder an excerpt from chapter 18 :

“I want to see you sitting up," he groaned, "so I can see them full and lovely and large [about Pen’s breasts]. And then I want to crawl behind you and cup you." His lips found her ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to do it in front of a mirror."

“Now?” she squeaked.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. "Later," he said, and then repeated it in a rather resolute tone. "Later.”

   It would be such a shame if the show doesn’t use the incredible potential of this object (/kink). I mean, the symbolism is pretty clear. Penelope has always fled her “ugly” reflection but it seems like Colin wants to show the real her, the beauty that holds every single inch her alabaster skin and the effects they have on him. Thus, I would love to watch a scene where Colin just praises the alluring goddess and siren that is Penelope Featherington. Just imagine! Just IMAGINE the power of this scene : a shirtless Colin sitting behind her on a bed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his lips touching her right ear, biting and licking the lobe sometimes, whispering all kinda of dirty yet poetic words to her while letting his hands caress her thighs, her hips, her arms, her lovely bosoms™... oof. At the same time, a wonderful and harmonic instrumental music will play in the background and match the melodic partition of shudders, breathes and moans let out by our lovers. I can imagine Luke inspiring himself from his performance in the 2019 short film, Youth In Bed. The way he conveyed the awe and the yearning on his face, in his eyes with his mouth slightly open when he knelt before his partner Shun Yin was just captivating and— and so Colin! I cannot help but bring myself to picture Ethan, the character he played in YIB, in a Polin steamy scene. I cannot unsee this anymore jsksk. I mean, all this gifset radiates this book4chapter18!Colin, you cannot tell me otherwise!

    Also, I would love Shonda and Chris to keep Pen and Colin’s cute/emotional pillow talk. One thing I really love in JQ’s books is the concern she gives to her male protagonists about potentially hurting their partner during the act of penetration. Colin is a rake, and what his experience with women taught him is that he needs to be very gentle with the love of his life. It was so adorable seeing him not wanting to harm her and asking her to tell him if he does anything she doesn’t like 🥺. Plus, before actually doing it, Colin and Penelope shared a few kisses and just laid down side by side, confessing their love. Though our boy kept feeling guilty about not returning her love after all these years. He desires nothing but to make up for the lost time and show his love and desire during this special intimate moment. I hope they’ll keep all of chapter 18’s dialogue. It’s just so telling of our boos’ feelings, you see.

    All in all, I can’t wait to watch those Polin steamy scenes. As much as I may sound crazy, I want them after two other seasons of pure pining and yearning in order to have a very good payoff. I’m not an expert on depicting intimacy on screen, but I loved so far what Lizzy Talbot, the intimacy coordinator who worked on the show, have done in season 1. Sex scenes in Bridgerton seem very real and dive you in the intimacy of the moment, leaving you all flustered and hot. So probs to her! I have faith in her work and have no doubts about what her and the directors will serve us in future seasons. Though, in the end, I think it’s mostly up to the actors, Nicola and Luke, to see if they’re comfortable filming sex scenes.

    If you guys have any suggestions or wishes for those steamy polin scenes, please do share them :) by commenting on this post or by sending me asks! I’d love reading your thoughts/take on this very important matter ;)) 

[caescloud]

How about some shiggy fluff with a reader that has an emotion reading quirk and she just sees how broken he is and wants to help him and he’s just like ???? What’s this? Human decency? Tomura.exe has stopped working

Anon, I almost leapt out of my chair when I got your ask because not only is your brain huge, you made me think of my oc who has pathokinesis for a quirk! So thank you for an awesome prompt, I’ll do my best to explore this topic! There are some liberties I’m taking so let me know if this is slightly out of the scope of what you wanted the power to be portrayed as, I can adjust it. And I went with two routes for this one, hope that’s alright! Also, spoilers for the content covered up until about chapter 246!

Emotion/Empathy Quirk!Reader x Shigaraki, Fluff Hcs

As someone with a quirk that allows you to literally emphasize with other people, it’s hard to ignore those who are in distress. As a member of the League, you regularly are among companions whose more negative emotions you pick up on. Shigaraki is no exception to this. For all he does to mask his feelings, be it out of repressing his deepest memories or simply not willing to let himself feel the more somber emotions, Shigaraki has his days.

Approaching Shigaraki when you sense this emotional shift in him may play out depending on how close you two are. I feel that either way, he will be wary of someone who can instantly know the extent of what he’s feeling without knowing the context- it’s this perception he has of being “seen” and vulnerable, but not on his own terms. For this reason I wouldn’t recommend opening anything major; start small,  a simple “I noticed you’ve been off, I’m here to listen if you need it.” (The second set of hcs are more fluffy than the first, I swear! )

If you’re not as close yet:

“Your vibes are off my guy” /j 

You likely noticed his mood around when you first met him, the childish glee at the prospect of carrying out villainous schemes, the apathy felt for society, the frustration when things went awry, and this...undercurrent of intensely negative energy.

Your intentions are truly straightforward when you discover him

Had you not had the quirk you had, you likely would have missed the sudden “peak” of distress one night. Shigaraki experienced a rather nasty nightmare that sent him for a bit of an inner spiral. The LOV base was small enough that you could sense him despite being in separate rooms, the feelings of fright and melancholy were too palpable for you to ignore. You could sense when emotional activity subsides when people are asleep but Shigaraki didn’t seem to fall back asleep that night. You had difficulty yourself and made a note to confront him in the morning, when he’d likely be moving around while the others wouldn’t.

Shigaraki is aware of your quirk and how it works; he is the leader who is responsible for knowing key information regarding subordinates. What he didn’t expect, and may have subconsciously hoped you wouldn’t do, is “pry” into him after an episode. 

SO in addition to that plus being in a sour mood that following morning, he may be more snappy and curt when you approach him. He doesn’t feel it’s your business nor something you should be spending energy on. He’s not really in a headspace to discuss what he dreamt about or exactly know how to put it into words; he’d likely tell you to move on because that’s what he’s doing. 

Ball is in your court at this point; sticking around him may not be the best move unless you’re going to be quiet while he soothes his thoughts on his own; having anyone around him may be more of irritation/distraction than a comforting presence. If you do try to get him to keep talking, he’s gonna flat out leave the bar in a bit of a huff to blow off steam. If you leave yourself, best not to do so in a way that makes it seem like you’re mad at him? It’s not that he’s really concerned with how you’re feeling per se, this is more of a long-term behavior. Calmly letting him know you will respect his boundaries and telling him you’ll be around let’s him know that you’re a mature enough individual which is pretty big for him. Even if he doesn’t remark on it then and there; he’s all about those little details when it comes to people. 

Even if at this moment he doesn’t especially appreciate “someone nosing around” in his head, he can’t completely ignore your intentions. You’re not on thin ice, but he’s gonna maintain a bit of a guard around you until there’s more trust solidified. After all, he can’t be scaring off competent allies like you when he needs ‘em this early on. 

If there is trust/a relationship between you two:

You two have a much better rapport with each other this time around. Between fighting alongside each other, going through shared struggles and trials, those rare late-night chats you’ve had, Tomura and you are far closer now than ever before. 

You are a valuable ally of his and someone who he lowered his walls down ever so slightly more for. As mentioned above, the fact you respected his boundaries early on while maintaining your welcoming presence has served you well in this area. If it’s you asking him about his troubles, that’s okay. You’ve seen him at some pretty harsh lows and still stayed by him and everyone. 

Heck, even prior to this, you’ve already begun to notice a change in Tomura and how he’s been acting since the Kamino incident. Showing his face and apparent care for the LOV will also likely factor into him feeling more comfortable around you as well. After losing AFO and Kurogiri, this point stands even stronger. The league is his family, you’re a part of that too of course. But out of everyone, there’s a unique bond between the two of you. 

So when you approach him as a result of the impossible to ignore feelings of turmoil, not that he’s outwardly showing this, you do so with the same, genuine concern you held the first time this happened. This is someone who you’ve gotten to understand hasn’t had much of a break when it comes to basic human kindness in most of his life. And he is also someone you truly care for, no strings attached. (Hard not to when you’ve been exposed to his innermost feelings after all.) 

He’s clearly trying to hold himself together in the aftermath of Kamino; he seems to be clutching desperately onto himself as a way to ground. The loss of AFO and Kurogiri is taking its mental toll and while the others have opted to give him space, you chose to go to him; hopeful of any comfort you could give in order to soothe the ferocious panic and frustration sweeping over his mind.

Once again you offer him your ear, a shoulder, your words if he’d rather listen to someone else talk instead to take his mind off. He doesn’t brush you off this time but also doesn’t say too much. He stares very intensely at you, searching for a trace of judgement or gratuitous pity and finding none. Despite everything, you two fall into a comfortable silence, that hand you’ve placed on his shoulder acting as an anchor.

The next time this happens is after the battle with the MLA

The base you’re in is more lavish, fitted with more space and rooms for it’s members to reside in. However, you’re still able to sense Tomura’s emotions go completely haywire. The intense loneliness, fright, anger, and sadness crash into you and pull you under.

You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re outside his door, softly calling his name, sensing he’s alert and awake now. You almost feel this will play out as it did nearly a year ago until the door slowly creaked open, a single red eye gazing right through you. You’re about to speak when he reaches for you and pulls you in.

Huh. This is the first time he’s literally reached out for you, a fleeting thought. It’s dark and you’re unable to see him, but you feel the slight tremor wracking his frame and grip. You’re thankful it’s as dark as it is because you don’t want him to see your tears; whenever someone is feeling as badly as he is at the moment, your quirk can have the impact of flooding your emotions, especially if your control is not at its peak.

“Tomura, I’m here for you. I’m ready to help, tell me what I can do,” you muster in your most soothing and level voice, masking your outward emotions well. He is still wordless but moves you and him over to where his bed is, guiding you both down onto the mattress. A low sigh leaves his lungs as he tries to compose himself, grip still around your wrist. You feel your way over to the hand that’s holding you, carefully maneuvering the fingers off and transferring his hand properly into both of yours. You work mindless patterns and pressures over the appendage, further trying to physically calm him.

It starts with an utterance of the words “bad dream, family, my sister-”. He doesn’t go into very descriptive detail but with the way he’s feeling and how he’s speaking, you know it’s nothing pleasant. “They’re gone, it’s done. So why do I still...have these ridiculous visions of them?”

Your heart has ached hearing the way he talks; whether he realizes the extent of his words, when he talks about others and himself or his past, you feel compelled to be open with him.

What happens next almost shatters your heart because he asks you not to go. He’s done talking about his dreams and the past, his fingers are itching to go at this neck, and he’s just tired. When you pull him into your embrace, him mindful of where his hands fall, he surprisingly accepts it. 

You’ve got him and you’re not letting go, gently smoothing over his hair to further placate him. He’s definitely feeling better than when you’ve found him. You only begin to drift off when you feel him truly calm down and go limp in your arms. No one dares to say anything the next morning when the future king has skipped out on a meeting.

He’s not going to say this out loud but he is truly grateful you treated his emotions with the care he didn’t realize they needed from someone like you.

[hrodvitnon]

Ok, I'm going to ask something very personalish but....out of all my scenarios you answered that I created-which is your favorite? And which of them do you dislike the most? (This is inspired by the guy who made the Garg asks telling you a similar thing a few hours back; and I can take criticism in stride, I don't mind)

Off the top of my head the one(s) I liked the most were The One With DOUBLE SPIRAL HEAT RAY! and The One With A Rampage Crossover. The former lulled me into a false sense of "Oh no, is wagrilous gonna pigeonhole themselves as the Crossover Ending With Gratuitous Murder Guy?" because it could've just as easily gone tits-up with either of the Gojis losing enough brain cells to decide to kill each other, but it was pleasantly, awesomely averted! The two Gojis worked together and pulled a kickass combo to blow Ghids to smithereens and parted as friends and it was glorious. As the youngins say: YAS, KINGS. (do the youngins still say that?)

The One With A Rampage Crossover was easy and fun, considering I've only seen bits and pieces of the movie and haven't played the game it's based on, so it was a bit of "instant awesome just add monsterverse" without deviating too terribly much from the movie's plot (I'm guessing). Plus it let me do stuff that sounded funny in my head, like having Kong and George exchange "nah fuck you"/"nah fuck you", because I've been on an Ozzy Man Reviews binge lately.

(Right, now for the part where I'm not mad... I'm just disappointed passionately annoyed.)

As for the most disliked scenario? The One Where Shin's Head Asplodes. The scenario preceding it where MV!Goji dies just seemed to be not so much another notch in the "wagrilous beats up MV!Goji for some reason" series but the logical conclusion, and could've ended at that point. It's a total downer ending, but still an ending. Not all stories ought to finish with sunshine and rainbows; I appreciate bittersweet endings (Wolf's Rain, anyone?) and sometimes downer endings can work (like with Se7en)... and then it devolved into a We Could Have Avoided This! Plot.

Why would Shin leave safety when he knows everyone tells him not to, on his own, with no one knowing where he's vanished off to? Why would he intentionally return to the surface when he knows nobody likes FW!Goji for straight-up murking his dad? Why does FW!Goji have to act like a paranoid trigger-happy dick when canonically he shows restraint at times and can be reasoned with? Characters are allowed to be killed off, that's either a sad but sometimes necessary means of progressing the plot or a Tuesday depending on the story (hell, I'm into Warhammer 40K and people drop like rain in there!), or even in a sacrifice that's either heroic or senseless, and casualties are par for the course with Godzilla. But when it was THIS CLOSE to being completely avoided only for one little thing to happen and one party jumping the gun like a paranoid Inquisitor with a twitchy Exterminatus finger, because CLEARLY the scared and skittish one is plotting regicide, and nothing else? That... just burns my toast.

Whew... sorry about that.

(also, in hindsight, the One Where Genocide Route Is All Just A Dream is such a copout.)

[shotgun--rider]

Fake It Till You Make It - Four

A Sam x Reader Series

PART FOUR

Y/N knows it’s a bad idea to try telling her family that she’s dating Sam Winchester. But it’s just for the week of her sister’s wedding, and it’s all fake anyway. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3500

Warnings: plus size! Reader, fatphobic comments and self esteem issues, Y/N’s family are demons, gratuitous Meg pep talks because I love her and I’m sorry

A/N: Sorry for taking forever, being a depressed squid took more of my time than planned. Also sorry for any pain this part may cause, I promise to fix it next time. 

Sam and your father returned from golfing the following afternoon relatively unscathed. A few jokes were made about a lawyer not knowing how to golf, but they were surprisingly good natured, considering your family’s penchant for throwing passive-aggressive barbs around. Sam just took it in stride, the same way he had with everything that had been thrown at both of you this week, with a smile and a nod and a hand on whatever part of you was within reach. 

You, on the other hand, were in freefall. You’d known on some level even back at Dean’s dinner table that it wasn’t a particularly great plan for you to bring Sam to your sister’s wedding, but you hadn’t anticipated the reality of playing this charade. He was everything you’d ever wanted, even earning the approval of the only family members that mattered (even if Meg did still like flirting with him) and none of it was real. Kissing him had only made it all worse, and Sam’s subsequent apology for blindsiding you that evening didn’t come close to making anything better. 

Now, the two of you were curled up in one lounge chair at Ruby’s behest, and you were pretty sure that this was some personal hell devised by the devil to torture you. You weren’t entirely sure why Ruby had felt that a pre-wedding family bonfire was necessary on her last night as an unmarried woman, but she’d insisted, so here you both were. 

Gramma Lilith, who was quickly becoming the primary villain here, had started fawning over the two of you the instant you made your appearance on the back lawn, somehow strong-arming you into sharing a seat and insisting that Sam could keep you warm. (Your arguments ranged from the overall midsummer heat to the fact that you were literally sitting in front of a fire, but you didn’t bother voicing them.)

Your first thought was to try to get through this as professionally as possible (if professional was even a word that could be applied to this shitshow) but the expensive chairs circling Aunt Abaddon’s fire pit were designed at too far of a reclined angle for you not to be basically laying on top of Sam. You tried your hand weakly at looking as relaxed as Ruby, sprawled nearby across her fiance, but internally, your heart was racing, muscles tensed like you wanted to run. 

“Okay?” Sam murmured into the top of your head, one hand tracing absent designs over your arm. 

“Peachy,” you grumbled back, sarcasm bleeding into your voice in spite of yourself. You were tucked mostly between him and the arm of the lounge chair, but there was still enough of your weight on him to make you decidedly uncomfortable. You gotta lose some of that weight before you try sitting on me, Dick had said to you once, all bright white teeth and supposedly innocent teasing. 

You tried in vain to keep your stupid fat thighs from touching him, like you could convince them to condense into a smaller space through sheer force of will. Of course, the laws of physics weren’t on your side, and all you succeeded in doing was wriggling around like a particularly uncomfortable worm, earning yourself a weird look from Meg over the fire and an awkward throat-clearing from Sam.

“Y/N,” he started, sounding vaguely strained. “Can you, um, not--”

“What about you two?” Meg said suddenly, loudly, knocking both of you out of your own awkward world. She was looking at you expectantly, and, you realized with a sinking stomach, so was most of the rest of your family. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Meg rolled her eyes. “What was your first date like?” she enunciated every word with exaggerated emphasis, shaking her head at you.

“Yes,” your mother chimed in, leaning forward with interest. “We’d love to hear what you did to make...this...happen,”

It was on the tip of your tongue to just give up and blurt out, we’ve never had one. Sam must have been able to feel the tension vibrating through you, though, and pulled you to settle back against him, taking over answering the question. 

“I met her through my brother,” he said easily, and you could vaguely feel him winding some of your hair up around his finger. “I came over one afternoon and there she was, asking his boyfriend if their bees could smell fear,” 

You flushed at the memory. Yeah, you’d agreed to use the real story of how you met, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing. Poor Cas had had to spend a solid half hour convincing you that the bees weren’t going to attack you that day. 

“She had on this pink sundress, and I heard her laughing, and I just thought...she was beautiful. Took me forever to do anything about it, though,” Sam went on, and that was all true too, the dress you’d been wearing and the fit of laughter you and Cas had broken into when Sam first showed up in the backyard. You hadn’t expected him to remember that much detail, though, and it did something strange to your insides to listen to it. 

“I took her to the diner on 5th Street,” Sam admitted, still playing with your hair. “I was too afraid of screwing up to come up with something more original.” He sounded so adorably hesitant, even now, that your head was popping up before you could think about it, could remember that he was just weaving a story.

“Hey, I liked it fine,” you protested, and it hit you like a sudden gut punch that there was something to remember. Because the first time Sam took you anywhere was to the 5th Street diner that was halfway between your place and Dean’s. You’d only done it to plan something for Dean’s birthday last year, and of course it wasn’t a real date, but the two of you really had been there. 

Sam’s only limit in this conversation was the world of his own imagination. If he wanted to, he could have told everyone that he’d taken you skydiving in New Zealand for your first date, and yet here he was, using memories from your real life with a dopey smile on his face. 

“Sickening,” Meg was saying dryly, a smirk on her lips to take the sting out of it. “Hey, Y/N, when you marry him, can I wear jeans?” If there was anything you should have been deflecting, it was that, squashing thoughts of marriage from the group’s mind before anyone latched onto it, but all you said was, “I’ll think about it,”

That was apparently enough to satisfy Meg, and the conversation moved on to other things that thankfully weren’t focused on you and Sam. You sighed heavily, and Sam slid one big palm over your hair, tucking your head down to rest against his chest. It was comfortable, and you were too tired in the flickering firelight to keep worrying, and you let yourself melt against him, absorbing his warmth as your eyes fluttered shut. Sam never let up on combing his hands through your hair, lulling you into a half-conscious state that barely registers anything beyond overlapping voices and the pop of the bonfire and Sam. 

It occurred to you suddenly, as you drifted somewhere between awareness and spaced-out calm, that it had been a very long time since someone had just held you. None of your family had ever been particularly tactile, save for the required gestures and whatever new tactic your mother was using to disguise her fussing. Dean and Cas and Charlie always gave you a hug when they saw you, but they were quick, always moving on to something else. And you’d never once had a boyfriend that held you for anything more than sex. 

“Hey,” Sam murmured lowly against the top of your head. “Still with me, darlin’?”

You blinked sleepily, raising your head to peer up at him, and he gave a low chuckle that you felt more than heard, smiling gently at you. 

“It’s late. Unless you wanna sleep out here?” he raised an eyebrow at you teasingly, shifting underneath you to sit up a bit more. 

A quick glance around showed that you were the only ones left outside, somehow, and the fire was nothing more than a handful of faintly glowing coals in the bottom of the pit. “How did we...where did everyone--” you tried, brain still not quite online enough to process how you’d somehow slept through everyone getting up and leaving. Knowing your family, they wouldn’t have been quiet about it. 

“I didn’t want to move you,” Sam shrugged sheepishly. “You seemed like you needed it,”

“Oh, yeah, I was probably drooling all over you,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes up into your skull. 

“S’fine,” Sam looked a little hesitant, a little awkward, but mostly he looked strangely content, and for just a moment, you could convince yourself that this was your real life, that you and Sam could do this whenever you wanted, that you could always be this close. 

“So I get to see you in a fancy dress tomorrow, huh?” Sam nudged you lightly, smiling. 

You huffed. “Don’t remind me, it’s ugly. It’s all...clingy,” you wrinkled your nose. 

“You make most things look good,” Sam promised, like it was the obvious thing to say and didn’t send your stomach flipping around rebelliously. 

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you said with mock sweetness before scowling at him, “and also a blatant lie.”

“Is not,” Sam looked affronted, and you were struck with a sudden desire to kiss the pout off of his soft lips. Damn it, Y/N, don’t you dare go there, you snapped at yourself instantly. 

“God, I can’t wait for this week to be over,” you groaned out instead, trying to pull the conversation onto safer ground. You flashed him a cheerful smile, your words more a reminder to yourself than to him when you tack on teasingly, “You’re almost off the hook, boyfriend,” Of course, because the universe hated you and took great pleasure in reminding you, it took very little to send everything sliding downhill from there. 

Sam’s answering smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he shifted slightly in the chair, as if he was debating something. “Y/N, I--”

“We’re so close to not having to spend every waking moment together,” you chirped, like an idiot, and, still sitting inches away from the man you had to remember you could not have, you watched hurt and something darker flash across his expression. 

Sam clenched his jaw, taking a breath in like he was going to say something, and then, for the second time in as many days, slammed his lips into yours without any warning. 

Conscious thought turned into static as you surrendered to the onslaught of his mouth moving over yours, sending a bolt of electricity flying through your entire body. If Sam’s kiss on the driveway was tinged with desperation, this one was worse. As cliche as you knew it sounded, Sam kissed you like a starving man, hands sliding across your back to pull you impossibly closer as he devoured your mouth, swallowing your meep of surprise and sliding his tongue against yours.

Sam shifted beneath you in the chair, abruptly bringing you into contact with the noticeable bulge in his well-worn jeans, and it was more instinct than anything else that had you grinding down against him, pulling a choked sound out of his throat that only encouraged you. There was a heady thrill in knowing that it was you doing this, Sam doing more in five minutes to make you feel desirable than anyone else ever had, and the slide of your bodies felt strangely inevitable, like it was the matching other half to the sensation that had been stuck in your chest since you turned off the freeway in Sam’s car a week ago. 

You wondered for a split second if his touch would still be able to set you on fire the same way if he hadn’t spent days smiling at you, talking you up, defending you, and the harsh reminder of why you were even here at all hit you like ice water. You scrambled to your feet so quickly that you narrowly missed kneeing Sam in the crotch, and then you were backing away, your hands flying uselessly around your face to push your hair back and somehow wipe the blush off your cheeks. 

You couldn’t do this. You were supposed to know better. And you weren’t going to let Sam Winchester break your heart, even unintentionally, because you didn’t know if you could survive that. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed out, straightening your clothes hastily.

Sam scrambled to sit up in the reclined lounge chair, confusion painted across his face and his chest still heaving with ragged breaths that should not have been affecting you the way they were. “W-what?”

You threw your hands up, impatience and anger rising up to protect you from the weight of your fear. “There’s nobody watching us, Sam. There’s no point in faking it,”

“Faking it,” Sam echoed flatly, hazel eyes flicking over you rapidly like he was trying so hard to understand. It might have been a little heartbreaking if you weren’t too preoccupied with guarding yours. 

“Yeah,” you went on, digging yourself further because you never knew when to stop. “Look, I know we’ve been putting on a show but you can’t just--” you trailed off limply, not even trying anymore to label the storm of emotions in your ribcage. “People like us don’t do this for real,” Guys like you don’t look at girls like me. 

“Huh. Well I’m glad I could help you with your show,” Sam spat out coldly, and you froze at the tone. You’d heard it once before, when Sam had once taken apart Castiel’s asshat older brother over immigration politics, and Luke had yet to show his face since. Charlie called it the I went to Stanford law now let me tell you all the reasons this argument is over voice. And you’d never once thought it would be directed at you. 

“Sam, I--”

He was already gone, a rapidly shrinking shadow disappearing into the house on long legs you couldn’t hope to catch up with. Fuck. 

You spent the night before Ruby’s wedding staring at the ceiling, hands folded across your chest and so still you could probably have passed for a medieval tomb effigy. Beside you in the dark, Sam’s breaths were too shallow, too even to pass for sleep, but neither of you said a word. He’d already had the lights off by the time you convinced your leaden legs to carry you back into the house and up the stairs, and you’d just changed into pajamas like a robot and laid down in defeat. You didn’t sleep. 

Sam had no day-of obligations, so you left him in bed when the sun finally rose, swallowing against the sick pit in your stomach and making your way to Ruby’s bedroom, where there was already enough shrieking to compound the headache drilling through your skull. For the first time, though, you actually felt grateful for your sister and her antics--the storm of chaos she was whipping up and her endless, high-pitched demands left you with no brain space to think about your monumental fuck-up the night before. 

You jammed a pin into your hair impatiently, cursing when the ends slipped out of your fingers for the hundredth time, and bit down hard on your red-painted lip. The maid of honor didn’t get to throw a tantrum on the wedding day. 

“Well don’t you look like cold shit,” Meg commented dryly, her head popping up in the mirror over your shoulder. She was already dressed, wearing the gray bridesmaid dress fair better than you were going to, and she snapped her fingers impatiently. “Gimme,”

You put the card of hair pins into her hand wordlessly, fighting the irrational sting of tears in your eyes when she coiled your hair up easily, looking for just a second like she was your little cousin again, soaking wet on the bathroom floor and laughing. 

“Is Ruby getting to you?” she murmured, a calculating look on her face as she studied you in the mirror, trying to crack your shitty mood. “You’re almost done, you know.”

“Yeah, no, I know,” you said hollowly. 

Meg cocked her head, reaching around you for a bottle of hairspray. “Okay, not Ruby. Which is shocking, by the way. So what gives?”

“Nothing,”

“Wow. You’re usually better at bullshitting than this.” She arched a brow. “Tell you what. I can cover you for five minutes, go find your boy. Can’t have you moping your way down the aisle, Ruby’ll kill you if you ruin the photos.”

“Sam can’t do anything,” you returned flatly, leaning forward mechanically toward the mirror to examine your slightly-wobbly eyeliner. 

“Sure he can. Boy’s so in love with you it’s nauseating,” Meg countered cheerfully, making a face at you. 

“He’s not,”

Meg scrunched up her face at those words, frowning as she pulled up the bodice of her dress. “What’d you do, have a fight or something? Jesus, just kiss and make up,”

“It’s fake,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, and once you’d started, it took very little for the whole story to come pouring out to the one person that might listen. “It’s fake, the whole thing’s fake, he’s...he’s just Dean’s brother, we wanted to get my mom off my back--” You took a shuddering breath, wincing at how stupidly hysterical the whole thing made you sound.

“Bullshit,” Meg declared solidly, grabbing the eyeliner pen out of your hand impatiently. “Give me that, you’re doing a shit job.”

You surrendered to the gale force that was your cousin, letting her manhandle your head into her preferred position and shutting your eyes obediently while she drew a neat line across your eyelid. “No, Meg, it’s--”

“It’s bullshit,” she repeated, holding up a hand to stop you as you reopened your eyes to protest. “No, I don’t care what you’re gonna say. Maybe it was fake for you, but there’s no way in hell anybody could fake the way he looks at you. That boy is so gone on you it’s not even funny. He’s your unicorn, and I’m kinda jealous, so whatever you did,” she narrowed her eyes. “Fix it.”

“Meg, you don’t understand--”

“Yeah, you’re damn right I don’t understand.” She cut you off, crossing her arms and somehow managing to look just as intimidating in a bridesmaid’s dress as she did in a black leather jacket. “This family is a shitshow. I know it, you know it, everybody knows it. So why are you still listening to them?”

“I don’t--” you started weakly.

“Just because you’re not a size two and marrying into the Roman Enterprises fortune doesn’t mean anything, Y/N. You don’t not deserve him, or whatever, so get your fucking head on straight.” Meg rolled her eyes, gesturing to the dress hanging next to you in a clear sign that her warm fuzzy conversation capacity had been reached. “Get dressed.”

It took you a long time to obey, staring at yourself in the little mirror station that Aunt Abaddon had had set up for everyone in the bridal party to get ready. As you zipped up the clingy gray dress, Meg’s blunt words bouncing around in your head, your eyes catalogued every curve, every flaw you’d had memorized and hated by the time you were thirteen. It was just something you lived with, a low hum in the back of your conscious that reminded you not to pose the wrong way for photos and to stay away from bikinis and to adjust the way your clothes fit when you sat down. 

Except Sam had never once made you feel that you had to. Sam made you feel like a person before a body, somehow convinced you that the words your family had been hurling at you for years were lies, and when he called you beautiful you wanted to believe him. And as Meg’s words echoed in your head once more, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was right about some of it. 

You pinched your lips into a wry smile in the mirror, giving yourself one last cursory onceover before you resolutely turned away to go see if Ruby was ready. Your job today was to be a maid of honor. And anything else, no matter what Meg thought she knew...you knew it was already too late. 

tags: @vicmc624​ @thebookisbtr​ @alicedopey​ @still-a-demon-very-ineffable​

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part iv: what it took to understand

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 5.2k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

“Wait Mom, what do you mean you’re not coming? Aren’t you flying in on Friday?”

“He didn’t tell you? Youngho-ah, you’re scaring me.”

“What wouldn't he tell me?”

“Doyoung just called, he called to tell us that there isn’t going to be a wedding. He even apologized and said he would pay for our tickets and return the gifts. I told him there’s no need to, but he insisted. The poor boy kept thanking us for being concerned about him. He said he’s okay, but how can he be, John-ah? He was with her for 13 years.

“Oh sweetie, I can’t even imagine what his parents must be feeling right now. What’s going on? The wedding’s supposed to happen this Saturday. Was it wedding jitters? What happened between them? They were so good together, I can’t imagine what must’ve happened for them to break it off…”

It’s the fourth time his call has gone straight to voicemail, and Johnny gnashes his teeth in frustration. He quickly cancels the call via the touchscreen on his dashboard, sighing exasperatedly as he leans his elbow against the inside of the car door, his fingers in his previously nicely-gelled hair.

“He’s not answering any of my calls…”

“Johnny, calm down.”

“I can’t calm down!” His eyes are wild with worry, as he swerves into the next lane, his hand pressing firmly against the wheel, “Doyoung’s phone is never switched off. You can call him at 3am and he’ll pick up, that’s the kind of person he is. His phone is never switched off!”

Haewon falls silent, listening as Johnny takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for snapping. I know you must be worried too.” He sighs again, biting his bottom lip. “He’s in hiding, Haewon. It’s not him, he doesn’t go MIA. The only time he was like this was a week before graduation, he suddenly went missing because he was panicking about the future and stuff.”

“Then it’ll be fine, he’ll pick himself up like he did before.”

Despite what she says, Haewon isn’t that sure. For the longest time, Inhee has been an irreplaceable constant in Doyoung’s life, someone who grounds him and takes care of him. It’s difficult to wrap the mind around the space she would leave in Doyoung’s life amongst the burnt shrapnel of their relationship, but it’s not completely unimaginable. Her mind inadvertently teeters between two possible reasons that led him to such a decision - one absolutely selfish, the other utterly heartbreaking.

“Why do you look like that?”

Haewon stills. “What do I look like?”

Johnny regards her suspiciously as he signals a right turn. “… I thought you said you didn’t tell him about Inhee.”

An omission of the truth is still a lie, the voice in her head tells her. When Johnny had asked her that night if she had told Doyoung about Inhee’s affair, she had shaken her head, said she was tired and then locked herself in her room until she fell asleep, her eyes still warm with tears. Subsequently, Johnny didn’t ask anything else, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she had confessed and just how badly it had gone.

No one else knows this, but Haewon can’t bring herself to be pathetic in front of Johnny. She refuses to cry in front of Johnny, refuses to tell him about what happened that Monday. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Johnny, in fact, she trusts him too much, but she can’t tell him in the crippling fear of seeing that look on his face - the same look that had settled on his face when it registered that she was in love with his friend, the dimming of the light in his eyes in a moment of poorly-concealed sympathy. Johnny, who  vowed to be her ‘rock, [her] absolute rock’, who has really lived up to his promise and been her rock for three and a half years - he’s not someone she wants to ever let down.

Moreover, while it is entirely possible that she could just be projecting and overthinking, what Doyoung had said the day she had tendered her resignation still clung like barnacles to her thoughts, making her mind whirl with unending possibilities.

“I didn’t, I’m just thinking about what might have happened.” She says against the mouth of her water bottle, gulping down to prevent other words from spilling out.

Johnny habitually chews on his lip in thought. “Maybe he realized he was in love with you- oh my God Haewon, are you okay?!”

Haewon laughs uneasily as she tries to hold back violent coughs and wipes her mouth.

“Wait, so… He did?!” Johnny raises both eyebrows.

“Of course not! What are you saying?!”

“Fine! Then don’t choke in my car!”

Johnny finally hears from Doyoung on Friday morning, the day before he’s supposed to get married. Needless to say, the conversation between them is somewhat chaotic, with Doyoung jokingly asking questions like, “aren’t you supposed to be in London at this time?” and Johnny stuttering an excuse before yelling, “ya! Don’t change the subject when we’re talking about you!” A smile finds itself on Haewon’s face as she listens quietly to their on-speaker conversation in the car, Johnny’s hands on the steering wheel as he drives both of them to work.

Doyoung had found his fiancée and her lover in the shower together when he had returned home at an unexpected time the previous Friday, an undeniably and surprisingly drama-like scenario. In a moment inspired by the swashbuckling protagonists Doyoung had read about growing up, he chose to face the incident with dignity and hero-like placidity, looking at Inhee dead in the eye and factually stating, “it’s over between us”.

As worrying as it is, it’s good to know that Doyoung’s safe. Upon breaking off the engagement and making all the necessary arrangements, Doyoung had returned to Guri for a week to spend time with his parents and attend to his personal and wedding cancelation matters, closing a chapter of his life as Haewon opens another of hers.

“When did he say he’ll be back?” Haewon asks now, watching Johnny loosen his tie as he crosses his legs and relaxes in the chair after dinner.

“He said tomorrow, but he isn’t sure.”

She nods pensively, sucking on the Melona ice pop in her hand.

A glint of mischief enters Johnny’s eyes, and he leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“Haewonnie, once he returns… It’s your chance.”

Upon safely locating Doyoung, Johnny had lapsed into his ‘y’all should get together’ rhetoric, encouraging Haewon to ‘seize the opportunity’, since it seems that life has presented her with a second chance. Haewon doesn’t have the heart to tell Johnny how she had actually taken her shot, the attempt collapsing lifelessly around her a couple of weeks ago and making her vow never to try again.

Instead, she brings her feet up against the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees and questions, “why do you want us to get together anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been rooting for this for the longest time, and you’re his friend.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, “please, I’m definitely being the good friend. Sure, maybe I hated Inhee and didn’t think she was deserving of Doyoung by any measure, but you know what would be even more deplorable?”

Haewon hums dismissively, twirling the red wine in her glass.

“Not bringing soulmates together.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He shrugs. “Besides, you guys have, like the worst taste in partners. The only way to ensure that you don’t continue fucking up in your love lives is to get together.”

“I do not!”

Johnny sits up in attention, crossing his legs on the ottoman. “Let’s not even talk about the guy who literally made you run away from him to Korea- What about the guy who made you do his laundry? And landline sex guy? Huh? Not to mention - mansplaining broker guy who cried when you guys had sex…”

“You heard that?!”

Johnny isn’t done. “The guy who cheated on you AND stole your money???”

“Okay fine, but in my defense… I mean, I didn’t really love any of them.”

“Of course not,” he smirks, finishing the rest of his Sangria, “they were just temporary replacements for Doyoung.”

She sighs exasperatedly. “That’s so not true-”

“A-ny-way,” Johnny’s attempt to silence her dissent by speaking even louder toes the line between irritating and downright hilarious, “against that backdrop, forgive me for being surprised that Doyoung caught your eye. You guys are so similar, I want it to happen, for my friends.” He leans back in a ‘mic drop’ moment, crossing his arms in front of him in gratuitous smug. “Plus, I can vouch that he’s an amazing lover…”

“What?!”

“I once heard him having sex with Inhee.” His face morphs into mock disgust. “I mean, I didn’t enjoy it, but… Her moans were, what’s the word for it – banshee-esque.”

“Please don’t go on.”

“Look, all I'm saying is-” he sits up as if he was addressing a serious issue, “you guys are meant to be, okay? Believe me, I know these things. You’re soulmates.”

“Who are soulmates?”

A familiar tenor voice rings from behind them, making both Johnny and Haewon whip their heads towards the open door, a heart-wrenching sight greeting them. At the threshold stands a casually-dressed Doyoung, blue hoodie and black track pants embracing his seemingly thinner frame. His usually gelled dark hair falls softly across his forehead in a rare sight, but it’s the small smile worn on his face that arrests her heart, especially the way it doesn't reach his eyes like it used to.

“Why do you look like that?” He addresses Johnny, “you gave me your spare keys, remember?”

Without a word, Johnny launches himself into Doyoung’s arms, a gesture that looks far more endearing than comedic despite the quiet ‘oof’ that emits from Doyoung’s lips.

“Hey,” he chuckles against Johnny’s shoulder, even though his eyes are on Haewon, “I’m fine, don’t worry. Who are soulmates?”

Haewon smiles softly, letting out a shaky breath as she finds herself incapable of speech.

“I mean, I don’t know who specifically, but you know who and who aren’t soulmates?” Johnny releases Doyoung, laughing uneasily. “Me and Miss Booblicious.”

Haewon’s jaw drops, reluctantly shifting her gaze to meet Johnny’s taunting gaze, Doyoung’s following hers.

“What?” Johnny giggles like he meant to surprise her, “I heard you calling her that to Mama Kang the other night. And yes, we broke up a couple of days ago.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

Doyoung frowns. “You were dating someone?”

“See?” Johnny glares comically, “this is why I didn’t want to tell either of you. You had too much on your plate. Besides, it’s fine, it wasn’t that serious…”

Not that serious my foot, Haewon thinks. You were about to get down on one knee.

Doyoung’s frown deepens as he turns towards Johnny, “okay, well tell me about it another time, I… uhm.”

“I actually came to speak to Haewon.”

She grabs a few bottles of soju Johnny recently purchased from the refrigerator, attempting futilely not to eavesdrop on their conversation in the sitting room. Unwittingly and somewhat annoyingly, her mind toys with the idea that she must mean something to Doyoung, since he’s here and seems to be reaching out to her. But she tries to shut that down, rummaging through the snack cabinet and stashing two bags of potato chips into her haversack before zipping her bag up and running out.

“Okay, I’m ready for ya-” she stops when she catches two surprised faces staring back at her.

She had changed out of her work wear into casual clothes after Doyoung had told her he wanted to talk to her privately and gestured with his car keys. Now, seeing their faces, she wonders if she should have just stayed in her baby blue button-down and pencil skirt.

Doyoung’s face breaks into a charming smile, “okay, let’s go”.

Haewon smiles back widely, following him out of the door after waving goodbye to a wide-eyed Johnny.

“This is arguably crossing the line of professionalism, but… I brought soju?” Haewon grins up at him, breaking the companionable silence they had shared all the way from the apartment to his car.

Doyoung laughs, but his smile still doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, it’s great, actually…” he pauses, revving up the engine and waiting for her to buckle her seatbelt before reversing out of the parking lot, “I think I’ll need it.”

She plays with the baseball keychain on her backpack zipper, unsure of what to say as she watches Doyoung’s fingers grip the steering wheel. She wants to ask him how he’s been, ask him how he feels, tell him how much she’s missed him the entire week, that she didn’t know how she was going to cope in America because not seeing him was somehow far more difficult than convincing herself to let go of him and move on.

She wants to tell him how many times she had passed by his office this week and wanted to walk in, hoping he’d somehow be there. The words press against the inside of her cheeks and threaten to spill from her lips, but she swallows them, knowing that there is a time and place for everything, and her time and place is entirely Doyoung’s tonight.

Instead, she presses her temple against the cool of the windowpane, smoothing the night out of her hair and waits for Doyoung to speak again.

“You know, Johnny has gone through more partners than the both of us combined,” he jokes now.

Haewon almost remarks back that Doyoung has really only been with one person since she’s known him but stops herself, knowing it’s too soon for something like that. She tries, instead, to find safe ground in this conversation.

“Well, he’s a romantic.” She says, sighing in relief internally when Doyoung laughs. “He won’t stop looking for his soulmate.”

“Remember Watanabe Aoi? I was honestly surprised when they broke up.” He quips, referring to the small bubbly Japanese model Johnny had dated for slightly more than a year, who had tearfully dumped him because of the long distance. Johnny had sworn himself off dating and relationships forever while binging himself on a tub of Ben & Jerry’s that night, but had then excitedly gone on a date with a girl from Haewon’s gym two weeks later.

Haewon smiles, remembering how Johnny had insisted, just a few days ago, that the topic of Aoi-san is still sensitive material.

“I was honestly glad. She didn’t love Johnny enough. He was willing to move to another country for her, but you and I both know she wouldn’t have done the same for him.” She sticks her bottom lip out, reminiscing how defensive Johnny had reacted when she had pointed that out thoughtlessly. “There were times he would wait for her to call the entire night, sleeping beside his phone, and then receive a nonchalant text from her the next morning about how she’d fallen asleep once she got home from work.”

Doyoung stifles a laugh at her unyielding tone. “Yeah but… I mean, relationships are hard.”

“Sure,” she nods, “but you should know your worth.”

This draws a curious glance from Doyoung, before he returns his eyes on the road quickly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean… hmm. It’s like… Remember in college, finals season, everyone’s rushing to the library to study…” Doyoung makes an appreciative hum, “Well, imagine that, and your friend’s like, ‘oh I’m headed there too, save a seat for me’ so you do, but then it’s been close to an hour - and then two - and they haven’t turned up. Your bag is on the seat, and you’re thinking… If I continue to hog the seat, someone else can’t have it, but if I give it up, what if that friend does show up?”

“… You know what I think? I think… I think everyone should have a threshold, and when the waiting time exceeds that threshold, if someone else comes along… We shouldn’t be afraid to give up that seat.”

She twirls the tiny baseball with her fingers, pausing for a moment to let the words settle between them.

“Free ourselves up for something better, you know?” She says, finally looking up at him.

Doyoung hums thoughtfully, and they fall into a necessary silence.

They’re in dangerous waters, Haewon realizes. And as she watches Doyoung’s fingers dance across the dashboard to lower the AC, she briefly flirts with the idea that the stakes of action and inaction are, unlike what she had thought, barely equal. While Johnny had contended that telling Doyoung the truth would have put an end to their deceptive relationship, she remains convinced that if she had told Doyoung about Inhee’s affair earlier, chances are he wouldn’t have believed her, opting instead to trust someone he loved and had known for a longer time. Similarly, if she had not confessed that day, perhaps she wouldn’t be finding herself in the passenger seat of her ex-superior’s car, the atmosphere beholding a tension no one can cut through. But if she had not confessed that day, she also wouldn’t ever have had the courage to do so, and wouldn’t have known that in some manner, deep down, she meant something to him, no matter how little.

At the same time, however, Haewon gleans that she isn’t that much closer to an answer as she thought she would be. Instead, in the aftermath of her confession and the end of his relationship, she finds herself, pertaining to the situation of it all, simultaneously within and without.

It’s almost a cliché when Haewon finds herself on the grass facing the Han river, inhaling the salty river air deeply before unpacking the food and drinks from her backpack.

Doyoung lets out a tinkling laugh, watching her balance the soju bottles on her haversack lying on the grass.

“You’re so prepared, I even thought you brought a picnic mat.”

She sticks her tongue out, patting the clean but lightly damp grass next to her invitingly. So he smiles and crouches down to take a seat as she uncaps a bottle of peach soju for herself. Then, as if suddenly remembering, she fishes a pack of cigarettes from the bottom of the backpack and hands it over to him wordlessly.

“I haven’t had a cigarette in years,” Doyoung chuckles, but takes it anyway.

“I know,” she grins, “I stole this from Johnny. I thought it might help, you know, whatever you need to say. Let it out, boss.”

Before them, the streetlights on the Hangang Bridge shine relentlessly. The Han River is quiet for a Friday night, save for the muted honking in the distance and a chorus of cicadas rubbing their thighs together in the background. Haewon waits for Doyoung to start, feeling the tail of spring rubbing soft against her bare legs and watching as the heavy light from the bridge drape itself across the surface of the Han river like some form of condolence.

Doyoung lights a cigarette, the smoke curling out of him like a ghost.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me, wasn’t it?”

Haewon’s eyes widen.

“The whole day…” He says, turning to her with a gentle smile, “you were trying to get ahold of me to tell me that she was seeing someone else, weren’t you?”

She purses her lips and nod, taking a gulp of the soju in her hands. This is not the conversation she had expected.

“When you told me how you felt…” he exhales, “the next few days I kept thinking, ‘that’s not what she was gonna say’. I knew you wanted to tell me something the whole day, but that wasn’t it. You didn’t mean to say it, you weren’t prepared…”

“Thank you for overanalyzing my inability to form coherent sentences.”

Doyoung laughs breathily, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“The day after the… shower incident, Inhee kept asking me ‘did Haewon tell you?’, as if it mattered. Besides, it wasn’t difficult to guess that you knew as well, your reactions towards her when I mentioned her name in the last few weeks have been very telling.”

Haewon relaxes, then her eyes widen again when his words sink in.

“Yes, Haewon, I knew about the affair.”

Haewon’s jaw goes slack, but she’s unable to speak, watching as he smiles wistfully.

“About four months ago?” He says, as if knowing what she's about to ask. “There was this morning, just before we left the house, her phone was on the table, and I accidentally saw a text from him.”

He attempts to uncap a bottle of grapefruit soju with the cigarette still in his hands, until he gives up and hands it over to Haewon.

“There comes a point when you can’t deny that something is happening, even if you try to lie to yourself.”

Haewon bites her lip, handing the uncapped bottle back to him. So strange that that had been exactly what Haewon had thought just a few weeks ago. So strange how different the circumstances have since become.

“You know, Inhee said I didn’t love her, so I didn’t deserve to get upset about this.”

Haewon’s heart thumps against her chest. “She… She said that?”

“No, it’s true.” He smiles, downing a fair amount of soju, “I haven’t been in love with her for a while.”

Her eyes soften, watching his dark hair blow gently in the air and the light on the water reflecting on his cheeks, illuminating his face.

“Well, I can’t say, if I ever really loved her. For the better part of the relationship, she was always the one taking charge. Do you know she asked me out in high school? Everyone was incredulous – and I have to admit, I was as well. I wasn’t some captain of some sports team, I was a random short distance runner who preferred spending most of my time with the school magazine team than the track team.

“But when I hesitated, everyone said, ‘what are you doing? She just asked you out!’… to the extent that I felt I needed to choose her because she chose me. Hmm. It’s strange, isn’t it?” He muses, “that even at that age, some sort of… ranking system, based on the ‘leagues’ we were accorded - given our physical attractiveness and personal interests  - would emerge. And then future decisions - no matter how personal - could only be helmed by those ranked higher in the social hierarchy.”

He balances the soju bottle between his knees, taking a puff of his cigarette.

“I’m not going to chalk it all up to peer pressure – I can’t say I wasn’t drawn to her because of exactly those reasons. And as our relationship progressed, I saw that we were not always compatible. But I thought I was just picky, that I had doomed the relationship from the start with my skepticism and so could only see the parts of us that didn’t match. And when difficult things happened in the family – she was always there. When I needed someone – she was always there.

“I got too comfortable in the relationship. She was so good to me, and my whole family loved her, everyone loved her. She didn’t always support every decision I made, but she wouldn’t say a second thing once I made up my mind. We were so different, and she didn’t always see things the way I did, but I thought I didn’t need her to, you know? That these were things I could share with other people instead. ‘Your partner doesn’t have to be your best friend’, people told me that. So when my mother asked me when we were getting married, I… Well, I thought it was the right thing to do. So I proposed. And everyone was so happy. I mean, I guess I felt happy, that everyone was happy. I thought maybe the happiness was just belated for me.

“God, I made so many excuses to feel better, about not feeling better.” He frowns, but a laugh escapes his lips, and the laugh subsides into a hollow sort of quiet. “’You’ll be happy when you see her in her dress.’ I told myself. ‘When you see her walking down the aisle. When you’re actually married. When your first child is born.’ I was scared to admit that I wasn’t happy – and then, when I couldn’t deny it any longer, scared to do the thing I knew I had to, to be happy again.  

“I’m always saying things like, ‘fuck other people’s expectations, who cares what people think’, but I can’t deny that I caved. It was comfortable, it was easy – so even when I found out that she could be cheating on me, I didn’t want to ruin the future I had fallen so easily in step with. I didn’t know why I was still running, but I was so afraid to stop.”

He downs almost half the bottle of soju, before exhaling slowly.

“Do you think I’m a coward?” He turns towards her.

She thinks about his question for a moment, and shakes her head. “No, I think what you just said is what makes us human. And the courage to acknowledge that you’re human, is what makes you a braver one.”

And finally, Doyoung’s face breaks into a smile.

“You always know how to make me feel better.”

Haewon looks at him for a long time, his eyes sparkling but not watery, his tender sorrow hidden behind a gentle smile. This is the Doyoung she’s fallen in love with, strong and courageous, bent but not broken. The Doyoung who would know how to fix himself even if he is broken. The same Doyoung who, whether she recognizes it or not, looks at her as if she holds the ways of the universe.

“I want to thank you.” He adds.

She lets out a soft smile, brushing strands of hair away from her face.

“Thank you, for holding back, for hesitating. I know you were worried about hurting me, but I’m really okay. And actually, on some level, I’m glad you didn’t tell me. If you’d told me, I might have ignored all of it, again.

“Standing in front of the bathroom knowing I was minutes away from confronting her… That was the wake-up call I needed. I knew I could run away again, leave the apartment, pretend all of it wasn’t happening like I’d done before so many times when a hint of the affair presented itself. But this time… I couldn’t. I had to see the truth, had to see it face-to-face to wake up and realize that this wasn’t right for both of us. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t fair to me as well.

“So thank you, for not saying a thing.”

She can feel the warmth in her eyes, thinking about what he had to go through and feeling, once again, that Johnny had been right. Despite what Doyoung had said, she feels guilty knowing that he could have potentially avoided such a cruel confrontation. But even with the feeling of something lodged in her throat, Haewon knows it’s not her moment to show these secondhand emotions, especially when the haphazard debris of his relationship is still warm, still smoking. So she swallows these thoughts and any arising tears back with another big gulp of soju altogether.

“You deserve the best, Doyoung.” She says after a moment.

He turns to look at her gently, studying her features, “what’s wrong?”

She sighs, calming herself down.

“I just… I didn’t know if I was in the correct position-”

“Well you didn’t have to say anything, but you are. You’ve…” He purses his lips, “you’ve always been. In the right position, in the right place. You’re…”

He opens his mouth, and then shuts it, exhaling. Then his lips part again.

“You’re very important to me.”

Haewon looks at him, feeling the breath knocked out of her lungs.

And there it is, another confusing statement of Doyoung’s bordering this time, on frustrating. While she cannot bring herself to call him out on it, she finds herself no longer able to accept these somewhat lackadaisical words from him anymore, not when he is so entirely aware of the feelings she still has for him. So she drops him a teary chuckle, finishes the rest of her soju and mutters a “well, I feel the same way” instead of what she wants to say, these kinder words delivered like an afterthought to find themselves, somewhere, in the spaces between them.

She can feel Johnny’s curious peering as she finishes the rest of her breakfast, her mind still running amok with Doyoung’s words last night. She wonders why he always does this, drops these tiny bombs that mess with her for the next couple of days before she finally wills them away and classifies them as unintentional. She hears Johnny call her name faintly, but can only bring herself to tear her thoughts away from Doyoung at his third call.

“I saw you get in late last night,” Johnny says, “is everything ok?”

“Yeah, he just wanted to talk.” She stands and takes both empty bowls, as well as the empty stew pot, into the kitchen, running the tap to soak the dishes in the sink.

“He knows,” she says, hearing Johnny step into the kitchen behind her as she turns the tap off, “that, I knew.”

“Oh yeah, he told me.”

She nods, turning to face him, her hands still clasped on the countertop.

“So are you… like, getting together?”

Haewon shakes her head. “No, no of course not. I don’t think… I don’t think it’ll ever happen. About what you said yesterday… I think you’re wrong this time.” His expression morphs into bewilderment. “I put everything on the line, John, but he doesn’t want me.”

Johnny studies her carefully. “You confessed to him?”

She bites her lip and nods.

“The day you told me to tell him… I couldn’t… I ended up…” she sighs in exasperation.

“You didn’t tell me about this.”

“Sorry, I was… I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Never.” He says, his eyes soft and unreadable. “Come here,” he gestures with his open arms, wrapping them securely around her when she settles into his embrace. Being around Johnny has always been comforting, Haewon thinks to herself, smiling when she feels a kiss on her temple. She hugs him tightly, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent instead of his usual cologne.

“I love you, you know that, right?” He says, releasing her from his embrace but his arms still wound around her waist.

She smiles, nodding.

“I know.”

Johnny’s gaze is soft and slightly dejected, and a part of Haewon wants to ask him what’s wrong, not understanding why there is a quiet, slightly fearful resolution in his eyes -

- until he pulls her even more closely towards him and slants his lips over hers.

xx

w/n: in case anyone was wondering, Watanabe Aoi was my Aikido sensei when I was young lmao. She was hot. I honestly just wanted a random name and was tired of searching for Korean names.

also, just to let you know ‘cause some people have been asking, tumblr works based on the number of reblogs! if you’re wondering why you can’t find chance encounters in the tags, it’s likely because people prefer ‘liking’ the post to ‘reblogging’ the post. this discrepancy can make a huge difference to my work, so if you really did enjoy the chapter, i encourage you to reblog it! :-) thank you for reading this! 

COME SCREAM AT ME HERE!!!  ask

[capricornus-rex]

A Path I Can’t Follow (3)

Chapter 3: If Stone Could Speak | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It was a matter of life and death—the question is, should it be the life of many or one, the death of many or one? Cal Kestis makes what ought to be the biggest and hardest decision of his life as he is pitted with a question of high stakes and morals. He descends to the Dark Side and becomes an Inquisitor. A choice he openly made for the sake of saving you, even if you didn't know you needed it until it was too late.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapter 1 | Previous: Chapter 2 | Next: Chapter 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

You and Cal were warming up to the Varan the same way the creature is doing to you. Ever the curious one, BD-1 lit up its scanners and skimmed the whole creature’s body. It flicked its tongue in reaction when it saw blue light shining in its eye.

BD-1 trilled excitedly as soon as he finished the scan, as if insisting Cal to read the data entry right away.

“Alright, buddy, I’ll check it out later!”

“Alright, Cal, see if you can tame this beast,”

Razh called on another Varan, its color was slightly lighter than yours—almost a rather dark gray like stone than obsidian black. This one, however, was less docile than the one you got to befriend. It was wary, cautious, and evidently anxious in the presence of a stranger. It was trying to shoo Cal away from itself, when it saw that Cal was persistent in approaching it—albeit slowly and steadily—it began to back away, tugging at the reins in Razh’s hand but Razh gently went against it, calming it down and reeling it in  closer to Cal.

“She’s rather the shy one!” Razh chuckled, unfazed by the wild bucking of the animal.

BD-1 trilled a panicking tone.

“Yeah, I don’t call that shy, too!” Cal concurred.

It took Razh a few good tugs of the reins before the Varan stopped its bucking, though it hasn’t fully calmed down yet, still cautious of Cal’s presence and scent.

“It’s okay…” Cal cooed, repeated it a number of times until the giant reptile was acquainted with his voice.

He approaches the animal slowly, lifting one foot in front of the other as steadily as he can; he times the moments where he can extend his hand—to close the distance between the Varan’s muzzle and him—and the Varan decided to calm down and see how this goes, croaking and bleating in reaction to Cal.

“There, there,” he said in a calming, hushed tone—he’s already at a finger’s length from the animal.

Finally, his hand plants onto the Varan’s muzzle. The reptilian purred so loudly that the flap under its jaw vibrated, in a certain point of view, it would sound like this Varan was saying “Hello” to Cal—there was a sage-like feeling to its sound. Suddenly, its wariness melted away. It voluntarily stepped forward to Cal, asking for more pats and he was very happy to oblige. The great lizard bowed its head lower, showing its forehead, as if telling Cal to pat it there.

“Nice to meet you too!” Cal chuckled as he cradled its tapering, pointed muzzle in his hands.

Razh decided to teach you and Cal how to mount and ride a Varan. With the first lesson done—which is getting acquainted with the animal—the next one was mounting it. Both Varans were already outfitted with complete riding equipment: saddle, bridle, and reins. You followed Razh’s instructions exactly the way he tells you: hook one foot into the stirrup while clinging onto the knob at the end of the saddle, then finally propelled yourself up until you’re fully mounted.

The Varans were startled when you and Cal mounted them, but you quickly calmed them down with pats on their broad necks.

“I think you won’t have any trouble in steering them,” Razh said assuredly. He mounted his own Varan and led you out of the enclosure.

Like a child, your heart skipped a beat as the Varan started to gait. The three of you rode out of the town’s walls.

“Rule of thumb: never hold onto the reins when mounting, they’ll bolt away the moment you do—and one can never catch up to a Varan.” Razh guided.

“We’ll remember that. Thanks.” Said Cal.

“Alright then, give a little kick on the side of its belly and we should be on our way. Hyah!”

Razh’s Varan reared as it croaked and then sprinted away, the two of you followed suit and felt the first-time thrill of riding such a creature. The reptilian steeds galloped so fast that the warm, humid wind blew right through your hair. You kept your grip tight on the reins as it ran, following Razh’s lead.

As always, you and Cal were neck-and-neck with another. Though it wasn’t a race to begin with, the two of you exchanged childish grins—calling for a little game, but neither of you initiated it. Cal saw you burst in cheer, your laughter as fleeting as the wind, an excitement that is innocent and pure, he smiled to himself.

What I would give just to always see that smile. He thought to himself.

The Varans easily traversed the harsh terrain of volcanic rock, they expertly dodged the geysers that spewed out scalding vapor. Climbing uphill levels was a breeze for these creatures—more so while having riders.

Razh stopped at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a mountain range. You and Cal reined in your mounts as you looked to the same direction.

“This is as far as I can go. Can you take it from here?”

“You’re not coming with us?” Cal said, quite startled.

“I can only lead you to where you need to be. This is your mission, not mine. Your temple should be within that mountain range, take the Varans along the path there.” Razh points to the corner right where a path can be seen by the ridge.

“Thank you. For everything.” You and Cal remarked gratuitously.

He turns his mount around, before leaving, he bides, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Razh left the scene, his Varan kicked the dust as it walked large strides until it gained momentum for a gallop. You turn your face from your gracious host disappearing in the horizon to the jagged row of rocks that is the mountain range. Cal’s Varan trotted close to you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a spooky sight is all,” you brushed off.

“Come on, I’ll ride close to you,”

The two of you propped the Varans forward, steering them to the path downhill that trails along the ridge of the cliff. The great lizards were indeed agile runners, they can tread even on the narrowest of roads. When you took a turn down the path, the entrance of the temple was already in sight, although there was still some distance to be covered; and yet, that same feeling you had upon arriving to Magyon came back to you—this time, it returned to you violently like a tidal wave.

The Varans reduced their pace to a relaxed trot, your heads stuck to the view of the temple as you walked along the road.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you muttered.

“Yeah, me too,” Cal added. “This is definitely it.”

“There’s something else,”

“What is?”

“I feel like we’re being watched,”

“Nonsense. It’s probably just the other critters,”

“Possibly,” you said, still uncertain and unassured by Cal’s remarked.

Meanwhile, peering through binoculars, a Purge Trooper stationed in a vantage point on the clifftop has noticed you. He pressed a button on his gauntlet.

“They’re close,” the Purge Trooper uttered in a husked voice due to their helmet.

“Good, we’ll be expecting them,” a male faceless voice, sinister and stern, answered through the Purge Trooper’s commlink gauntlet.

The closer you got to the temple, the more noticeably uneasy the Varans were—for the rest of the ride, this was the only instance they became noisier, constantly snorting and bleating in every step.

“Even they can sense it,” you point out.

“I don’t understand. It’s a Jedi Temple but… there’s a faint trace of the Dark Side,”

“You don’t think…?”

“No,” Cal refused to even think that Empire has reached this point in the planet. “If they did, then Razh and the villagers should’ve told us right away, the moment we came into their town.”

The 10-foot creatures skidded their claws against the soil, reared and stood on their hind legs as they made their distinctive chitter. You were already a few feet away from the main entrance of the temple. You tried to direct them forward but they fight it.

“They’re anxious, plus they’re too big to squeeze in,” said Cal, petting his Varan’s head, the animal looked left and right—as if it cautiously searching if there was a predator.

The two of you dismounted the Varans, tethered them to a stout but dead branch sticking out of the cracks in the rockface.

The path to the entrance was a broken one, too; having the need to jump across gaps of stairs that have been broken off and eroded—it’s basically like your training session back in Bogano earlier—and climb moderately high heights. Now that you and Cal were ever closer to the temple, a burdening weight rode on your shoulders, a feeling that neither of you can’t shake but only accept as its presence dominated.

“Okay, I really have a bad feeling about this. I can… I can sense it,” you shuddered.

Cal clutched your hand, gave a quick and tight squeeze.

“Hey, we’ll go through this together, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

The great doors of the entrance remained ajar, though the space was enough for the two of you to shimmy through. As you emerged from the crack, you disturbed the dust that was resting on the limestone walls and floor, the musty aroma of the temple wafted in the air, it made you sneeze.

“Bless you, sweetie,” Cal chuckled, beguiled by your adorable sneeze.

“Thanks,”

With the temple in full view, it was just as vast as the Zeffo tombs you’ve visited. In fact, this temple alone is the size of two tombs put together! There was an eerie splendor in it, the extravagance was breathtaking, a mysterious beauty shrouded in ruins. It was astonishing, but also frightening.

You couldn’t keep your head down as you surveyed the high ceilings and walls of the temple. The once intricate carvings and frescoes on the walls have lost their luster, even the ceilings had been decorated with paintings and writings, though their clarity has been dulled by the erosion of time; to the untrained eye, they are nothing but ancient writing, as dead as the structure itself—but you could recognize some old Jedi runes carved into the rock.

Treading carefully and cautiously, you finally bow your head down and kept your eyes off the images on the walls. You went forward, realizing that you’re standing on what ought to be the second level of the temple, given that you had to take the stairs—or lack thereof—at the entrance. The center of the temple was a circle, four directions branched out of it—west, east, north, and south where you came from.

Stepping closer to the banister, you examined the proximity of the second floor, a broken-off portion of the railing led to what seems to be a stepping-stone bridge made out of the fallen pillars of the temple; both the eastern and western paths have crumbled as well, one misstep and it would cost you a cracked skull if you landed on the floor, you’d have to be lucky to have landed in the water—though you’re not sure how deep it could be.

“It’s just like Bogano,” you remarked.

“Except it’s spookier,” Cal added.

“Yep, sure is,”

“Okay, you go first. I’ll be right behind you,”

The bridge up ahead seemed to be intact—at least, most of it. The path was basically a set of stepping stones, from the looks of it—they appear brittle and would crumble at the slightest step. You nimbly hopped and skipped through, and then prepared yourself to cross the next one. Cal followed right behind you, gaining enough momentum for him to speed through, but at the second step, the rock under his feet started to crumble and swerve, causing him to lose his balance.

The second step eventually crumbled upon Cal’s weight and he went down with it as it collapses to the first floor. The impact disturbed and splashed the algae-ridden water that pooled the first level.

“CAL!!!” Your call echoed across the temple.

The water was murky but you were able to spot something red. Cal resurfaced and gasped for air as he splashed about the water. From your perch, you sigh in relief.

“Cal, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine! I’ll have to circle back. Go on ahead and I’ll meet you there,”

Cal got himself back up his feet and waded through the knee-deep water until he got to dry land.

“You okay, BD?”

The little droid chirped in response.

“Okay, that’s good…”

Cal surveyed the area. He has landed into the foyer. The base of what ought to be a statue has been reduced to a stone’s throw. There were two doorways on either side of the stage-like spot in the front, and there were passages that led to who-knows-what-and-where. BD-1 hopped off Cal’s back and skittered across the room, scanning everything he can find of value in terms of data—more stone carvings depicting events, deteriorating tapestries whose colors have faded into the water, and the little critters that have made this place their home.

“Come on, BD, we gotta back to [y/n],”

BD chirps happily, strongly agreeing with Cal.

“Now, all we need is to know which leads where,”

The droid trilled in a low, long chirp as if conveying uneasiness while in agreement with Cal.

[cordonia-continued]

Captivated

Chapter 16

AU- TRR Liam x MC (Riley Taylor)

A/N - Set after the Tariq scandal is cleared. Liam ends his engagement to Madeleine and proposes to MC as per the original story, but Riley turns him down. This AU follows their life from then on.

Chapter Summary -  Madeleine brings some unwelcome paparazzi photos to Liam’s study. 

Word count - 1,805

@kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @amandablink @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30​ @mom2000aggie​

catch up here

Madeleine's mouth is dry as she approaches the Kings study. She’s not worried about the damage the content of the photos that are clutched in her hand could do to Riley’s reputation, she couldn’t care less about Riley Taylor and her stupid little celebrity life she’s created for herself. No, Madeleine’s worry is that Liam will somehow blame her for showing them to him, shoot the messenger so to speak, especially after her last visit to his office with the article on the front page of the tabloid, he had well and truly put her in her place. Her hope is that he'll see that plebeian waitress for what she really is, and she'll keep showing him until he leaves the common little tart and the crown can be hers again. And so she made her plan, quickly. As soon as she met Jacob Henley Madeleine saw it all at once in her mind’s eye, the way she saw all of her plans. She saw what she needed to do, the only thing to do.

She takes a deep steadying breath as she raises her hand, it hesitates for just for a fraction of a second before she knocks confidently on the imposing wooden door.

“Come in.” He orders. She puts her manicured hand on the door knob, slowly turning it. She walks in and closes the door behind her. Liam's head is bent over his desk looking down at a document in front of him, she can tell from the flourish of the fountain pen in his hand that he’s signing something. He raises his eyes briefly to her before looking back down and continuing to write. He speaks without looking up. “Madeleine what can I do for you?” His voice is professional and cold.

“Your Majesty.” She curtsies even though he’s not looking at her. “Liam, I have something I need you to see.”

He raises his head to look at her and nods once. She approaches his desk and holds out the photos towards him. He takes them from her and briefly flicks through, glancing at each one in turn.

“Where did you get these?” He asks, his tone not changing at all.

“A contact at The Citizen sent them to me. I’ve managed to halt their release, for now. I don’t know yet if there are other copies but I think I’ve managed to control the situation for the time being. I’m hoping this will be the end of it, I had to pay the photographer off to ensure that he didn’t try and sell them on to the highest bidder. And he’s been issued with an NDA.”

A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of Liam’s right eye, his mouth forms a rigid grimace. He stands from his desk, folding his arms tightly across his broad chest as he turns his back towards Madeleine, not wanting her to see his anger. He taps his foot furiously and stares out of the large lead lined window behind his desk.

“Why did you bring them to me?” He asks her not turning around.

“I thought you would want to know.” She shrugs nonchalantly.

“Have you shown them to anyone else? Do you have any more copies?”

“No and no.” She walks over to him and places her hand gently on his arm. She softens her voice in what she hopes comes across as a soothing, warm and friendly tone. “Liam, I did warn you.” His muscles stiffen under her touch.

“Thank you Madeleine, that’ll be all.”

“Liam, I’m sorry. But you know it’s for the best. It's better that you know about this before heaven forbid you ever marry her.”

“Madeleine, I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation. We both know that photos aren’t always what they appear to be." He raises his chin defiantly.

“It seems Lady Riley is often getting caught in compromising situations that aren’t what they seem to be.” She raises an eyebrow back at him.

“Get out now!” He shouts at her. Her red lips curl up into and unbecoming smirk.

“Don’t be like that Liam. I’m here for you if you want to talk about it?”

She moves over to the drinks cabinet and picks up a crystal decanter of scotch. She pours out two fingers into a tumbler and hands it to him. Liam eyes her warily and takes the glass from her outstretched hand. He remains standing staring out of the window and sips the smooth oaky liquor, welcoming its warm heat coursing down his throat.

“I don’t want to talk about anything with you Madeleine.” He replies sternly. She expected this. She doesn’t let his coldness put her off.

“Even if I promise not to gloat.” She pouts her red plump lips tantalisingly at him. He can’t help but smile at her persistence and lets out a sigh. He turns and picks up the photographs from his desk once again, this time he looks through each one slowly, trying to read into what it is that he’s seeing.

“When were they taken?” He asks in a quiet voice. Madeleine again places her hand on his arm, this time at his elbow, and guides him down onto his leather couch, sitting close next to him.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t want them to think we were that interested, considering you and her aren’t official. It would only add fuel to the fire.” She shrugs. “Liam, I hate to say I told you so but...”

He cuts her off before she can finish.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to gloat.” He raises his eyebrows at her and his lips rise into a small smile. She laughs and puts a hand on his knee. He looks at her questioningly.

“Look, I know you had feelings for her. But this proves that she’s not part of our world. She’s not good enough for you or for Cordonia.” She rubs her manicured hand up his thigh and smiles at him seductively, she takes a deep breath in, knowing that the act pushes her ample breast that are spilling over the cups of her bra out even further. “We can start again – you and me. We can make it work this time.” She purrs lightly tickling her fingers further up towards his groin. He waits a beat, enjoying the feel of her warm hands inching closer to his crotch before he pushes her hand away and downs his drink in one.

“Madeleine I’ve told you before. It’s not happening. I love Riley. She loves me. This is nothing. It doesn’t prove anything.” He waves the photos at the countess. “Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” She rises from the couch and stands in front if him. Aware that her full breast are mere inches away from his face she leans down and kisses him slowly and gently on the cheek, being sure to brush up against him with her chest as she does so. She’s sure she sees his face pinken and him shift in his seat as she rises back up.

“Of course Your Majesty.” She turns on her heel and sashays out of his office smiling triumphantly.

Liam sits on his couch contemplating what’s just happened as he runs his finger around the rim of his empty glass. He picks up his mobile phone and presses on Riley's name.

"Hi Liam." she answers happily.

"Hello my love. What are you up to?" He questions.

"Just in the city shopping for a dress for the Summer Ball with Maxwell, I'm meeting Jacob at his office after to go through a few contracts that have come in from some of the TV stations in the US, and to choose what charities to support at upcoming events." He bristles and feels his jaw tighten at the mention of Jacobs name.

"Is Maxwell going with you?" He asks casually.

"No, Bertrand wants him back by two to go through the budget with him, I think he's concerned Max has been spending too much on jet skis or something." She laughs and feels a hint of concern when he doesn’t laugh back. "Why, is something up?"

"What are your plans for tonight? I was hoping we could meet up?" He asks.

"I thought you had a dinner meeting with the French ambassador?" Riley creases her brow in confusion. Her attention is then caught by Maxwell picking up a pair of pants and holding them up to himself in the mirror. Liam hears her on the other end of the line hiss “Maxwell no! No one can get away with leather pants at a ball, not even you and your pert little ass.” And he can’t help but chuckle to himself.

"Yeah I have but I could meet you after, I can be finished by 9."

"Liam, we both know that dinner with the French Ambassador can go on until the small hours, the man can drink Drake under the table, and that’s no easy feat! And anyway Jacob mentioned grabbing a bite to eat after our meeting, there's a trendy new wine bar he wants to show me in the city. By the time I've got back it won't be worth it. I'll see you tomorrow night, we've got the National Film Awards remember? I'll come to the palace early so we can go together. Drake has refused to come and Maxwell is taking Penelope as his plus one as she's in town."

He lets out a sigh. He was already dreading the dinner meeting with the tedious ambassador who has a penchant for overindulging in excessive amounts of red wine, only matched by his penchant for indulging in impossibly young mistresses. He would no doubt spend the night bragging to Liam about them with gratuitous vulgarity. Now with his mind whirling about Riley and what’s she up to with the annoying and conceited Jacob all night, it’s going to be torturous.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever." He can’t help but keep the whine from his voice.

"I hate to say it Liam but that's what happens when you're The King, you can't just sack off work to go out on a date." She laughs again, and again he doesn’t.

"Yeah I guess so. I'll see you tomorrow then...Riley, I love you."

"Yeah you too.” Liam can hear in her voice that she’s once again distracted. “Max says hi, in fact he actually says can you convince Bertrand that peacocks are a necessary Duchy expense? I can't see you agreeing with that one but I said I'd pass on the message. I gotta go before Maxwell buys another sequinned jacket, I'll see you tomorrow night."

She hangs up the phone leaving Liam with a racing mind and heart. He opens his desk draw and slips the photographs face down inside, closing it firmly.

[gotemsayingw0w]

It started as an innocuous statement. She might as well have been telling him about the weather or the grocery list. As Tohru Honda sat at the chabudai table early one Fall Sunday morning, bent over her computer screen furiously reading its contents, she turned to her boyfriend, Kyo, and said "I think we should probably get married soon."

Kyo Sohma chuckled into his cup of coffee. "Okay," He responded. "Let me know when you have some free time and I'll try to pencil you in." He assumed she was joking given the glib manner in which she had made the comment.

Tohru nodded, still entirely focused on the computer screen. "Yeah…maybe later this week..." Her voice trailed off. "I don't think either of us have to work on Thursday."

Kyo turned his whole body towards her, but she didn't look up from the screen. Her lips were pursed, a delicate finger pressed to her chin. In the reflection of her reading glasses he saw her scrolling through an endless page of dense text. He watched her for a minute, both waiting to see if she would continue her comments and to appreciate just how adorable she looked right in that moment. Occasionally, she stopped scrolling and mouthed the words on the screen, following along to the important information she gleaned from whatever text she was reading.

"You want to get married," Kyo summarized. "On Thursday. When we have the day off."

She nodded vaguely and mumbled "Did you have something else you wanted to do on Thursday?" Finally, she stopped scrolling entirely and pressed her finger to the screen. "Aha! Found it."

His curiosity got the best of him and he sidled around to her side of the table, gently nudging her over with his knee. On the screen was information about requirements for applying for a loan. Scanning the page further, the information specifically covered how one could apply for a housing loan in their ward of the country. Tohru grabbed a notebook from the floor next to her and jotted down the information on the screen.

"You want to get married on Thursday and then what?" Kyo asked. "Buy a house on Friday?"

"No, I think it takes much longer for the paperwork to process," Tohru responded, finishing her notes and closing the laptop. "The house would probably have to wait until the summer at least." She pulled off her reading glasses and neatly folded them on top of her notebook. "What do you think?"

Kyo just raised his eyebrows and smirked. He had no idea how to respond, seeing as his girlfriend had just quickly whipped together their future plans within the span of a few short minutes. It wasn't the first time, of course, that they'd talked about marriage or buying a home. It was just the first time anything had been said in such a conclusive manner.

They were true adults now in the eyes of the law. Their ward of the country asserted that both eligible parties must be at least 20 before applying to be married lest they have the approval of their parents. And seeing as Tohru's parents were dead and Kyo's only biological parent would rather see him dead, they didn't have the luxury of asking permission.

The assumption was that marriage was on the horizon, but neither of them were really in any hurry. Their lifestyle was essentially that of a married couple, especially now that they were living together far from home. They both worked full time, both were contributing members of society. Marriage would come one day soon, certainly, but no one was rushing it.

In fact, both Kyo and Tohru asserted on their last visit home that they'd like to be settled in a home of their own before getting married or even thinking about children. It may have been unconventional, but they were determined to save enough money to buy a permanent residence in their new, coastal town.

Three years ago they moved away, nearly five hours from where they both grew up. Kyo was working as a martial arts instructor at a local dojo, owned by a dear friend of Kazuma's, and Tohru initially worked at an elementary school before taking over as the dojo's scheduling and billing consultant. While initially they lived with Kazuma's friend, Takahashi, they scrounged up enough money after three months to move into a glorified shoebox.

Their apartment was small, but it was their home. The single bedroom meant that they couldn't have guests as often as Tohru would have liked (much to Kyo's delight). The kitchen had just enough counter space to hold a rice cooker or chop vegetables, but certainly not both. The main area served as a living room, dining room, guest room, and craft room. It was cheap and it was functional, but more than anything it was theirs. From the shrine in the bedroom to the immaculate kitchen to the photographs of them and their friends on the wall, they had made this shoebox their home and, in the process, saved as much as they could of their wages.

In truth, they could have afforded a bigger apartment. They maybe even could have afforded to buy a small house when they first moved here, given the Sohma family's strange and gratuitous allowance awarded to the Zodiacs (even the cat didn't have to be forgotten financially). But that money was in an account neither Kyo or Tohru wished to touch. They never talked about what they'd use it for, though Kyo had it in his head that he wanted to save it for his future children, but they both wanted to save their own money and put it towards their future. It meant working a lot and living a frugal lifestyle, but it was all theirs.

Tohru was the one in their relationship who budgeted and handled bills. Kyo knew the very basics of finances, but Tohru, who was running the finances in the Honda household by the time she was in middle school, seemed to enjoy it. And she was good at it. Once Yuki taught her how to use a computer to pay all of her bills and track their expenses, she became an amateur accountant. She was meticulous and methodical, carefully keeping tabs on every receipt, every bank account balance, and every bill that was due.

As their savings grew, Tohru and Kyo began informally looking for a home to buy. It wasn't a very serious search, they simply went for walks around the neighborhood pointing out houses for sale and debating what they wanted in a home. Yuki had also sent Tohru a real estate website where she could look at local listings and compare the average prices with her budget. It was April now, and, since January, Tohru had been actively researching homes and the home-buying process.

But now her gears had shifted. They had decided to buy the house first and then worry about marriage, children, and the rest of their lives. Curious as to what changed, Kyo asked her about her shift in mindset.

"When I was at the bank on Friday, the teller was asking about you," Tohru explained. They'd grown quite fond of the local store personnel in their new town and Tohru was always making friends wherever she went. "He said that it is a great time to buy a home, but we'd have an even better chance of getting a good loan if we're married."

"Sounds kind of ridiculous," Kyo commented.

Tohru nodded. "That's what I thought, but when I started looking at loan applications online and doing my research, he's right. Joint household accounts are more likely to get a better rate.

"So then I started looking into getting married and it's really not a lengthy process. It would take us maybe two hours maximum to do it and then, after a few weeks, we could look for a house and apply for a loan." Kyo nodded, taking this all in. "Plus, with our lease ending this summer, it's a good time."

Kyo pondered this new information and tried not to laugh. It was so like her to view something as serious as marriage in such a practical light. She was never extravagant, nor did she like to be the center of attention. In her mind, they were essentially already married, the only thing that was missing was some paperwork and his last name.

Kyo didn't romanticize the idea of a wedding either, really. It seemed like an expensive excuse to wear clothes he hated and be around his family. The only thing about marriage that really mattered to him was Tohru. It was the idea that Tohru Honda could become Tohru Sohma, declaring to the government and everyone else that she was truly his. And for her to wear a ring on her finger so that there would be no doubt.

But he also knew that while it may have been their marriage, it wasn't entirely about them. He would never hear the end of it if they got married at the municipal office without telling Uotani or Hanajima. He knew that, while Shishou would never say anything, it would mean the world for him to be there. And, one day, Tohru may look back and wish that they'd done something special, even if it wasn't traditional.

"Do you really just want to fill out the paperwork and that's it?" Kyo asked. "No ceremony, no ring, nothing?"

She pondered this, once again adorably pressing her finger to her lips. "Well, I think I'd probably like a simple ring," she said. "But I'm not sure about the rest. Having a traditional ceremony is so expensive and I'd really hate to inconvenience everyone with such a long, drawn out process."

Kyo chose not to address the fact that, if they did have a traditional wedding, the entire Sohma family would be over the moon rather than 'inconvenienced.' "But what about Uotani and Hanajima? What about the rat and Shishou?" Kyo asked. "You don't want them there?"

Tohru frowned and it was clear to him that this thought hadn't crossed her mind. "I guess Uo-chan and Hana-chan would be pretty upset if I got married and didn't tell them…"

"Yeah, they'd probably try to kill me," Kyo chuckled, imagining Uotani's blind yankee rage. "Plus, think about how upset Ayame and Mine will be if they can't make you a dress or furisode." Her brow furrowed as his words sank in. "Aaaaand think about our future children one day. They'll be so disappointed when they hear that all their parents did to get married was ask a government official nicely."

Tohru nodded and said, "You're right, you're right. I didn't think about all of those things."

"So…" he said, waiting for her to decide on an alternative plan.

She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and thought for a minute, before turning to him, a gleam in her eye, as she said "I have an idea."

"This is the most pitiful wedding I've ever seen." Fanning her face with a stack of pamphlets, Arisa Uotani sat slumped in a plastic chair in the local municipal office.

"It is...fairly grim," replied Yuki Sohma, equally uncomfortable in the stifling heat.

"Would the two of you please shut up?" Kyo asked. He wasn't happy about it either. The tiny office where the three of them were currently stuffed was humid, a sheen of condensation glistening on the window, nearly blinding him as the late afternoon sunlight poured into the room.

A month ago he had suggested inviting the two of them. What an idiot he was. He should have taken Tohru's idea and ran with it. Two hours, some signatures, and absolutely no family or friends at their wedding? Thinking about it now, it was the absolute dream.

"I'm just saying, you at least could have added some nice, romantic touches," Arisa insisted. "Flowers, maybe? A tuxedo?"

"How about a bride?" Yuki added, chortling to himself.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Tohru shouted, running into the room with Hanajima and Kazuma behind her. Kyo tried to ignore just how close the damn psychic was standing to Shishou as he rose to greet them.

"Tohru, please tell me this is a joke, right?" Arisa asked though she looked pointedly at Kyo as she spoke.

"We've been over this, Yankee," Kyo said, through gritted teeth. He grabbed Tohru's hand as she sat down in the chair beside his.

"Really, Uo-chan," Tohru insisted, grabbing her friend's wrist with her free hand. "This is what I wanted."

"It's lovely, Tohru-kun," said Kazuma. And even though Kyo could tell he was being dishonest, he appreciated the sentiment. He stole one more glare at the Yankee before turning around.

"Did you remember everything to bring?" Kyo asked, his tone softening as he spoke with Tohru.

She held up the large shoulder bag as proof. "I didn't forget a single thing," she responded, her smile sweet. "Did you bring everything you needed?"

He responded by holding up his ratty gym bag and she giggled. They waited a few more minutes before the marriage registrar joined them. They'd met with Daisuke a few weeks ago to go over what they wanted. He winked as he walked into the tiny office.

"Hello there," He responded, greeting the room. "Thank you all for coming, but we'll need the room for a few minutes before we're ready for you. There is a lovely balcony just outside the backdoor. How about you wait for me there?"

Arisa and the rat grumbled, but obliged. Kazuma, who had been let in on the plan last week, turned to Kyo and Tohru, his eyes already wet. "See you in a few minutes," he said, before ushering the rest of them through the door.

Daisuke sat at his desk and smiled warmly at Kyo and Tohru. "Okay, you two. Do you have all of your paperwork?"

Tohru pulled a pink file folder out of her bag. Inside was both of their birth certificates, signed marriage contracts, and her letter of intent to change her name. She handed everything to Daisuke and he gave her a new ID card with the family name Sohma listed where it used to say Honda.

"You know," Kyo said, a wicked grin on his face. "We can just leave now and never see the rest of them again." Tohru frowned at him in response and he said "Okay, okay, sorry. Just checking to see if you were coming around to my idea. Clearly the answer is no."

"If you leave that means I will have to take care of your friends," Daisuke reminded him. "Everyone vetoed that idea last week."

Kyo groaned, but nodded. "Fine," he said, though the sarcasm dripping in his tone was clearly forced. "I'll go change. But just know you had the option."

Tohru narrowed her eyes at him, but he waved her off. He grabbed his gym bag and went into the hall to the bathroom. Once the door closed, Tohru reached into her back and grabbed the wrapped box she had prepared for Kyo. "You'll hold on to this for after, right?" She asked. Daisuke tucked in under his desk and nodded. Tohru grinned and rose to go to the bathroom to change. "I'll see you in the lobby!"

Out on the back balcony, five individuals sat facing the ocean in the rapidly dimming autumn sunlight. Arisa and Saki sat together on one bench with Kazuma and Yuki sitting together on the other.

Arisa's patience was rapidly depleting. She blew a few loose strands of hair off of her face before saying "You know, if they make us wait any damn longer, we're all gonna be sitting here in the dark."

Daisuke joined them on the balcony. "They're coming, I promise. Kazuma-dono, you can go ahead inside."

Arisa grumbled under her breath "dammit, why does he get to go inside? The three former classmates sat outside, not talking, but each waiting as patiently as they possibly could. For Saki and Yuki, that meant slight fidgeting. For Arisa it meant continued cursing.

After a minute, Kyo joined them outside. He came and stood next to Daisuke, smirking at three of the closest friends he's ever had (God, that's bleak, he thought) and their vaguely annoyed faces. "You guys better fuckin' smile, it's a happy day."

They stared at him, dumbfounded, and under their scrutiny, Kyo strongly resisted the urge to loosen his tie or untuck his shirt. As they continued to stare, clearly shocked he was wearing a suit and even more shocked that he was grinning ear to ear.

"Damn," Yuki said, clearly the most shocked out of the three of them. "You actually look...decent." Arisa and Saki nodded. "Who knew you would ever wear a tie after graduation?"

"Last time it's ever fuckin' happening," Kyo insisted.

"What about for any of our weddings, jackass?" Asked Arisa.

"I'm sending Tohru as my proxy," he replied with a smirk. "Now would you shut the hell up? She's comin' out soon."

As he said those words, the door to the municipal office opened and Tohru emerged wearing a Western-style white dress. It wasn't extravagant, but its silhouette hugged tightly to her chest and flared out with a tulle skirt just above her knees. Her hair, presumably curled by her beloved Hana-chan earlier in the day, was held in a loose updo by a gold hair clip that had belonged to her mother. When she had called Ayame and Mine to ask if they had anything in storage they could send her to wear, a week later a package with Kyo's black suit and Tohru's handmade custom dress arrived on their doorstep. Tohru cried the moment she opened it and Kyo actually teared up a bit, too.

But it was nothing compared to either of their crying now. The second she stepped out onto the small, concrete portico, and caught his eye, she started weeping. Shishou, standing at her left, handed her a tissue he'd been holding in his robe. He was crying, too. And seeing the both of them, tears openly flowing, made Kyo lose it as well. He couldn't help it as a tear rolled down his cheek, hitting the lapel of his blazer. Followed by another and another. And the second she came to stand next to him, they both were a snotty, weepy mess.

Shishou returned to his seat next to Yuki, and Yuki, knowingly, put his hand on Kazuma's forearm.

As the sun set, casting deep pinks and bright oranges through the clouds above them, Kyo Sohma and Tohru Honda exchanged their wedding vows. They held tightly to each other's hands the entire time, not even bothering to look at Daisuke or their meager audience as they repeated the traditional Shinto vows wearing Western clothing. They exchanged simple, matching gold wedding bands, giggled as they heard sobs from their friends, and laughed through their tears when Yuki offered Kazuma the sleeve of his shirt to cry into.

And ten minutes after they walked outside, they swore to one another that they would be together until the end of time. Always supportive. Always patient. Always respectful. Always in love.

"Yes, I promise." Chikaimasu.

They entertained Kazuma's idea of having dinner altogether at a local restaurant. Before leaving, in the brief moment they had alone, Kyo reminded Tohru that they could ditch everyone else and just head home. But she gently kissed him as she loosened his tie and reminded him it was just a meal they had to get through before they could be alone.

They were eating a nicer yakiniku restaurant, naturally suggested by Hanajima even though neither Kyo nor Tohru really preferred it.

Kyo suffered through what felt like the longest meal of his life. Everyone at the table insisted on 'saying a few words on their behalf.' Some of the speeches were brief, especially the psychic's and the rat's. But Arisa spent roughly 15 minutes rambling and, at times, yelling through her tears about how proud she was. Kazuma, who had actually prepared a small speech, started crying and struggled to get through it without taking several crying breaks.

Yuki, Saki, and Arisa ordered several rounds of sake before their meal was even ordered and continued to get drunker (and, as expected, more weepy) as the evening went on. They ordered several course's worth of food and then Yuki presented a cake he had purchased to celebrate the occasion. They were presented with gifts, mostly sentimental ones aimed at Tohru from the three twenty year olds, but also an unreasonably large check from Kazuma, which Tohru spent approximately 30 minutes insisting they couldn't accept. Yuki brought a canvas tote stuffed with cards and gifts from the rest of the Sohma clan.

When the check was finally paid, Kyo stood before everyone else, grabbing Tohru's hand as he did so, and announced "Well thanks, everyone, but it's getting late."

"That's rude," Yuki muttered drunkenly.

"Shut up," Kyo retorted as Tohru stood next to him. "I just sat through a long-ass dinner with you and didn't complain the whole time. You're welcome."

"Plus, we'll see you in the morning for breakfast!" Tohru exclaimed, stepping around the table to give each person a hug. "Are you sure you can get back to the guesthouse by yourselves?"

"Yep," Kyo responded. "They're sure. Shishou, thanks for dinner. See you in the morning. Bye."

As he pulled Tohru out onto the street, he couldn't help but stop to kiss her deeply. She giggled as she did so, eyes tearing up once more. "That was a long dinner," she admitted after pulling away. She reached for his hand and gently tugged him in the general direction of their home. "Come on, husband, let's go home."

They ascended the four flights of stairs to their apartment and unlocked the door. For an unknown reason, Kyo felt his nerves ignite. It wasn't because it was their first night as husband and wife, no, they'd crossed the intimacy bridge years ago. It was truly the first night of the rest of their lives.

"I have something for you," He said as he slipped off his wildly uncomfortable shoes.

"I have something for you, too!" She exclaimed. "I was going to give it to you earlier, but we didn't really have a chance." She reached into her bag and removed the gift. "Here, take it with you to the bedroom and I'll meet you there. I just want to take my hair out in the bathroom first."

He entered their room and pulled the box he had for her out from under a stack of shirts in his dresser. He carefully hung the blazer in the closet along with his tie while he waited for her and then sat on the bed, sliding her present in front of him and leaving the one she'd wrapped next to him.

Tohru emerged from the bathroom after a few minutes, out of her dress and wearing a simple white silk yukata. She had it tied loosely around her waist, the neckline dipping deliciously low and the hem ending just at the middle of her thighs. Her hair, previously set in curls and tied back, floated loosely around her face, traces of curls still visible at the very ends. She wore a set of ornately woven lace stockings, which ended just where the yukata began. A light, pink blush crept across her cheeks as she sat across from him. Kyo felt all of the air forced from his lungs. She was a vision.

He quickly shoved the gifts aside. "Gifts later," he begged and she smiled as she grabbed his hands.

"Gifts first, please," She requested. And though his entire body screamed in protest, he didn't deny her.

"Fine," he agreed, trying to focus his gaze away from her cleavage and whatever the hell was under that yukata.

She placed her long, thin package in his hands. "You first," she insisted. He carefully unfurled the ribbon and tore through the wrapping paper. As he unwrapped the gift she hurriedly explained "I got you one practical gift and one silly gift, but if you don't like them…"

He bopped her on the head with the lid of the box before he looked inside. "Oh, would you hush. I already love them."

"But you haven't seen them!" She exclaimed and shoved the box back into his hands. He pulled the larger gift out first. It was a simple, nondescript book with a soft leather cover. As he opened the cover to see the lettering she took his hand and said "Really, it's silly. It's okay if you don't like it."

He ran his fingers over the raised lettering of the inside cover. Kyo and Tohru Sohma. As he read it, he felt the backs of his eyes sting and his throat close. When he turned to the first page and saw the first picture taken of just the two of them, a tear ran down his cheek.

"I didn't even know this picture existed," he said, choking on his words.

It was the two of them at one of the shrines in Kyoto. They were standing together, Kyo balancing his arm on the top of her head and smirking. Tohru had a wide grin, her eyes not looking at the camera, but rather laughing at whatever he had been saying then. They both had a faint blush painted on their cheeks.

"Hana-chan took it," she explained, also tearing up. "I didn't think you ever saw it. I held onto it. Actually, I kept it under my pillow when we lived with Shigure-san."

He smiled at her. "I would say that's really dorky and embarrassing, but I would have done the same thing if I knew it existed, honestly."

She giggled and sidled up to his side as he flipped through the rest of the book. He knew the rest of the pictures well, pictures from graduation with, thankfully, the rest of their friends cropped out. Pictures of them on the day they had moved. Pictures of them in their new home. Candids of them eating or cooking together.

He closed the book and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "I love it, thank you." She smiled and wiped her tears with her hand. As she did so, he caught the gleam of her wedding ring in the dim light and his heart constricted once more. "I have an idea, actually."

"An idea?" She asked.

"Yeah, hear me out," He insisted. "I got you a practical gift and a silly gift, too. But I only want to give you the silly one tonight because it really goes with your gift. We can do practical tomorrow."

Tohru smiled and nodded. "I agree. Only mushy for tonight." She reached for the box next to him and he presented it to her. It wasn't nearly as neatly wrapped and the only damn wrapping paper he could find in their apartment had pumpkins on it, but whatever. She gently unwrapped it and lifted the lid. Inside was a slightly thicker book, bound with a beige canvas cover.

She opened it and, just like he was minutes ago, was struck by the raised letter on the first page. She immediately devolved into sobs, resting her head on Kyo's shoulder as she read it over and over again. The Sohma Family.

There was a single page with a picture and a small note written in calligraphic handwriting. It was a picture of them, in their wedding garb prepared by Ayame, taken with Tohru's phone three weeks ago when they'd first received a package. They were standing in the apartment against the living room wall, phone propped up across the room. It certainly wasn't a conventional wedding picture, but they certainly didn't have a conventional wedding. Beneath the picture was the date they had planned for their wedding and those same words she had printed in her book. Kyo and Tohru Sohma.

"Did you write this?" Tohru asked through her sniffles, running her fingers across the words.

"Hell no," Kyo responded, laughing. "I asked Hanajima to do it for me. She wanted me to pay her. I sent her a gift basket with food instead."

She beamed at him, eyes red, but sparkling. "Kyo-kun, that's even more sweet that you asked her for help. I love it. But why is the rest blank?"

Kyo rapped her on the head with his knuckles. "Dummy," he said, his voice affectionate. "That's for us to fill up for the rest of ever. With kids or cats or goblins we find outside. It's the Sohma family."

She kissed him sweetly on the lips, shuffling into his lap as she did so. "Thank you. I really, really love it." She kissed him once more and then pressed her forehead to his.

"Okay, can I open my last present now?"

Tohru's brow furrowed. "I thought we said tomorrow?"

"No, no," Kyo responded, gently untying the sash on her yukata as he pressed his lips to her jawline. "Not what I meant." She giggled as she shrugged out of her robe, revealing the elaborate, see-through lingerie that Ayame had sent her a week later.

"Okay, okay, I suppose you can, husband," she teased.

He pressed his lips to her breast and hummed in appreciation. "Happy wedding, Mrs. Sohma."

Author's Note: I got married in March right before my state shut down! My husband and I didn't want to ever get married (we've been together for 6 years), but then he needed health insurance and I had it, soooooo we did it. I started working on this piece right after we officially got married, but it was a WIP for a long time.

For some reason, I hardcore headcanon these two not having a fancy or traditional wedding. Neither Tohru nor Kyo like being in the center of attention and Tohru is so frugal. Idk it just makes sense to me. I know it is definitely not the usual "Marriage of Tohru and Kyo" and I really do love pieces where the wedding is elaborate, Shinto or Western. But for me, this is how I imagine it. Please enjoy!

[supernaturaltropecelebration]

we’ve got this string tied around our hearts and fingers

Author: @boykinglucifer​ [AO3] Artist: @beastlybat  Pairing: Dean/Sam Rating: Mature Word count: 5044 Tropes: Soulmates (color to gray), Red String of Fate  Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: Falling In Love, Mild Sexual Content, Sharing A Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Red String Of Fate, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst 

Summary:

Dean and Sam have been soulmates for forever, literally, but after college, Dean and Sam have learn to rebuild the trust and bond they once had, this time while navigating the difficulties of a String that’s been pulled taut for too long. 

Excerpt Below the Cut:

That morning, Dean found himself tired, even more so than he was after a might of bad sleep but it didn’t deter him from getting ready at the crack of dawn, gratuitously allowing Sam another half an hour of sleep before he woke him up as well. 

“Up and at ‘em, Sammy.” 

Dean noted the way the string once again tugged at the sight of Sam sleepy and warm-looking, this time a little harder than last night. 

Sam groaned, clearly feeling it as well as he rolled over to face Dean, blearily opening his eyes to stare up at him.

“Why’s it doing that?” 

“Don’t know.” Dean grunted, a lie, but not one that Sam put much thought into while he was half awake and still forcing himself awake.

The tugging continued its insistence through the drive and well into their investigation. The string wrapped itself around their arms until they were brushing together when they walked, drawing a bit of attention from those around them. 

Sam had tried to pull away, only to send a spark of pain up both of their spines. 

“Ow! Why is it-“ Sam touched the string and Dean softly groaned, making both of them pause. 

They both felt it and their faces began to burn. 

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s uh, it’s alright, Sam, you didn’t.. Know.” 

Sitting down in front of his laptop, Sam’s eyes had grown tired of reading about different types of swamp creatures that while native to Louisiana, still ended up in Mississippi (as confusing as that must be for whatever natural order that the supernatural followed). 

His eyes fell to his hand and he wiggled his fingers, the string sparkling. Sometimes Sam wondered what it would have been like to be a teenager who wasn’t soulmates with his brother.

It’s a thought that occasionally sparked guilt in his chest but he wondered what it would have been like to shyly link his fingers with someone to see if the world went from gray to bright and beautiful colors.

Would his string still be attached to Dean? Would his string have been attached to a friend instead, not that Sam could have made many friends in this life.

Sam glanced up across the tiny motel table, as far as he could go without the pull of the string bordering on painful for the both of them. 

He was asleep, head tilted slightly back and his eyes pressed closed, relaxed. 

Looking back down at the computer, Sam opened up a tab and began typing.

“String of fate plus pain and pulling.”

He got a good few articles, more than he’d honestly been expecting. He scrolled through, looking for one that was more professional and trustworthy.

Upon finding one that fit his wants, Sam clicked on the link and read through.

The more he read, the more Sam’s face flushed and eventually, he stopped reading to bury his face in his hands. 

“The tugging and eventual pain of one’s string can easily be corrected with extended periods of physical contact.—“

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 2

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, possibly gratuitous fashion description

WC: 5.3k

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

Niall drops his head and leans into the final note, squinting and scrunching his face as he riddles out this one song that’s been driving him up a wall for almost a week. He feels a flicker of inspiration, reaches for it as he looks out the window toward the balcony of his Hollywood Hills home. His brow furrows, his fingers wind up to strike the strings again, and--

Buzz. Buzzzzzzz. Buzzbuzz.

He swears under his breath and tosses the acoustic beside him on the couch. He can’t admit to himself that he’s grateful for the distraction, so he decides to be annoyed with whomever is calling.

Shawny Boi.

He sighs. He can’t be annoyed with Shawn. It’s like being annoyed with a labradoodle puppy.

“Hey, mate.”

“Hey man, how’s it going?”

Niall laughs. Shawn’s voice is bright and edging toward chipper. He can hear his doofy, multi-million dollar smile through the phone. And Niall knows who put it there.

“I guess that first date was good, then?”

Shawn, pacing around barefoot in his kitchen, grins eagerly and strokes a hand through his messy curls. “Oh… man. Dude, it was… so good. I should’ve done this years ago.”

Niall, bemused, shimmies further into the cushions of his couch, trying not to feel like the old and wise man Shawn sees him as. “Shawny, you’re 21. How long ago are you talkin’ about?”

Shawn laughs, bubbly and strange somehow, like he’s high. Niall’s seen Shawn high when they’ve smoked weed together. He doesn’t get giggly, he gets philosophical. And hungry.

This is a different high altogether.

“You know what I mean, man. Feels good, feels like I can like… handle shit now. Y’know? Like I was so tired and didn’t even realize it and then I got to sleep for like two full days and I’m all good again.”

Niall’s familiar with the feeling. His first date with Karina was similarly revitalizing. He was bouncing off the walls for a week. He nods in understanding.

“‘S a great feeling, havin’ someone take all the pressure off and force you to just… feel good.”

“Yeah,” Shawn answers dreamily, “I just wanted to like, thank you again. I think this kinda saved my ass.”

Niall smiles to himself and bounces his bad knee, glancing out the window. “Gonna see her again, then?”

“Definitely. I’m gonna call again today.”

Niall’s knee slows. He bites his lip and tilts his head from side to side. “Listen, mate, just don’t get attached. I know it feels good, but it still doesn’t compare to something… real.”

Shawn bobs his head at the reality he’s been trying to remind himself of in the 24 hours since she slipped back into her Roger Vivier heels and left him in bed with a kiss on the cheek and a glint in her warm, tired eyes. He drops his head and rolls it, stretching his neck.

“Yeah, no, I mean, I know. I just feel like I got so much shit pent up over the last few months. And I’m about to go home for a week and then this whole festival thing is lined up to kick my ass all summer, plus I’ll be flying back and forth to LA to be seen with Bex, so… I’m just… I dunno.”

It’s a weak explanation. He huffs, his chest deflating, indignant at the idea of having to explain himself at all. He’s a grown man, he can do what he wants with his time and money and attention. He needs this. It’s therapeutic. It’s good for him. And it feels so fucking good.

Niall rubs a hand against the scruff under his chin. “Hey, it’s all you, mate. Whatever you wanna do. I’m glad it’s helped.”

“Yeah. Thanks again, dude. I’ll see ya soon.”

Shawn hangs up and, with color in his cheeks, skims through his contacts to find La Splendeur saved under the name “Dentist,” just in case. His hand shakes a little as he holds the phone to his ear.

+

The temperature change leaving the LA heat wave outdoors to stepping into Silver’s 6 bedroom Beverly Hills modern monstrosity of a home has Penny wincing and cursing herself for not remembering a jacket. Twice a month they have this meeting, always in the quiet security of Silver’s house rather than discussing business out in the open, and nearly every time Penny sits and shivers.

“Welcome home, love.”

Silver’s voice rings through the high-ceilinged foyer, crisp and lightly accented by British boarding school and Cambridge. Penny looks up to see her on the landing above in a white Theory pantsuit that’s tailored so sharply she looks untouchable. Penny smiles. Home, indeed.

Silver’s steps down the staircase are quiet, despite the sleek marble beneath her stilettoed feet. Despite the facade of the outfit, she takes Penny in her arms and kisses her cheeks three times, offering her arm to guide them into the living room where a full Japanese tea service waits.

Silver’s friendship is an odd and somehow comforting mix of formality and family. Penny’s never seen her underdressed, or sick, or overly emotional. And despite Silver’s perceived coldness, reflected in her choice of home and interior decorating, Penny has always felt safe and loved in her presence, ever since Silver first hired her as an escort at 20.

Penny, respectfully also in business formal, a pale pink Max Mara pencil dress and creamy nude Louboutins (a gift from Silver for her birthday), perches on the edge of the snowy white chaise and faces her best friend.

Silver sweeps a lock of dark hair behind her ear and grins.

“So how was it?”

Penny’s face lights up. She drums her fingers against her knee and tries to play coy. “Spectacular.”

“Good, tell me everything.”

Penny lifts a cleanly filled brow. “Hard up, are we?”

Silver chuckles and eyes the tea service. “Have you ever known me to be without?”

Silver, long since retired from escorting herself, has had a long line of pretty young things hanging around since Penny has known her, but never for very long. Last Penny heard, Yvette, a fresh faced lingerie model from Nice, was the flavor of the month. Silver doesn’t spend a night alone if she doesn’t want to.

Penny cedes with a nod and a smirk. “So you’re just girlishly curious?”

Silver lifts a toned shoulder and sips her tea. “It’s nice to see how the other half lives sometimes. And it’s good business for me to know what clients like him can be like. Makes me a better manager.”

Silver launched La Splendeur two years after hiring Penny with the idea that Silver would largely oversee the personnel -- drivers, girls, clients -- and Penny with her head for business would run the logistics -- the books, legal, and some of the legitimate earnings attached to La Splendeur that keeps curious eyes from gazing too close. They became partners, each sharing equal cuts of the profits, each assigned to manage the parts of the organization where they had the most acumen.

This bimonthly meeting is designed to keep both ends running smoothly as well as serving as an excuse for two busy friends to meet up under legitimate circumstances. Silver doesn’t often show much interest in Penny’s dates after they’ve been vetted and approved. Penny wonders what it is about Shawn that has her curious.

“He was very nervous. We did a lot of work to get him to let go. Honestly, he’s one of the trickier clients I’ve seen in a while. But once I got him there…”

Penny’s eyes flutter shut as she revisits her night with Shawn. Even after she made him come twice in a row in her hand, he had more for her. They were up most of the night with brief naps in between wild, uncontrollable orgasms. Truthfully, Penny’s not sure she’s ever had such an enthusiastic first date with a client. She’s been on cloud nine for days thinking about how calm and deeply satisfied he looked the next morning.

When she looks back at Silver, her intensely dark eyes are gleaming mischievously. Penny rolls her own.

“I’m glad he enjoyed himself. He called to rebook you. You have a room at The London tomorrow night at 9.”

Penny tries not to lick her lips insatiably but Silver knows her too well. She releases an echo-y, delighted laugh.

“Seems like maybe you have a new favorite?” she guesses.

Penny’s eyes drop to her own half-drunk cup of tea. “We’ll see. Some guys like this, they start hot and heavy and lose steam fast. Maybe he just needs this boost and he’ll be on his merry pop star way.”

Silver, ever unnervingly wise and all-seeing, nods and glances out her windows that look out onto the Los Angeles skyline. “Maybe.”

Penny feels the hair raise on the back of her neck and swallows, reaching for her laptop. “Let’s go over this month.”

+

Shawn recognizes the guy in the dark suit standing outside the room when he gets off the elevator with Winston Churchill on the doors. He offers him a shaky smile, trying not to imagine what he must be thinking about why Shawn is seeing this woman twice in one week. Shawn’s been trying not to look too closely at that himself since he booked the second date.

Gus, Shawn thinks his name is, gives a nod at the wire transfer confirmation on Shawn’s phone screen and lets him in.

The room is more standard glam-modern hotel vibes than the Chateau. It’s just a little cold, very clean, basic art, matching furniture. Shawn’s eyes skim over it, unfocused. They fix on the hardcased luggage sitting discreetly in the corner. His fingers twitch, imagining what’s inside it.

He sits on the end of the bed this time instead of in the lounge area where he felt a little more innocent and less like he was waiting for a prostitute to come nail him into a hole in the mattress.

Despite his eagerness for tonight and his relative comfort, having spent the night with her once before, Shawn feels some nerves creeping through his forced calm. He wonders for a moment if he won’t get used to it, waiting for her, never really forgetting the circumstances that brought them both here.

Not that he plans to continue seeing her for much longer. Just until the festivals start, maybe once or twice after when he’s back in LA getting papped with Bex at a Starbucks with his hand in her back pocket or something. His jaw tightens slightly, and then the door opens.

Penny is glowing in an emerald green cocktail dress that clings to her every curve and ends dangerously high on her sculpted, bronzed thighs. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted down the center and back over her shoulders. Her toes are painted to match her dress. Shawn shivers and wonders if she did it on purpose, if she’s been planning her outfit for him.

Shut up, his brain tells him, Why would she do that? She doesn’t need to impress you. You’re a sure thing.

The corner of his mouth lifts. He stands and smoothes his sweaty palms down the front of his inky black jeans. Gus shuts the door behind her. She smiles like she’s been waiting for this.

“Hey, you.”

Any remaining nerves vanish. Her voice is like heroin in his bloodstream. His eyes drift shut, his head falls back for a moment as he revels in her comfort.

“Hi, Penny.”

She steps forward in heeled black sandals with a jeweled brooch around each ankle strap. He takes his time looking her up and down, then feels a flash of guilt when his eyes settle on her pretty face.

She seems to know what’s on his mind. She stops before him and rests her hand on his cheek.

“It’s ok. You can look. Can even touch, if you’d like.”

The words have his fingers twitching hard where they rest at his sides. He swallows and proceeds with caution, keeping his eyes focused on hers, lined and smoky tonight, to watch her reaction.

He rests his hands on her bare upper arms, stroking her skin with his rough, calloused thumbs. Carefully, slowly, he drags them up over her narrow shoulders, brushing along the line of her collarbones, teasing the warm skin of her throat. His mouth waters. He curls his hands down over her shoulder blades, finding with a noticeable hitch in his breathing that the dress has a very low back. His fingers skate over naked skin, following the hollow of her back and stopping above the swell of her ass to fold around her hips, admiring the feel of the deep green silk.

He releases a ragged breath and closes his eyes. “I couldn’t wait. I n-needed to see you again this week before I go home for a while.”

When he opens his eyes, he sees her nodding gently, raising a hand to cup the back of his neck. She steps a little closer until they’re chest to chest, or as close as they can be considering the height difference.

“And how do you feel now that I’m here?”

Shawn smiles a little -- at her, at his own willingness to be totally honest with her. He wets his lips and says, “Like I’m amazed I waited a whole four days.”

Satisfied, Penny hums from the back of her throat and leads him down to kiss her. She starts slow, gentle against his mouth, brushing little soft kisses over his top and bottom lips like she’s memorizing the shape of them. Her free hand, by contrast, drags tight and hungry up his swollen bicep, squeezing as she goes, stopping to grip his shoulder.

He’s obedient for her despite his urge to take more than what she’s giving. He keeps his returning kisses as light as hers, but she’s holding him so tight he knows she can feel how hard he’s trying. It makes her smile and coo into his mouth. She pulls away slightly, massaging the back of his neck.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs without taking his eyes off hers. She chuckles.

“Thank you, so do you.”

Shawn laughs and starts to duck his head. Penny’s hand holds him firm and guides his lips back to hers. These are real kisses now. He groans into her mouth, opens wider so she can tease his tongue the way she likes. His hands draw her hips in closer until they’re pressed against his. He starts to lead them toward the bed, but Penny stands firm.

“What do you want?” he pants softly, his forehead tilted against hers. He hears her lips pull into a smile.

“Your mouth.”

Shawn’s nervous system goes erratic. His eyes snap open, his hands sink harder into the fabric around her hips, he pants against her cheek.

“Really?”

If he had any self awareness right now, he’d flinch and squirm at the timid excitement in his voice. Good thing he’s too fucked for her to notice.

Penny gently detangles herself from his grasp and nods toward the bed. He sits on the end, legs spread, his elbows on his knees as he vibrates in place waiting for her. Now it’s Penny’s turn to look him over.

He looks less tired than he did when she met him. His eyes are a little brighter, his skin a little clearer, his shoulders a little further from his ears. She lets the power of it flood her system, feels that old animal that lives inside her stretch its legs and awaken for another night with him.

She did that. She gave him that. She took a man who needed her, who needed release and comfort and affection and she gave it to him tenfold. She took something a little broken and made it brand fucking new. And now she gets to let loose a little more, build upon the foundation she started.

He’s looking at her like he did last time, waiting to see her when she bares herself to him. She wets her lips, painted a light mauve color, and steps closer, heightening the tension.

“Are… uhm, are you gonna take your clothes off?” he asks hopefully.

Penny lifts a shoulder with a smirk. “No need.”

His face falls a little. She grins, or more just bares her teeth, and lifts a toned leg to press the sole of her shoe to his chest. Shawn inhales sharply and lets it nudge him back to lie against the bed, blinking up at the ceiling.

She watches his broad chest rise and fall, picking up speed as the anticipation builds. She gazes at him hungrily, at his large hands running up and down his thick thighs as he self-soothes. She can feel him trying not to lift his head to look at her. Her patience runs thin.

Penny lifts herself over him, one knee on either side of his torso, climbing on top of him carefully until she’s centered above his pretty face.

“Shit. You weren’t wearing panties this whole time?”

His voice is squeaky and breathless. Penny tips her head back and laughs, tugging her skirt up.

“They don’t really work with this dress,” she explains, reaching down to curl a lock of his hair around her finger.

He learned from their first night together not to touch her until she tells him to, so his arms rest limp by his sides, despite how badly he’d like to plant his hands on her hips and yank her warm cunt down to meet his mouth.

But that’s not what he’s here for. He’s not here to take, he’s here to let her give to him. He closes his eyes, recenters himself, and looks up again to see her watching him.

“Want to taste me, Shawn?”

He pauses. He nods. “Yes please.”

Penny slowly lowers her hips until she meets his face and the eager lips that are already pressing needy kisses against her folds. She hums and settles further, reaching for his arms to secure them around her as she starts to rock against him.

“I’m gonna ride your face. Just… just keep your mouth on me,” she instructs, her voice going soft and breathy as she starts to pick up speed.

Shawn is in fucking heaven.

His eyes are wide open, staring up at her as she takes what she needs from him, her clit bumping his nose with every tight stroke. His dick strains in his jeans, but neither of them seems to care. His hands fit into the dips at her waistline and hold her, supporting her as she rolls her hips.

Shawn likes oral, he always has. But this is beyond anything he’s ever experienced. He’s never had a woman use him for her pleasure like this before. He would’ve guessed it would feel odd, disconnected somehow, lacking. But with Penny, he swears he’d give her fucking anything.

Shawn groans, flattening his tongue for her to work against as she soaks his mouth and cheeks. The slick insides of her thighs make an incredible noise against his face as she moves faster and grinds harder. He can feel the tension in her legs and the erratic rise and fall of her chest. She’s getting closer. She’s going to come on his face.

Shawn moans, overwhelmed at the very idea. His toes curl in his boots. He blinks desperately up at her, watching as her tanned face flushes. Suddenly, without warning, her pretty brown eyes snap shut and she fists a hand into his curls, whining loud.

“Shawn! Oh… fuck,” she squeals, meeting her orgasm without slowing down. She continues riding him hard and he doesn’t back down either, massaging her waist and watching greedily as the motion slips her dress up her hips and shows him more of her pretty skin.

Finally, it abates and he’s left cleaning her up with his tongue, eyes fluttering drowsily, his breathing regulating in time with hers.

Penny releases his hair from her fingers and sighs, easing up on her knees. He holds her steady as her legs shake, looking pleased with himself.

Penny laughs, climbing down his stomach so she can lean in to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue. He whimpers, cupping his hand beneath her hair, letting her explore his mouth as she pleases.

“You really liked that,” she breathes. It’s not a question -- she doesn’t even really need his confirmation. She can see it all over his face, could feel it in the way he stared up for her and let her have him.

He blushes and nods, smiling. “You… yeah. Fuck, yeah. You taste amazing.”

Penny’s heart clamors against her ribs like it wants to get a look at him. She runs her hands through her now sex-fucked hair and laughs.

“Good. I want another one.”

Shawn blinks and feels a moment of deja vu bring him back to their first night. “Yeah?”

Penny nods casually, unbuckling the straps of her shoes where her legs are folded beneath her. She kicks them away, dropping them off the side of the bed and reaching back for her zipper, fumbling with the awkward angle.

Shawn perks up. “Can I help with that?”

Penny kisses the tip of his nose. “Sweet. Yes, please.” 

Shawn focuses his gaze on a freckle on her collarbone while his fingers tug at her zipper. When he feels it meet resistance, he stops, looks to her for instruction, then continues undressing her when she raises her arms.

Naked on his lap, she plants her hands on his chest and admires the way his heart pulses frantically for her. She sucks his earlobe between her swollen lips and feels him sigh.

“Where do you want me, Pen?”

Penny’s lips twitch at the nickname and how quickly he’s caught on. She lifts a knee and drops onto the bed beside him with a soft thump, spreading her legs and cozying into the pillows like she owns the place. He chokes on a breath that comes up short in his chest.

“Get comfy. You’re going to be down there for a while. I want to come until I can’t anymore.”

Again, she has him floored. They experimented with his overstimulation before, and tonight she wants him to help her test her own limits. He swallows and nods eagerly.

“Yeah. Of-- of course. Yes. Do you want me to…?” He gestures down at himself, still fully clothed.

Penny, with her hair spread out around her head like a halo and a manicured fingernail between her teeth, shrugs. “Take off your jeans. I don’t want your pretty cock to suffocate.”

Shawn’s abdomen clenches and he covers the inhuman noise he makes with a weak chuckle. His “pretty cock” twitches hard, reacting to the compliment.

He ditches his boots, socks and jeans and nestles up on his stomach between her thighs, breathing softly.

“So fuckin’ pretty and wet,” he praises, shaking his head in disbelief. She smiles like she’s heard it before, and he’s sure she has. 

He turns his face into her inner thigh and sucks some soft, wet skin into his mouth, releasing a muffled groan as she inhales. Reluctantly, he releases her without leaving a mark, knowing he should ask permission before he tries to go that far. His eyes flicker to hers. They’re dark and unreadable, steady on him as she waits patiently. He figures she’s not in a rush. They have all night for him to make her come. His own needs are barely a blip on his radar. He’s focused on her, on her flushed pink folds, her clenching stomach, her full, touchable breasts.

She might need to beg him to leave her alone once she lets him loose. He’s not going to want to come up for air ever again.

Shawn takes a deep breath and dives in, humming as he sucks her inner labia into his mouth. Penny’s hips shift, her body melting into the bed gracefully as she relaxes. Shawn eyes her from over the soft curve of her stomach, easing up to swipe his tongue against her slowly and watch how she reacts to every little move he makes.

If she can study him, he can study her, too, learn exactly how she likes to be touched, to be tasted, to be fucked. He wants to know everything, wants to internalize it so he can attempt to bring her a fraction of the bliss she’s brought him. By the way her back arches slightly when he flicks at the hood of her clit, he’s making progress.

+

Shawn has officially lost count of her orgasms.

He’s past painfully hard and it’s becoming more and more apparent that he needs to come or he’s gonna, like, die, but he refuses to break and beg for it.

They’ve taken short breaks, but he hasn’t left her, receding only as far as her inner thighs that he sucks and lavishes with kisses while they talk quietly as she recovers. He tells her about his trip home next week, about having to get on the road for the festival tour soon after. He mumbles hopes and nerves and dreams and concerns as she runs her fingers through his hair and asks thoughtful questions even after four or five orgasms, so her brain is more mush than useful. But he shows no signs of wanting to go anywhere, especially now that he’s learned the tricks that get her loud and twitchy and coming hard on his needy tongue. So they lie there on the bed in the same position, right into the small hours of the morning.

Shawn hums gratefully as he sweeps up her next orgasm, relishing the shivers he feels as he holds the base of her ribcage. He grunts and noses at her neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair, sighing hot and loud against her folds.

“Yes?” she chuckles.

He shifts uncomfortably against the bed and lifts his gaze, looking like a guilty puppy.

“I’m… nothing. It’s ok.”

Penny comes up on shaky forearms and traces her soft toes up his back, snagging at the t-shirt he’s still wearing.

“You sure? You don’t need anything?” she whispers. His ears go red. She’s teasing him. He juts his chin out stubbornly and shakes his head, focuses instead on tonguing circles around her throbbing clit. He watches in satisfaction as her abdomen tenses and she releases an involuntary grunt of approval as her body beckons to him.

“You’ve been hard for a couple hours. Keep grinding your hips against the bed. Wouldn’t you rather me help you come?”

Shawn’s eyes fix on hers tentatively. He’s not sure how she wants him to proceed. He wasn’t going to ask, he really wasn’t. But at the idea that he might get to come soon, his cock pulses in his boxers, still leaking in the same spot.

“Only… if you want me to.”

Penny beams down at him in a way that has him hiding his face in her slick inner thigh. She strokes his curls, encouraging him to look at her.

“I want you to ask me nicely.”

Shawn heaves a sigh. He noses curiously at her clit, presses a little kiss to her folds.

“May I please come now?”

His voice is soft and quiet. He’s not used to begging.

Not yet, anyway.

Penny keeps her fingers moving through his hair, waiting for more.

“Say it again, Shawn.”

“I… please, Penny. I’ve been so good. Please let me come for you?”

She blinks slowly, lazily, drugged by the power he so freely drops into her hands. At her reaction, he swallows and continues.

“Please,” he hisses, pressing more needy kisses to anywhere he can reach, “Penny, I’ll come so good for you. I’m so fucking hard. Just want to come once and then I’ll keep eating your fucking perfect pussy. Please, Penny, I want to come.”

The corners of her mouth lift in a dangerous grin. She bobs her head, pushing at his hair so he’ll ease back from between her legs. 

“Take your shirt off.”

Shawn sits up and yanks at the collar, throwing it over his head. His chest is pink, heavily flushed from their hours of fucking. Her eyes scrape over his every curve and angle, and she’d be lying to herself if she thought it wasn’t mostly to keep him waiting for her. She pulls her legs together, rubbing her wet thighs as she considers him.

“Boxers, too.”

Shawn stands for expediency’s sake and drops them without ceremony, kicking them off his ankles. His hands curl into fists to keep himself from grabbing at his swollen pink cock.

Penny licks her lips obscenely. She eyes him, head cocked, and crooks her finger. He climbs back onto the bed.

“Come here,” she whispers, flattening her legs and waving him forward.

Unsure of what she wants, unable to do anything but follow her lead, Shawn kneewalks on either side of her until he straddles her torso, positioned over her chest.

Penny smirks as she looks him over, lets her hands wander over his tensed thighs, his rippling stomach, his slim hips and tight little ass. Shawn’s toes curl. His hands stay at his sides.

“Wanna watch you touch yourself. Wanna feel you come on my tits, would you like that?”

He chokes on air. Would he like that? Jesus Christ.

He nods frantically, curling a fist around his cock. His whole body shakes with a relieved sigh. As her small hands smooth up and down his quads, he pumps in and out of his fist, scrunching his face at the filthy sound of it.

“Oh, fuck,” he swears, shaking his head, “Fuck, I love being good for you.”

When he can manage to open his eyes, Penny is staring up at him in wonder, looking between his face and his thrusting hips. She bites down on her lower lip.

“Good. God, you’re so fucking hot, so hard for me.”

Shawn hangs his head, groaning loud and unabashed as his orgasm starts to coil hot in his lower abdomen.

“Penny… gonna come. Gonna come on your pretty tits.”

Penny wets her lips and tries not to look like she’s aching for it. She closes her eyes briefly, brushes her hands up around his hips to grip the cheeks of his ass.

Her eyes open.

“Shawn, are you my good boy?”

She brings a hand down hard on his right cheek, the resounding smack of skin on skin propelling him forward through the wall of his orgasm.

He screams, breathing into a growl of her name, spurting hard onto her chest. His hips snap desperately, his hand pumps his cock through one of the strongest orgasms he’s ever had. His head falls forward to rest against the cushioned headboard, looking down at her as he remembers how to breathe again.

“Guess you are my good boy, then,” she preens, skimming her hands over his body again as he sits back on his heels.

“Holy… shit.”

“Feel good, Shawn?”

He blinks blearily and manages to nod. With a huff, he lifts himself onto newborn horse legs and stumbles to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. Without her even asking, he carefully sweeps the cloth over her chest, cleaning his orgasm off her perfect breasts. He tosses the cloth aside and gazes down at her. She smiles. He sighs.

“You’re… exactly who I need right now.”

They’re Penny’s favorite words to hear from a client. They represent absolute success. They make her proud, despite the prejudices and misconceptions surrounding her job. The look on his face right now is the reason she is here. Her heart gives an extra squeeze. She reaches for him, folds him down beside her and guides his head onto her chest. Without another word, they fall asleep.

--------

Hope this goes well with your Sunday morning coffee <3 speaking of Ko-fi, buy me one if you feel like it! Link in bio.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Sorry Not Sorry

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark  Warnings: none - Pete is 20ish. There be smut, though.  Summary: 

Peter Parker runs a really popular Iron Man fan account on Twitter. One fine day, he accidentally posts a photo meant for that fan account on his official Spider-Man Twitter, instead.

Read it at AO3 here.

Getting home from class, Peter pulled his laptop out – a saucy smile on his face. MJ, the absolute perfect wingman, sent him the first sneak leaked from Tony’s latest Iron Man photoshoot with TIME Magazine during the last ten minutes of his Biophysics lecture and it took everything in him not to ditch the rest of his professor’s oh so exciting set of PowerPoint slides to rub one out in the bathroom. Swinging home with a hard-on tucked into his pants wasn’t exactly the definition of a good time. Dr. Simms had the greatest timing, though – the mention of a quiz during the next class saving Peter from having to embarrassingly excuse himself. Tucking his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, Pete forced himself to focus and get through the rest of class. He only needed to make it five more minutes – then he could swing as fast as momentum could carry him back to his small studio apartment where privacy was the name of the game.

His skin already felt flushed from the brief glance he allowed himself before pocketing his phone. The few minutes it took him to stealthily get to the roof, get his mask on, and web home from NYU’s notorious physics building felt like torture. More than once he mistimed his swings and had to accommodate with a well-aimed strand against a lower building or lamppost. Settling on the ground a couple blocks from his building, Peter used the last few steps to collect himself – to get in the zone and pull his fanboy pants on once again. The ability to see Iron Man in the flesh was a thrill – Peter as Spider-Man earned the man’s respect long ago. Yet, there was nothing like the secret fantasies he’d been harboring over the last few years as Peter Parker himself, a simple 20-year-old with a good old-fashioned boner for the beautiful man behind the brilliance that was Ironman.

With the laptop sitting on his legs, Peter started his ritualistic perusal of all the emails and forums. Since he’d been running an Ironman fan account for years, he got pretty exclusive access to new material courtesy of the connections he’d made freaking the fuck out about all things Iron Man and Tony Stark. Like so many times, his inbox was filled with links to Tumblr posts already putting the images into eloquent image collections – each one he scrolled by showing that patented Tony Stark sexiness.

This particular shoot made Tony look raw – the use of black and white enhancing the man’s natural ruggedness that made him so damn irresistible. One in particular stood out in each set – his heart pounding hard when he finally decided to click on it. They were obviously in the lab – the place not only cool but insanely aesthetically pleasing and recognizable. Tony’s shirt was of a lighter material, the shadow behind him enhancing the glow from the arc reactor that could be seen through the shirt. Though the image didn’t have any color in it, Tony’s chest illuminated life – the pulse of the arc reactor something that was hard to ignore. The Iron Man helmet was tucked carelessly under his arm – a faraway expression on the older man’s face. Whoever the photographer was got so many bonus points for the a-plus framing – the whole image was absolutely stunning. Without much thought, Peter clicked the little hearts on each post, his fingers carelessly reblogging the sets he liked the best and saving the rest for later. What fucking right did Tony have being that goddamn stunning?

He managed to find a singular still of his favorite photo to save to his phone, the image immediately going into a Twitter post with a typical ‘I’d let him fuck me’ caption. Most of his followers weren’t on yet, so he saved the post for later – not noticing the fact that he didn’t change the profile he saved the draft to. He could already see the threads, the excitement and wet seats from the beauty of these photos, the comments and retweets that would keep his phone blowing up for hours. For some reason, the action on his I Heart Iron Man account was way more important than anything that happened on the official Spider-Man account. That one was heavily monitored by one Pepper Potts and he rarely got any creative freedom when it came to the things he was able to post for the world to see. He usually received an email with a photo attached and a pre-planned caption – one that was both politically correct and wholesome enough to keep his friendly neighborhood superhero persona alive and well. He understood the necessity – the current age of social media was like the jungle and a single mistake could take down an entire pride. Being attached to The Avengers came with a bit of added pressure – but he listened and did what he was told – Spider-man was a good boy.

Peter Parker on the other hand, well, he’d been cooped up behind the mask for too long – and stuck in a lab with the single hottest human on the planet, of course. Upon being discovered by the man a little after his eighteenth birthday, Peter and Tony fell into an easy camaraderie. The older man appreciated his brain and recklessness – though he’d never admit to the latter. Working together through his internship with Stark Industries got him a little closer to the actual man himself – and Peter liked everything about him. His brilliance felt tangible – Peter able to feel Tony’s thought process when they were pushed up against one of the lab tables together, the web fluid code spread out on the holoscreen in front of them.

When he got an idea about something, Tony couldn’t be stop, slowed down, or deterred from the course. Many times, Peter watched Tony go from a raw idea to a solved puzzle in the matter of a couple of facial expressions. It made Peter want to clap his hands in excitement and pull the man flush against him all in one breath. He didn’t take into account, when he started getting to spend time with both Tony and Iron Man, that the difference between the two would soon be hard to discriminate – and his attraction became twofold.

Since getting to know the man behind the mask, Peter thought about putting his Iron Man fan account to rest a few times. Tony Stark, who Peter knew considered him a friend, deserved a lot more than the ‘fuck me, Tony’ memes he’d been known to create in his spare time long before he knew anything other than a schoolboy fantasy. Twitter told him just the other day that his account celebrated its fifth birthday – an accomplishment in and of itself in this day and age. The couple times he came close to finally getting rid of it, he found himself scrolling through the many, many – way too many posts he’d made over the years – inevitability unable to pull the trigger and actually delete the account. He figured, since the images could still pull such a reaction out of himself and others like him, well – what could it possibly hurt?

In all his time as the moderator of the fan account, he never once gave himself away. Despite all of the people wanting to be friends and meet in person – Peter managed to keep his identity and the anonymity of the account secure. Mainly because the only personal opinion he ever let anyone see was the one that said, ‘I want Tony Stark to top me & I don’t care who knows it!’ At the end of the day, that singular idea seemed to be more than enough for most people scrolling through his content. There were so many things he juggled on a daily basis – he couldn’t imagine what being caught out worshipping the man he’d come to really know and appreciate would be like.

Over the past couple of years, Peter tried his best to gain the respect of all of The Avengers. Despite being eighteen and technically an adult when he joined them, each member looked at him like a kid, or their younger brother they needed to protect. Little by little, he felt the acceptance from most of the group – Steve and Bruce were surprisingly in his corner relatively fast. The one person he craved to be seen for the man he was couldn’t decide how he felt on the matter. Tony could be so carefree, especially when they were in the lab together or joking around after a particularly good patrol. Tony could also be very protective and turn on ‘dad-mode’ just as easy. A part of Peter wanted to believe the other man cared for him so much that his protective nature couldn’t be helped. Though, the man was Iron Man – he spent his life getting into situations to protect other people. Whatever the deal was, Peter didn’t really know where he (not Spider-Man, the heroes were too close knit after so many battles together) stood with Tony Stark – so pining from a distance would have to do.

All of the excitement of freaking out with all of his fellow Iron Man fans made it easy to neglect the time. Glad for once that he listened to his instinct and didn’t decided to rub one out in the NYU bathrooms, Peter took his time enjoying each and every one of the photographs. Most afternoons left a little bit of time between coming home from class and heading to SI – a time in which Peter usually did the little bit of homework he usually had. Today, his routine went out the window the second he got his laptop open and the images on the screen. It didn’t make sense – how much attention the photos were getting from him. As he clicked through each one, he felt more and more – arousal at first, then something… different.

For whatever reason, this spread decided to highlight the man in the mask without the mask on – like the world needed more gratuitous pictures of the gorgeous Tony Stark (okay, it did – it really fucking did.) The lack of a full connection to Iron Man in the photos made Peter really think about how much of Tony Stark actually went into the superhero. Spider-Man was Peter’s alter ego – the mask kept him safe and allowed him to face recklessness head-on without a second thought. The principles that guided Spider-Man very much belonged to Peter Parker – but the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was an entity of its own. The more Pete thought about the differences between Iron Man and Tony Stark – there weren’t many that didn’t have to do with the abilities of the suit. When the mask came off, Tony didn’t stop being Iron Man. It only took two years of getting to know the man to truly understand.

The haze of his realization and the fog of arousal that’d been collecting in the room slowly pulled Peter under – he let his left hand move away from the computer screen, his fingers skating across the fabric of his shirt until they settled on the button of his jeans. It didn’t take much to get the button undone, the zipper coming down easily a couple of seconds later. A soft sigh left his lips when the pressure he’d been staving off finally let up a little – his cock finally able to breath for the first time since leaving class. For a few minutes, he let himself continue to tease the tips of his fingers over the bulge that pressed so nicely against the front of his black Calvin Klein’s. Flipping through the photos a couple more times, Peter found a set of his favorite picture in a couple different tones – the heat he felt making him fist his cock, the material of his briefs already wet and humid. He let a soft moan leave his lips – the younger man finally letting his fingertips trail under the waistband, the skin-on-skin contact almost too good.

He clicked on the last of the photos in the set, Peter still hung up on the original – the black and white something he never knew he needed in a photo. The way Tony looked in it, Peter could almost imagine that same stare when he looked up and caught the older man looking his way. That thought sent a rush of heat to his middle – the precum pooling in his boxers starting to saturate the material, his cock literally dripping. He couldn’t resist wrapping his fingers around the head, the pad of his thumb smearing the liquid around.

It didn’t take long to imagine the look in Tony’s eyes actually being directed at him, the faraway look replaced with one of hunger and desire. Tony wouldn’t be shy about the way he wanted, either. Peter could only imagine how he’d pull his smaller body flush against his own – taking control of the situation without a second thought. He spent a lot of time thinking about how Tony would kiss, the man was so talented at everything – it would only make sense that Tony Stark was a world class kisser, too. When kissing became too much, he thought about the older man wiping all of the things off the desk behind them, picking Peter up, and having his wicked way with him on the flat surface. Oh, to feel the heavy press of Tony’s chest against his own.

The apex of the coiled heat in his stomach quickly approached – the Tony and Peter of his fantasy were sans clothes and happily rutting together on the table. The heavy drag of the older man’s cock would be overwhelming – each pass of the skin of it against Peter’s own trigger-happy dick bringing him closer and closer to the edge. A hitch in his breath brought Peter out of the fantasy, brown eyes watching as his own hand moved under the tent of his briefs. His skin felt like it was on fire, the heat inside him consuming every nerve ending before finally settling in the depths of his balls – the swell of it boiling over and bringing Peter along with it. He kept a slow rhythm going until the oversensitivity became too much. The spidey senses were a hell of a thing when it came to stimulation – many times overwhelming him from all angles. Coming down, Peter pulled his hand out of his pants, the stickiness making him chuckle. Only Peter would jerk off in the comfortability of his own home without getting out of his pants – at least he did his own laundry now.

It didn’t take long to get cleaned up, a quick wipe of his soiled briefs and a change of pants had him ready again in no time. Which ended up being a good thing – when he came out to check his phone, he noticed several text notifications and a missed call from Tony. His eyes bugged when he saw the time – he was hella late. So late, in fact, that he was surprised Iron Man himself wasn’t banging at his window. Sucking in a breath, Peter unlocked his phone to call Tony back, although, he didn’t get very far – Tony’s name popped up before he could get the app up. He swiped his thumb to answer the call, getting it before the first ring could finish.

“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry. Time got away from me – I’m on my way, now,” Peter got out, the words immediately coming out of his mouth before Tony could get a word in edgewise. He inadvertently worried the man, the sheer amount of texts and calls showing that. The least he could do was be gracious and get his ass to work as fast as he possibly could. Pete heard Tony let out a sigh on the other end of the line – the older man obviously more relieved than mad. “Fuck, Pete – I got a little worried when you didn’t show up. I asked Friday to check in with Karen – but you weren’t wearing the suit, either. I don’t want to tell you how close I came to putting on my suit to come find you,” Tony tried to keep his tone light, though his words spoke louder than any feigned nonchalance could. “Glad you’re safe, kid,” Tony said, the words completely genuine. “I’m okay – sorry I worried you, Tony.” Peter smiled at his own words, then quickly disconnected the call with another promise to be there soon and get there safely.

Peter couldn’t keep the grin off his face when he thought about how well he actually knew Tony Stark. He knew the other wasn’t far from using the suit to make sure he was okay or find him if the case called for it. Though, the fact that he spent all that time fantasizing and getting off to the other man’s photos remained – so the joy of the feeling wasn’t… entirely pure. Shaking his head, Peter got himself into gear – his feet carrying him around the room at a record pace. The walk to the roof was quick, his energy renewed now that he’d handled the burn eating him up since Biophysics earlier and he was about to spend the next however many hours elbows deep in nanotech goodness with a person that was quickly becoming his favorite. Before pulling the mask on, Peter pulled his phone out and shot Tony a text.

Peter Parker [6:30PM]: Swinging your way. Peter Parker [6:30PM]: See you soon, Tony.

He smiled at the use of Mr. Stark’s name and let the joy from before settle in again – he felt good and intended to enjoy it. Clearing out his programs, Peter noticed he left the post from before sitting in his drafts. That wouldn’t do – especially since the world deserved to see the sexiness that was Tony Stark as Iron Man. And the world expected I Heart Iron Man to comment on something this monumental. He absentmindedly pulled the draft up and posted it – the younger man not bothering to make sure he posted to the right account. Pulling on his mask, Peter grinned to himself and started to run, his feet carrying him at a high speed off the edge of the roof and into a flawless swing – that was always the best part.

----  

It felt invigorating, flowing from web to web throughout the gorgeous backdrop that was New York City. Before being discovered by Tony and later invited to join The Avengers, Pete spent many nights simply enjoying the fact that he could see the city from this perspective. Between battling muggers and making sure innocent people remained safe – Peter’s work was cut out for him, and the simple moments were really what made it worth it. He didn’t speed through his city swing the same way he did earlier that day, that burning desire simmering in the pit of his stomach right now, the need not burning hot and pulsing like earlier. Eventually, Peter landed on the landing port on top of Stark’s building – a soft sigh leaving his lips when his feet settled against the hard surface of the flattop. It took him a second to get his equilibrium back, the boy slightly dizzy for a few moments after stopping the gravity defying movements. He took his mask off then, now steady feet carrying him to the door of the elevator – the penthouse a couple seconds ride away.

Before he could get his hand on the button, Friday’s voice came out of nowhere. “Peter, you might want to move a little quicker. Something happened,” Friday said, the words making Pete’s heart beat a little faster. It didn’t take him that long to get from lower Queens to Stark Tower – he made the swing every day and almost always got it done in a few minutes. There hadn’t been anything noticeable in the sky and he didn’t see any alien technology trying to infiltrate their atmosphere. His eyebrows furrowed as he got into the elevator, the door obviously being opened by Friday - the AI smarter than her own good sometimes. “What’s up, Friday? I didn’t see anything when I was out over the city – I know I would’ve at least noticed trouble.” Peter spoke with curiosity in his voice, the idea of missing something big driving hm a little crazy. “For once, the country is safe, Peter. Have you looked at your phone lately? It seems like something got out that shouldn’t have,” Friday’s voice was matter-fact, but Peter knew if she could, a chuckle would’ve accompanied those words.

Without another thought, Peter pulled his phone from the pocket of his backpack he kept it in when he was otherwise occupied doing Spider-Man things. Clicking the button on the side, his eyes bulged when he saw the massive amount of notifications blowing up his phone. He didn’t understand what happened right away – his eyes catching all the likes and retweets of his latest tweet – but then, holy shit – the tweet being retweeted came from his Spider-Man account and not the fan account. “Holy shit. Friday, how many people have seen this? And Mr. Stark – did he –?” Peter felt like the elevator was closing in him – the ride taking way longer than it normally did. “Mr. Stark gets an alert when any of The Avengers send out a tweet,” Friday answered him truthfully. Peter already knew that – he’d given the older man shit about how close of an eye he kept on them all more than once over their time together. Sometimes jokingly, and sometimes with a malice that only a 20-year-old can bring. The elevator finally settled and for once in his entire life – Peter wasn’t ready for whatever waited for him on the other side of the sliding doors.

Not being prepared was an understatement. There were three bodies waiting for him the second he got off the elevator; Pepper, who looked absolutely appalled, Steve, who had the slightest bit of laughter in his eyes, despite the seriousness of his face – and Tony, who’s expression was the most unreadable. His gut clenched tightly when he took a step closer, all eyes on him. “I can explain – “ Peter started, but his words were immediately cut off. “Peter, this is the dumbest thing you could have done! I knew I shouldn’t have given you access to the official Twitter.” Pepper’s words cut, each one swiping salt into a wound that was slowly opening, the blood seeping from the gash little by little. “You need to delete it – now!” Her eyes flashed at that, the seriousness of the situation not really hitting him until that very moment. The tone of her voice was like Aunt May after he came home with a black eye, though the underlying worry did not exist in this lecture.

Peter didn’t hesitate – the phone was still gripped tightly in his fist from the initial humiliation that hit him in the elevator. Nimble fingers worked over the screen until Twitter was up and the tweet was gone – though millions of people already saw it if the traffic on it was anything to go by. Slamming his eyes shut before looking up at the people in front of him, Peter felt a wash of shame slip over him – how in the world did he look Tony Stark in the eyes now that he’d carelessly revealed himself to the other man. And the way he did it – the comment on that photo did not do his true feelings justice. What a fucking idiot, Peter thought – his hands clenching into fists once his phone was deposited back into his pocket. “I’m so fucking sorry,” Peter finally managed to get out, his head titling up until he could look at them. He avoided Tony’s eyes, though – the embarrassment too real and in his face at the moment.

“We’ll discuss this at a later date. Until then, please don’t post on Twitter at all. I need to go and do some damage control,” Pepper spoke with finality, the arms crossed over her chest relaxing as she started to walk away. “If you’ll excuse me, fellas.” Her heel clicks sounded louder than they’d ever been, each one reverberating around the penthouse – the feeling she left behind like final nails in a coffin. His cheeks still flaming, Peter looked over to Cap – the older man’s arms crossed much like Pepper’s, though the amusement in his eyes hadn’t left. In fact, Steve looked like he wanted to laugh in Peter’s face – the immensity of the situation not lost on the hero. “I don’t even know why I’m here, honestly. I think I wanted to see your face in person. We’ll meet as a group about this some other time – talk about how this might affect the dynamic of the collective,” Steve said, his words sure, the tempo and tone of his voice very much like normal. “Until then, I’ll leave you two be.” The blonde threw a look in Tony’s direction, then followed Pepper’s steps out – a hand landing on Peter’s shoulder for a quick second when the older man passed.

All at once, Peter found himself alone with Tony – the other man’s face still unreadable. Peter didn’t know what to say, the younger man hoping for once that Tony flew off the handle and lectured him. Anything was better than the expression on the older man’s face. “Tony, I – “ Peter still didn’t know what to say, his heart was beating so fast and the entire situation was stupidly overwhelming. He almost wished he could turn and run away, follow Steve’s footsteps and retreat into the elevator – the call of his studio apartment was much louder than normal. Instead of standing there, Peter moved a little farther into the apartment. His feet knew the path so well now – he’d spent more than enough time exploring the marble floored hallways, the rooms with their huge beds and even bigger screens on the wall, the lab and all of its techie glory. Over the past couple of years, this place became home. Hopefully his dumb ass libido didn’t lose that for him – he didn’t really know what he’d do with himself if he suddenly lost The Avengers, Tony, and the place he felt the most comfortable in one fell swoop.

His hands skimmed across the leather of the couch he sat in just the day before – the sounds of The Walking Dead playing in his ears at the memory. After getting done in the lab for the night, Tony nodded towards the couch – the older man obviously not ready for their time to end yet. In the recent weeks, Peter noticed their time in the lab always ended outside of the lab – whether they ate takeout and watched tv or played chess on the really cool black and white checkered board, there was always a bit of time spent outside of the lab. Last night, Tony puttered around the kitchen while Peter got settled on the couch – his brief conversation with Friday getting the series pulled up and their current episode onto the screen. A comfortable silence fell over them when Tony brought plates of fresh eggs and bacon over – both men always ravenous after their time in the lab. That time was so easy and now seemed like a lifetime ago. What good could possibly come from this? Peter hadn’t really thought about what would happen if Mr. Stark found out about the crazy obsession he let play out through a twitter feed.

Though the word obsession seemed a little heavy. When he first started following Iron Man, it was with rapt attention and idolization. He could still remember the first time he saw the hero on TV – the way his heart kind of beat in a way he’d never experienced before, and his palms got a little sweaty. He liked what the name Ironman represented. Then, well – a sexual awakening came not long after that and Iron Man seemed to be the fuel to that fire. For a couple of years, Peter felt himself falling for the illusion of what Iron Man represented. When he actually met the man, the hunger for Iron Man didn’t relinquish, not really – instead, it was replaced with what could only now be called actual feelings. Getting to know Tony made it impossible for him to not be totally in love with everything about him. The fact that he was Ironman only enhancing the deal that much more. He could have easily copped to an obsession a few years ago, but now – well, his keen eye noticed the attraction and the something else that came with it. Whether his friend decided to see it that way or not, Peter didn’t really know.

Footsteps coming closer to him brought Pete out of his memories, the firmness and cool feel of the couch still under his fingertips grounding him, keeping him in the moment now that he could see Tony in front of him. The older man stopped with a couple of feet between them, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “So, I guess we should talk, huh?” Tony asked, sarcasm in his voice evident – though the tone contained no malice, which was both interesting and insanely comforting all at once.

Peter watched as Tony walked around to the front of the couch and took a seat, his scar-specked hand patting the seat beside him until the younger man got the hint and joined him there. The couch was comfortable but, in that moment, Peter couldn’t find a place on the seat that felt right. Maybe that was the feeling of wanting to crawl out of his skin and run away – or maybe it was the guilt that sat steadily on his chest, pinning him uncomfortably to whatever spot he settled on. When he finally forced himself to stop wiggling, he noticed the miles of space between them. Just last night they sat shoulder to shoulder – the feeling something Peter didn’t realize he needed until right then.

His chest felt tight when he pulled in his next few breaths, nervousness running through him. In all 20 of his years, Peter couldn’t ever remember feeling this way. Apprehension, tension, embarrassment – and the worst of all, dread – crawled all over him like the spider that bit him to give him the powers he now wielded so expertly. “Tony, I really am sorry. I never – uh, I never meant for you to even… find out,” Peter started, the younger man not able to exist in the silence that settled between them any longer. Tony turned slightly, his left hip and side pressing against the couch so he could see Peter a little better. He seemed to be paying attention but made no move to contribute to the conversation. His eyes were cloudy, and his expression still sat neutral – the man a pro at poker faces and composure.

“This is pretty embarrassing, but I’ve obviously had a thing for you for a long time. More so now than ever before – and it’s different – but its been there and I’m just really fucking sorry.” Peter felt a little desperate with the last couple of words coming out of his mouth. The weight of how Tony reacted next pressed on him – each pound tangible in the tightness in his chest. Until that moment, they hadn’t made any direct eye contact – Peter avoiding it like the plague. Yet, for some insane reason, he felt a little better when their eyes finally did lock. Tony’s posture relaxed even further, a hand coming up to scratch at the salt and pepper hairs on the tip of his chin – the gesture one Peter knew to be a nervous tick Tony probably didn’t know he partook in. “I can’t say this was the best way for anything like this to come out. Pete – Friday managed to find the account you were trying to post to.” Peter sucked in a gasp, his face coloring to personify the flames that swooped over and engulfed him. How fucking great.

Tony wasn’t finished it seemed, the older man grabbing his own phone – thrusting it into Peter’s hands. Pete didn’t need to look down to see what was on the screen. He remembered each of the first five posts that were visible and hoped the world would swallow him whole. What a way to come out not only to the world, but to the object of his desire, too. “At least you have good taste,” Tony mumbled, the phone settling on the couch between them – the screen still bright, the most recent meme staring back at them both.

Peter still didn’t know what to say – what the hell could he say in a situation like this? Sorry spilled from his lips more times than he cared to think about. Aside from the humiliation, Peter felt a little curious about the calmness of Tony’s reaction. The older man had every right to be fuming – and in any other situation, he probably would have. Tony didn’t balk at opportunities to make his opinion known or tell someone else the way it truly was. The silence was broken when Tony spoke again – “Is the stuff you said true? Is that what you want from me? A little romp in the sheets with your fantasy?” The question was unexpected and totally knocked Peter off balance. It almost seemed like Tony was teasing him, but the sincerity of the question remained – Tony wanted to know.

“Yes – but also no. Iron Man was the dream. The thought that guided me through being a teenager and figuring out without much warning that girls were not on the menu. It felt good to experience excitement with other people about someone I – y’know, wanted. Then I met you and the way we seem to click changed things. The time we spend together in the lab is amazing – you’re the smartest person that I’ll get to work beside. Don’t tell Dr. Banner, though. You talk all this talk and act like you don’t care – but I know that’s total bull shit. You’re a good guy, Tony – no matter how much you don’t want that to be the case. I guess the fantasy turned into something else. I want that, you – but not just that. Iron Man doesn’t come without Tony Stark for me anymore – not when Tony Stark is the best part of the package.” Peter didn’t let himself stop until all the words were out of his mouth – if this was it, he at least needed to walk away having put everything out on the table between them. Considering he didn’t have any intention of Tony ever finding out, his expectations were not high – but a boy could dream.

The hand on his shoulder tightened and Peter looked up to see Tony staring at him – that same faraway look in his eyes like in the picture that got him in so much trouble to begin with. Pete could tell he was thinking, letting all of those words and what they meant process in the recesses of that big brain of his. Then, the hand moved to his cheek, the calloused fingers firm in their pressure against his skin. “You couldn’t just tell me? I know for a fact that a conversation like this could’ve saved a lot of people a lot of headache,” Tony’s voice was filled with humor, the words sounding different to Pete now that he could feel the heat of the other’s skin against his own. Tony shifted until they were close – the hand on his cheek sliding until it cupped the back of his neck. “Next time, just lay one on me or something, okay? No more of that crazy shit – if you’re posting pictures of me, it better be because you took it or we’re both in it.” Tony used the fingers on Peter’s neck to tilt his head until the younger man was looking at him square in the eye. Peter’s breath caught in his throat – the seconds passing by them at a glacial place. “The real thing is much better, anyway,” Tony finished, his lips quirking into a smirk that Peter couldn’t recall ever seeing before.

The distance was easy to close after that. Peter wanted to wipe the smirk off Tony’s face and feel what it felt like against his lips all at once. The heat on his neck from Tony’s fingers was starting to radiate down his back – the tendrils moving until they settled deep into his core, this heat different, running a little hotter than what he felt earlier in the day. Tilting his head, Peter felt Tony adjust too until they were angled perfectly – their lips sealed together tightly. A tongue started to trace at the seam of Peter’s lips, the younger man granting it access immediately. In the time he spent fantasizing about one Tony Stark and all the kisses they’d shared in his mind, he never could have pegged this particular flavor or feeling. He could taste the smoke of the man’s favorite bourbon on the back of his tongue, Tony probably downing a couple glasses the second he got the notification just to soothe his nerves. The delicious flavor layered on top of the booze could only be the man himself – something that was simply Tony. His lips were soft and insistent, the facial hair above his lips exotic in the way it teased across the skin of Pete’s upper lip. Years of experience allowed Tony to explore his mouth seamlessly – and when they pulled back, the look of pure want on the other’s face was unmistakable.

Pete felt his chest heave, the lack of oxygen consuming for a moment while he stared at the man still pressed against him. His lips were tingling, the simple thought that Tony kissed him making his brain feel like putty. The reprieve didn’t last long, though – Tony pressed forward, this time with much less abandon and way more passion. The kiss stared hot and wet, both men passed the point of exploration. Peter felt Tony’s other hand start to drift down his chest until it settled on his hip, the other’s leverage being used to pull him even closer. Now that they were pressed flush against each other, Peter could really feel what was under the suit. His own hands moved restlessly, first taking in the skin of Tony’s cheeks, then down his shoulders and arms – the muscles there firm, not just from controlling the Ironman suit but also all the hours spent in the lab. The roughness of Tony’s fingertips against the skin of his neck spoke of a man that worked with his hands and so did the rest of him.

Peter copied Tony’s move and slipped his hand down the middle of the other’s chest – his palm stopping when he came into contact with the arc reactor. He kept his hand there, the warmth of the unit seeping into his palm – like he figured, it radiated life and energy, even if it wasn’t actually from the unit but the man himself. Pulling out of the kiss, Peter watched as he moved his fingers over the reactor through Tony’s shirt – the thickness of it stopping the glow from emanating, but Peter knew it was there, anyway. “It’s warm,” Peter murmured, his eyes slipping from the motion of his fingers up to catch Tony’s eyes – a hazy lust sat within them combining with something Peter didn’t recognize.

Tony stayed silent for a second, his puffing chest letting the reactor press more firmly into Pete’s hand with every inhale of breath. “Good, if it wasn’t – I wouldn’t be alive,” Tony said back in reply – the hand around Peter’s neck moving until he grasped the younger man’s wrist between his fingers. “It feels a little weird when it’s touched. Like, I can feel your fingers all over me, instead of just over the top of my shirt.” Tony pulled Peter’s hand to him, his lips pressing a kiss to each of the fingers and then his palm. “Want to move this elsewhere?”

The inability to speak had Peter getting up off the couch quickly – he couldn’t believe this was happening, but he sure as fuck wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. He heard a chuckle leave Tony’s lips before the older man got from the couch and followed after Peter. His strong arm wrapped around Tony’s middle, Peter refusing to be parted from the other for too long. Though he never saw the room before, Peter knew exactly where he was headed. The door opened on its own accord; Friday’s technology really was amazing. The next thing Peter knew, Tony was pulling him close and pressing him against the door that was now shut. The older man’s lips were everywhere, the scruff of his goatee burning a path across the cheeks of his face, down his neck and across the bits of collar bone that were exposed under his shirt. Peter let a moan escape his lips, the attack on his skin intoxicating, each press of Tony’s lips or tug of his teeth made his skin prickle – the weight of the door pressing into his back even adding to the entire thing. His hands were uselessly tangled in the fabric of Tony’s shirt – his body under a trance from the bizarre situation and overwhelming stimuli.

Peter did not expect the next thing he saw to be Tony Stark on his knees in front of him, yet when he opened his eyes – the older man was there, his hands tracing over his flanks, lips mouthing over the obvious bulge in his too-tight pants. Then, hazy brown eyes were looking up at him, Tony’s hands catching up to the rest of him, those calloused fingers already working on the button and zip of his jeans. Tearing his glance away from Tony, Peter glanced further down to make sure he didn’t have any embarrassing boxers on, a soft breath of relief leaving his chest when he remembered the white Calvin’s he put on after getting himself cleaned up earlier.

The time for thinking was completely out the window when he felt a puff of air ghosting over the bulge pressing insistently against the front of his briefs. Tony’s hands were quick to pull his pants and briefs down, Peter clumsily kicking his shoes off to help with the process. His cock bobbed in front of the other man’s lips – Tony’s eyes glazing over further when he noticed the slick sitting on the tip of his dick. He was already leaking like crazy, his cock rock hard and balls drawn up against his skin. Tony looked up and caught Pete’s eye for a second before the younger man was nodding, answering the silent question without any hesitation.

The incredible heat surrounding him caught Peter off guard – his head smacking back against the door behind him from the intensity of it. The talented tongue pressed against the heavy vein on the underside of his cock and traced it – Peter moaning at the feeling of another drop of precum falling from the head of his dick. Tony moaned around him then, his fingers circling tightly at the end of Pete’s shaft to pump the last inch or two his mouth didn’t fit around. Between the drag of his tongue and the tight suction passing from the tip down to Tony’s fingers, Peter was a mess against the door in a couple of minutes. He tried to keep his hips from pressing forward, though he didn’t give a shit about his hand’s tightness in Tony’s hair – the other man seemed to enjoy it, anyway. Suddenly, Tony’s hands were gripping his hips, fingers digging into the skin and pressing – pressing until Peter could do nothing other than thrust forward. The need to cum flashed hotly across the front of Pete’s mind, his stomach tighter than tight – every single bit of him drawn up and ready to explode.

“Fuck – Tony, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop,” Peter babbled using the energy he had left to pick his head up off the door and look down at Tony. The older man didn’t let him go, in fact – those fingers tightened on his skin and his mouth moved until only the tip of his dick was in Tony’s mouth. One last hard suck and Pete was a goner – each pulse of release making him call out Tony’s name, his fingers probably brutal in the other’s hair where they gripped. Tony didn’t loosen his grip on his hips, instead using it to keep Peter upright when his knees threatened to buckle. “Holy fuck,” Peter moaned, one of his hands moving to grip tightly in his own hair – the pain of it keeping him grounded.

“Holy fuck is right. Get the rest of your clothes off, Pete. I can’t wait much longer to feel you against me,” Tony’s words were suddenly right by his ear – Peter’s eyes widening when he realized just how close the other man was pressed against him again. Tony palmed his dick, fingers tickling over the sensitive flesh teasingly – “you can go again, can’t you?” The question lingered there, Peter’s shit eating smirk answer enough for the both of them. The younger man quickly stripped, his shirt coming off over his head and then his socks – Peter so glad he didn’t notice before. Tony Stark sucked him off with his socks still on his feet – just like the noob he actually was. Peter practically jumped on the bed, his back settling against the softness of the sheets, the mattress beneath him one of the comfiest things he’d ever felt.

Peter didn’t spend much time thinking about the bed, though – his eyes were drawn to the older man starting the process of underdressing. Like any gentleman, he popped off the expensive watch from his wrist, the accessory finding its way to the proper place on the dresser he’d wandered over to. Next came the belt in his jeans, the leather making a ‘whoosh’ sound as each inch pulled from the loops. Pete felt his chest flushing, the heat in his core once again starting to bubble with arousal. Those talented fingers gripped the edge of Tony’s shirt, the older man slow with the job, the shirt moved inch by inch – each new flash of skin making Peter’s cheeks burn hotter and hotter. What he assumed to be hard muscular arms were chiseled, the definition of the muscle something Peter assumed most people Tony’s age weren’t really able to accomplish. His stomach wasn’t nearly as cut up as Peter’s, but the thick line of hair that trailed down it more than made up for it. Peter’s fingers itched to get caught in the coarse hair there – to pull and tug until he could feel the warm skin underneath. The last and most painstaking piece of clothing to come off was the other’s jeans. He undid the button with just his thumb – the zip coming down on its own – the obvious bulge there much bigger and prominent than Pete’s. He stepped out of them first, each leg being removed, then folded into a neat little pile.

Only then did he let a teasing smirk slip across his lips – the older man’s hand cupping himself through his underwear as he took Peter in, dark eyes roaming. Peter watched Tony give himself a squeeze before slipping his fingers under the waistband of those sexy briefs and pull until they were falling down his hips and onto the floor. “Wow,” Peter muttered, the word coming out before he could stop it. Tony laughed; his head thrown back from the sheer joy of it. “You’re one to talk, kid – damn, Pete,” Tony answered, the hand cupping himself now back giving his cock a few languid strokes. The whole show screamed dirty – the older man obviously okay with the fact that Peter thought so candidly about him. Tony was putting this on for Peter – each steady tug of his cock, the slow strip – even the amazing blowjob against the door.

Tony tortured Peter with the amazing view of the man stroking his cock for another couple of minutes. Peter taking the time to really look at the other man. His hands were speckled with white lines and severe scars, though they moved flawlessly over the warmed flesh of his own cock. His legs were long and lean – his thighs heavily muscled but not in a way that screamed ‘dumb meat head’. They were working man’s legs – and they helped carry the weight of the world on Tony’s shoulders. His chest was defined, though heavily scarred, too. The faint blue glow of the arc reactor added to the mood – Peter’s eyes selfishly settling on the incredible piece of tech for a moment or two longer than necessary. The man’s dick was long and thick – the appendage much heavier looking than his own. He could see the slightest hint of precum starting to collect on the head, Tony’s thumb moving over it to collect the fluid while he watched, using it to ease the glide of his fingers over the turgid flesh.

Pete chocked off a moan when Tony finally moved over to the bed and joined him, the older man pressing himself over Pete – the weight exactly what he dreamed it would be. The show was obviously over, Tony’s hunger tangible in a way it wasn’t just a minute ago when they were staring at each other across the room. He opened his legs and let Tony settle between them – the move bringing their cocks together. Pete’s hand slipped between them to wrap his fingers around them both – just to keep them sliding against one another, the younger man hungry for friction and heat. The moan he could feel come from the pit of Tony’s chest had him clenching his fingers, bringing them that much closer. Their hips swiveled and pumped together – the slickness drooling from Peter easing the slide in the most delicious of ways.

“I hope the fantasy of me topping you is still a thing. I need to fuck you so bad, Pete – I have not stopped thinking about it for ages now,” Tony mumbled against the side of Peter’s neck. Ages? Holy shit, Pete thought – his attraction wasn’t as one sided as he forced himself to believe all this time. That thought gave him renewed confidence and sent his mind spiraling in a million different directions.

“It is – it really, really is. Do you want me to tell you how I thought about you turning me onto my belly,” Peter thrust his hips up while he spoke – the slide still doing delicious things to his brain. “How you opened me up with just your tongue, then draped your weight over me and took what you wanted.” Tony’s hips were moving restlessly against his own – the older man’s pants and groans loud in his ear – the huff of his breath the only indicator for him to keep going. “Or do you want to hear about how I thought about sitting on your lap and riding your dick until I came a couple times across your chest – until I dragged an orgasm out of you with just the roll of my hips and squeeze of my ass?” Peter watched as Tony threw his head back and moaned “fuck”  – the man starting to lose what little bit of control he seemed to be grasping to. “Fuck me, Tony – please, I want you to,” Peter finally panted out, his fingers squeezing their dicks once more before pulling his hand away, his fingers gripping onto Tony’s hip instead.

A hungry kiss was pressed into his lips, the slide of their tongues dirty and hot. Peter could feel the tiny thrusts against his stomach, the slick slide of a trail of precum that he didn’t know who it belonged to. He pulled away from the kiss – the need to breath overwhelming, his senses getting overloaded in the blink of an eye. Tony sat up a little, the older man taking the respite to stroke himself with one hand while the other reached into the bedside drawer – a victorious look on his face when he dropped the condom and lube on the sheets. He didn’t move to turn Peter over, so the younger man simply spread his legs wider – the indecent way he did it not lost on either of them. Tony heaved in a huge breath at the sight, his body moving on its own accord – the older man once again fitting snuggly between the v of his knees. A couple of kisses were peppered to the inside of his thigh, Tony distracting him from the sound of the lube cap being popped open and the feel of cold lube on his ass when he felt a finger pressing against his rim.

The moan that left him when Tony got the first finger in would’ve been embarrassing if it didn’t match the grunt Tony didn’t bother holding back. The stretch was nice – the little bit of burn biting across his skin, making the entire situation feel much more tangible. The subtle pump of the digit felt amazing and then Tony skimmed his prostate and Peter saw stars. “Tony, fuck!” Peter gasped out; his hole clenching tight around Tony’s finger.

The older man looked up at him, the view he’d been staring at obviously too much. Though, Peter watched his eyes glaze further when he took in the view of Peter laid out before him – long limbs and soft skin sweat covered and ripe for the picking. A second finger quickly joined the first, Tony now intimate with his sweet spot and the precum that dribbled from Pete’s cock when he hit it. His pace was steady and teasing. Time stood still as he laid back and absorbed. The third finger slipped in easily next to the others, the stretch so much and not enough – Peter’s senses were so overwhelmed, he probably couldn’t have told you his name or address in that moment.

The whispered “I want you across my lap” almost had him undone – Peter’s hand flew to his cock to grip the base tightly. He let out a sharp moan and tucked his head back against the mattress – his teeth digging into his bottom lip – “fuck, anything, Tony.” And he meant it, too. He dreamed about this so many different times, they probably couldn’t fuck enough to keep up with all the ways Tony could possibly want him. Tony pulled his fingers out lightly, the man pressing a quick kiss to Pete’s lips before he moved enough to sit on the mattress, his back pressed against the headboard of the huge bed. Those calloused hands fumbled a condom down the length of his dick, Tony smiling at him when he caught Pete’s eye.

Peter didn’t waste any time – after he felt Tony was adjusted enough, he opened the cap of the lube and poured a big drizzle of the stuff right on Tony’s cock. The older man moaned – his eyes widening when the coldness of the lube hit his smoldering hot flesh. His hand gripped Tony’s cock and gave it a stroke, the lube cool in his hand – the contrast of it making him shiver. He settled over Tony, the tip of that heavy cock pressed against his opening and Peter couldn’t help it – he sat back without warning, the head breaching first and then the rest of him sliding, sliding, sliding until Peter could feel the base of Tony’s hips. Tony felt amazing inside of him – Peter finally feeling completely full and totally connected with another human being.

The rhythm Peter set came naturally, the younger boy rolling his hips to get adjusted before he started to bounce on Tony’s length – the speed slow to start. Tony’s hands were tight on his hips, the older man pressing in right at the end of his stroke to get as much of his length into Peter as he could. They kept that up for a few minutes, moans and the sweet slap of flesh against flesh the only things heard in the room. Then, Peter adjusted slightly and sat back a little – the movement bringing the tip of Tony’s cock right against his prostate. “Oh god, that’s – fuck,” Peter got out through clenched teeth, the heat in his core no longer simmering, the rolling boil of it starting to come to the lip, threatening to spill over.

“Fuck, Pete. You feel amazing,” Tony murmured, the older man sitting up a little bit more to get a little deeper and to press them even closer together. His lips found the warm skin of Peter’s chest and his hands wrapped tightly around him – hips starting to join the action a little more. Peter felt the clench of Tony’s hands on the skin of his back as his thrusts started to speed up – the younger man sitting back more, letting the thrusts pummel into him hard and deep. By the end, each stroke tapped that spot inside him, the slapping of their skin loud and overwhelming with the way Tony huffed while he thrust and moaned when their bodies came together. The friction of their slick chests squeezing his cock pulled Peter over the edge – Tony’s name shouted from his lips before he went black for a second. Tony kept up his ruthless pace, Peter’s name coming off the other’s lips like a mantra until he too fell over the edge – Peter just able to catch the look on Tony’s face and the way his cum felt pulsing against the walls of his insides.

The come down from this orgasm took a little longer – Peter’s brain frazzled from the three orgasms he pulled from himself throughout the day and Tony’s weight more distracting than it had any right to be. The older man was pressing kisses against whatever skin he could reach, Peter finding himself more grounded with each touch. When he finally blinked away the haze of it all, Tony was looking up at him, one hand still clenched tightly around his middle while the other caressed the side of his cheek. Peter couldn’t help the soft smile that slipped across his lips, the man a fucking vision looking at him like he was – his touches still intoxicating, despite the fact that he was completely spent. “Wow,” Peter finally managed to mumble, his lips seeking out Tony’s for a sound kiss.

Managing just enough energy to get up off the other man’s lap, Peter collapsed against the comfortable mattress, his body melting into it. He watched with sleepy eyes as Tony got up and disposed of the condom, the man trekking into the bathroom for a minute or two before coming back and joining Pete on the bed. The soft press of a warm washcloth on his skin was surprising but not unwelcome. The simple fact that Tony cared enough to clean him up was exhilarating. Whatever happened after this, at least he knew Tony liked him enough to be good to him – especially after such an intense between them.

It didn’t look like Tony was going to make him leave or anything, so Peter let himself relax into the comfort of the sheets beneath him. The other’s weight surprised him a moment later when he felt Tony shift back onto the bed and gather him close – Peter’s back to Tony’s front, the soft thrum of the arc reactor pressing into his skin. No words were exchanged, the two simply settled down and snuggled up together. Tony pulled the blanket over them both with one hand, then pressed a couple of soft kisses against the back of his neck. Peter let the barely there pulse of the arc reactor and the rise and fall of Tony’s chest lull him to sleep.

If Peter was surprised when he woke up the next morning with Tony Stark spooning him tightly, he didn’t let it show. A small part of him thought Tony might run away like he seemed to do – but the man was still there, snoring peacefully against his neck. Tony actually seemed to be more relaxed now than Peter could ever remember seeing him. His hand moved to grasp onto the warm palm pressing against his chest – Peter slipping his fingers into the gaps of Tony’s to keep the man close. “You’re thinking too loud, Pete,” Tony said into the skin of his neck, the younger man not nearly as sneaky as he thought himself to be. The older man pressed a kiss against his neck and tightened his grip, a sigh leaving his lips. “How do you feel about pancakes?” Peter couldn’t help but chuckle and bring their joint hands to his lips. After pressing a kiss to the back of Tony’s, he nuzzled back and grinned. “Pancakes are my favorite, actually.”

----

Later that morning, after admittedly way more time than either man usually spent in bed, Tony and Peter made pancakes together. The natural way they fit together hadn’t changed – instead, Peter could feel a different kind of closeness between them. A closeness that only grew the more time they spent together – in the lab, out on the town together, and in bed, though the time spent in bed would probably always be Peter’s favorite.

The next time Peter got the opportunity to post on Spider-Man’s Twitter feed, he snickered when he pressed post – the world probably not ready for the photo they’d just taken. They were on the roof of Stark Tower, Spider-Man’s mask was up just enough to show his lips and the helmet on the Ironman suit was pulled back to see Tony’s face. In the photo they were kissing, Spider-Man’s hand on the meat of Iron Man’s cheek and Iron Man – well, the roundness of that jumpsuit encased ass was the focal point and the glove was cupping it tightly. Pocketing the phone, Peter pulled his mask back down and grinned – this time, when the world saw Spider-Man’s love for Iron Man, it’d be reflected right back.

Tony wrapped the suits arm around his shoulders – the two looking at each other through their masks.

“Come on, Pete – city’s waiting.”