#so many songs from my youth i just made up shit and later was like what its not about that?? and it flipped my universe around

[staircaseintherain]

I love watching people freak out about who they associated Taylor songs with/how they thought of them when they find out more about the actual song meaning and vibe, like. What, you had a love song in your life that’s now not so romantic anymore? You’ve never learned a song later in life wasn’t about what you thought it was and it changed your entire worldview? You must not have been an autistic millennial, that’s all my college years were (internet accessed, knowledge gained). You have no idea what my preteen autistic brain was doing with OG Fearless and Speak Now. I was ace/aegoromantic, autistic, and connecting things that should not have been connected. Come In With The Rain is one of my top five Taylor songs, and I used to attach it to my cousin. Now, I’m like, that’s not about a family member. But that association is still in my brain forever. I went through the Ours Realization™️. You need to learn to accept that your life and her’s aren’t the same, nobody experiences life the same, and you can still enjoy art that had nothing to do with you originally. You can still dance to Lover at your wedding. I can still sing Come In With The Rain about the fuckass cousin who ditched me in middle school for his friends. Knowing about her process and the song’s origin doesn’t remove or invalidate your own experience.

[notquiteaghost]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any recommendations for where to start getting into the mountain goats? What little I've listened to by them was incredibly good and made me feel things I can't put into words, so I want to listen to more, I just don't really know where to start. They've got so many songs! Which is a good thing, I love listening to music, it just also means that working out which songs to listen to next is hard.

i wld say, if you remember which songs you've heard & liked, then listen to the albums they're on. and, also, the jordan lake sessions were recorded when they couldn't tour cuz of the pandemic, and are recordings of gigs except the only actual audience of those gigs was the recording equipment. from my memory, they've more newer stuff than older, but they're a good discography grab bag imo

my personal Absolute Favourite songs, if you want a very simple starting point: heel turn 2, amy a.k.a spent gladiator, golden boy, deuteronomy 2:10, rain in soho, almost every door, until olympius returns, dark in here, bleed out

okay that was the tl;dr. now i am gonna infodump a bit

you can split tmg into (rough) stylistic eras: songs for patronius through to all hail west texas is the boombox era, and the majority of these songs are just john darnielle with a guitar; tallahassee through to transcendental youth is early full band, and include more instruments and actual studio recordings; beat the champ to now is later full band/the post-matt douglas era, and Holy Shit There's Woodwind Now

an important thing to note is very early tmg was all cassettes and EPs (as in actual extended play 7" vinyls), and they were then gathered into CD compilations, and only the CD compilations are on spotify (and i assume other streaming services). not all earliest tmg is on those compilations; some early tmg is just not on streaming services. if you really, really dig early tmg and want as much as you can get, you will probably need to do a small crime. this is okay; it's your only option, tmg are aware it's your only option.

another important thing to note is all tmg albums are somewhere on the concept album scale. probably the most concept album is tallahassee, which is about the alpha couple, two fucked up people who should get divorced and very much do not get divorced. but if you are into Songs With Narrative, i v much recommend looking up liner notes (tmg wiki has them) and also the annotated mountain goats (this only covers up to 2017).

also! people record tmg gigs and post those recordings online! some of those people have such good recording equipment their recordings are indistinguishable from a professional live album; best way to find these is to sort that collection by all-time views. there's a decent chunk of tours recorded. these are also a good discog grab bag

and, finally, my Official Album Recommendations:

tallahassee, as mentioned, is about two people in a deeply toxic relationship. there are more alpha couple songs than just this album (annotated tmg has a list under 'series'), but if you've heard 'no children' and liked it then you shld listen to all of tallahassee

transcendental youth is about suicidal ideation and the kinds of people who live with it; the sunset tree is about growing up with an angry man in your house; beat the champ is also about growing up with an angry man in your house but now using professional wrestling as an allegory/framing device; bleed out is about violent desperation and desperate violence, with 70s & 80s action movies as an allegory/framing device; all eternals deck is about a fictional tarot deck and, again, surviving terrible things.

[dankusner]

The Courtney Thing

THE NEXT TIME I WENT TO LOLLAPALOOZA WAS A YEAR LATER IN 1995.

Lake and I drove there from Olympia in our shared baby-blue Dodge Dart.

We had backstage passes from Kim Gordon.

I loved Sonic Youth and was excited to see them play, but I’d seen them a hundred times and had never seen Sinéad O'Connor live.

The Lion and the Cobra had been my "I'm becoming a feminist" soundtrack, and Sinéad's songs were living in my skin like pockets of salve waiting to heal me.

Just as we stepped out of the car, we heard her singing a long note and began running for the backstage gate.

By the time we got there, the song had ended.

There was silence and then applause.

She was done.

We'd heard her last note from the dirty parking lot.

Sonic Youth's backstage was like a single-wide mobile home.

I went in to say thanks for the backstage passes and made a sandwich.

I didn't want to be in the band's way and was about to leave when Kim mentioned that she was worried that Courtney Love might start shit with me.

Courtney had gotten physical with Kurt's former friends before, and Kim thought I might be next.

Up to that point, I’d never met Courtney, and even though she’d gone to great lengths to insult me in interviews, I still defended her when people said she was crazy or difficult.

I knew what it was like to be called things like that.

I also loved the first Hole singe so much I played it almost as many times as I played "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath.

Kathi once sent Courtney a fan letter and Courtney wrote back, "Find the biggest bitch in town and start a band."

Little did she know Kathi was already in a band with two of the biggest bitches in Olympia.

Kathi stayed pen pals with Courtney, and when we lived in DC, Courtney offered to help us get on a major label.

Kathi told her, "Thanks, but we want to remain independent."

I don't know if that pissed her off, or if she was jealous of the attention Bikini Kill was getting, or what, but after that she made it clear in the press that she hated our band, so I wasn't exactly excited to run into her.

I needed a plan in case I did, so Kim and I came up with the sentence

"I would be happy to debate you at the college of your choice."

I figured if she yelled at me, I would just repeat it like a force field.

Hole played before Sonic Youth and Courtney kept shouting "Girls to the front" and other phrases I typically said at Bikini Kill shows between songs.

It seemed empty and weird because there was plenty of space to dance and no men were messing with women.

Lake and Amy glared at me as if to say, "Is she ripping you off?"

I took it as a bizarre homage.

When Sonic Youth started, we moved to the side of the stage near the railing where it dropped off into the gorge.

As the band began to play, something that felt like pebbles started to hit me in the head.

It was candy.

Who was throwing candy?

I saw Courtney Love walking toward me throwing candy from a basket.

She was flanked by two large dudes and she seemed WASTED.

My instincts told me not to make eye contact with her.

Courtney got in my face and started hissing like a cat and reaching out like she was going to claw me.

She began screaming stuff at me like, "Bye-bye! Are you leaving now, Kathleen? Go home and feed the poor!"

She held her lit cigarette up to my face and traced my features with it, like she was going to put it out on my face.

Then she dropped a sweater in front of me and bent down to grab it. As she stood up she coldcocked me in the face.

I fell down, put my hand up to my cheek, and felt blood.

From the ground I yelled, "I will debate you at the college of your choice."

She yelled back something like, "You can't even read, and I’m way more feminist than you!"

I'll never know why she did it.

Maybe because "trauma begets trauma."

Maybe she was on drugs and mourning Kurt's death; maybe it was the fact that Tobi had dated Kurt while he was writing Nevermind, and it was widely speculated that Tobi was the inspiration for much of that record.

Maybe Courtney was embarrassed because I'd seen her using my stage banter as an empty schtick.

Whatever set her off, it was ironic that a woman attacked me for no reason and then claimed she was a smarter, better feminist than I was.

As we left the theater's parking lot, I got directions to the nearest police station.

Not like I trusted the cops.

I just wanted the assault to be written down somewhere so no one could pretend it had never happened or say that it was a "fight," like they had when Courtney assaulted singer Mary Lou Lord.

Courtney later spouted off in the press about how she wanted to kill her.

Mary Lou was a street musician and couldn't drop everything and press charges.

So I had her in mind when I filed a report.

The state decided to prosecute Courtney for assault and I gave my deposition on the phone to avoid seeing her in person.

Courtney pleaded guilty, but she didn't receive any jail time.

I think, in the end, she had to go to an "anger aromatherapy" session or something.

Three days after she hit me, Courtney walked onstage with a bandaged wrist and said, "I hit a bitch, but she deserved it."

Later she told the media I provoked her by whispering "Where's the baby, in a closet with an IV?" under my breath, referring to her daughter.

I absolutely did not say that.

I don't even understand it.

Who makes medical jokes about anyone, much less a baby?

The "fight" became national news and was mentioned everywhere from Rolling Stone to Entertainment Weekly to the Washington Post.

The media was pushing the narrative that Courtney and I had been in a "catfight," which just reminded me that pitting women against one another sold magazines.

When I handed in my rent check that month, the woman who opened the envelope read my name and said, "Aren't you the girl who attacked Courtney Love?"

[belamuse]

Saint Sinéad

Shuhada, May you fly free.

“Children say that people are hung sometimes for speaking the truth.” Joan of Arc, 1400s

“Put your fucking seatbelts on ’cause I haven’t finished yet.” Sinéad O’Connor, SPIN 1992

Singer. Banshee. Advocate. Priest. Theologian. Mother. Bold. Brave. Muslim. Life-long nonconformist. Feminist. Human.

I’ll never forget the SNL episode when she tore the pope’s photo in half after singing Bob Marley’s War. No one did that. No one was brave enough to speak truth like that.

I bought combat boots that year and later wore them out walking all over town during the national changes in 1992. Inspired to be a social sciences major and music minor because of the spirit of the revolutionaries, from the 1800’s and 1900’s—youth, women, men, poets, writers, the truth tellers, the artists and musicians who spoke truth- real truth- against hypocrisy, against insanity, against a system that would kill them or exile them for having the audacity to speak truth. To be a free thinker.

I thought the most incredible destiny at the time was creating art because of and despite the insanity of the lies, the struggle of the human condition. And the journey of the one, the artist inside a collective sea, despite and because of persecution or being gaslit, silenced and all manner of atrocity, yet living on through and beyond. Their art, an eternal message of possibility, freedom and hope.

I’ve been reading a slew of articles that paint Sinéad’s portrait and highlight the spectrum of her human journey through her music, political activism, mental illness, motherhood and spiritual truth finding. She journeyed deep and wide, high and low. She was that destiny, not ego in the harmful sense, Artist. She was not going to change or be what the industry wanted her to be. Her music, her songs lifted up so many of us— the voiceless, the broken, the afraid, the confused, the troubled. She gave feelings and words to millions. She was an angel and a waif, a punk and a rebel, a truth teller and her own wild wolf. She howled and gave us permission to feed and feel the moon.

She was unapologetic. She did not care that what she said or did for the sake of truth and freedom, impacted the socially constructed ideas of what fame or fortune in the music industry are supposed to looks like. That they impacted her musical ‘career’ as the industry explains it, mattered not. Sinéad was a woman of her own making.

“I didn’t have time to think about [becoming famous] before it happened,” she says. “I was singing in clubs and pubs, pubs and clubs… I was just singing for the sake of singing, ‘cause I had shit to get off my chest. I feel like that’s the only reason really [for anyone] to make an album is because they’ll go so fucking crazy if they don’t. If you’re making an album for any other reason you shouldn’t be fucking making it.”

I played her albums on repeat. Some songs and albums more than others, through my youth.

“When I sing, it’s the most solitary state: just me, and the microphone, and the holy spirit. It’s not about notes or scales, it’s all about emotion.”

I cut my hair short. Swore off my insecure, boy-crazy teenage low self esteem superficiality. There was Pre-Revolutionary Angie and then Post-Revolutionary Angie. Like Baba Yaga said, to know too much is to grow too old too soon. I saw too much about the human condition, the cost of freedom and it’s opposite on the human psyche, felt and saw one world dying and another world rising— a world that was being made a golden child— Capitalism! And all I could see and smell was lies and hypocrisy. Yes some of the old needed to die, but some of the soul of the old was being raped by the dollar and that seemed insane to me. I didn’t know how to put in in words or digest it. It was a bone to choke on.

I was only a kid. I struggled mentally with anxiety and depression. An awakening of sorts. But no bearings back home to make sense of it. Sinéad’s music and Russian literature, poetry and music of the revolutions of old helped tremendously during that time. Dr. Zhivago. The Master and Marharita. Anna Akhmatova. Learning about the artist/writer and the struggle for freedom amidst censorship and death. Life, the world didn’t make sense. All the things that didn’t make sense about being a girl becoming a woman, American capitalism, not speaking truth, following social norms, political bullshit, pretense, Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose place… I rejected all of it. Mostly quietly, silently. While imploding inwards on myself because I didn’t understand transition or how to wake up fully boldly inside of it. Mental breakdown was the label that made sense. Yet it was more, it was that so much of the system was insane. So much of the conditions the inheritance the American myth the gender this and that —-it was insane.

Sinead was like a beacon of sanity amidst all that nonsense. They said she struggled with mental illness too, but she didn’t shut up. Did she have mental illness or did she grow up into a world that was completely entirely a nut job. Sometimes it’s a both and but sometimes the mental illness is the result of being fed insanity.

She didn’t stop saying through music what needed to be said. It was felt through my pores even if I wasn’t fully listening to the words. I freakin loved her. I cried to her songs. They resurrected me.

“Whatever it may bring

I will live by my own policies

I will sleep with a clear conscience

I will sleep in peace

Maybe it sounds mean

But I really don't think so

You asked for the truth and I told you

Through their own words

They will be exposed

They've got a severe case of

The emperor's new clothes

The emperor's new clothes

The emperor's new clothes

The emperor's new clothes”

Sinéad had a hard life. A difficult insane mother. A fucked up religion with its Massoleum of ghosts and secrets. She fought hard against child abuse, sexual abuse, hypocritical lies in the name of god and more. She became a priest. And she sang her own songs in her own way. In one interview decades ago, she said she thought Americans were wussies and needed to be more brave and speak out more against the lies and injustices. She was changed by motherhood. She lived through the painful suicide of one of her beloved children. That changed her. Some stories break you harder. And some stories don’t have a medicine that makes the pain go away.

She converted to Islam and changed her name several times. She took on the Muslim name Shuhada' Davitt – later changing it to Shuhada Sadaqat – but continued to use the name Sinéad O'Connor professionally. Shuhada means martyr.

From what I understand, Islam was the culmination of her spiritual journey as a theologian. She felt home inside of it. She found contentment.

“I never made sense to anyone, even myself, unless I was singing. But I hope this book makes sense. If not, maybe try singing it and see if that helps.”

I haven’t yet read her memoir. I somehow forgot about her in my 30’s and as I lost touch, I didn’t pay to much attention to her music. Her death wakes me up to her story, to my story, to our story of waking up inside a machine, waking up to truth, to life/death/life. May she fly free. May her passing be a wave of wakefulness over our heads, reminding us to be more bold. More truthful. More real.

And lastly, Shuhada… May the words of the great truth teller Pasternak carry you into the arms of Allah and beyond.

“And now listen carefully. You in others-this is your soul. This is what you are. This is what your consciousness has breathed and lived on and enjoyed throughout your life-your soul, your immortality, your life in others. And what now? You have always been in others and you will remain in others. And what does it matter to you if later on that is called your memory? This will be you-the you that enters the future and becomes a part of it.”

Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

[kirklandsheartsecrets]

Hi i just discovered your blog, may i get something short similar to your first post for Wales?

Wales x Reader II "I like the Smiths..."

Your eyes slightly grew when the sound of a familiar song reached your ears. The blonde guy next to you was listening, full volume to this familiar song you liked. Fortunately for you, his headphones weren't noise cancelling. The melody and few lyrics could be heard through the headphones.

Dylan was still looking away from you, like most people being in an elevator with someone else brought up awkward feelings. He chose to stay focused on the song itself.

You took your chance to finally talk to Dylan, as you never really managed to ever do so. « Smiths ? », you blurted out as you slightly turned to him, slightly enough for Dylan to nod silently. He turned back to his focusing point unbothered. It took you a second to catch the song playing in his headphones, 'Oh please, don't ... home Because it's not my home, it's their home.. And- I'm welcome no more ..' The voice in your brain sang, and your body reached closer to listen clearly to the song coming out from his headphones then you clearly spoke loud enough for him to hear : « I love the Smiths ».

The blonde was focused into the song until he heard your voice going through the headphone's music in his ears, quickly he took off the black headphones, gift of Berwald a few years ago to him. Dylan was really involved into the youth of his country, he monthly goes on awareness campaigns around the country, in high schools and universities. There he meets thousands of students, and they gladly share recommendations with him about music, artists and the many things they're involved in. They did recommend him those ancient headphones from that unpopular Swedish brand to him. He asked Berwald about the company during a world meeting that took place in his place few weeks later. Next thing Dylan knew, those headphones became his favourite ones since then.

The sound wasn't particularly great, but he got used to it. The headphones hang on his neck, as you repeated yourself again to be clear. « I said i love the Smiths.» You smiled slightly after the statement.

Dylan looked at you dumbfounded for a second, you quickly caught this moment to keep expressing your thoughts, « You have good taste in music ». Suddenly Dylan smiled to you, understanding the situation. He asked you again, just to be sure « You like the Smiths ? » You let out a breathy « Yeah. » starting to look again back in front of you, avoiding his eyes. He was fully turned to you smiling. For some reason, the headphones being around his neck made now the song even louder than before, covering the short silence in between you. This silence was really short as you started singing, or more like mumbling the lyrics. « To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die... I love 'em. » You kept mumbling catching the number of your floor on the black screen facing you, meaning you had to get off soon.

Dylan found himself smiling at you as you walked off the elevator, all he could mutter under his breath with a thick welsh accent was a dumbfounded « Holy shit ».

♡ Thanks for the request :)

♡ Song: There is a light that never goes out - The Smiths (Remaster)

♡ Scene from the movie: 500 Days of Summer

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Part Eight (Mycroft Holmes x Reader)

Sorry for such a long delay!! It’s my little boy’s first birthday this week so I’ve been running around making arrangements and picking up last minute presents! Hope you enjoy this little chapter. It’s only 3K words, but it is a build up ready for the next chapter which will contain smut! Not full blown smut (I don’t think Mycroft is ready for that yet!) but still smutty nonetheless!

I will separate the smutty bit enough so that you can skip it if you want, but it will be referenced later on in that chapter!

Word Count- 3062

This morning differed from the last few that you had experienced since staying at Mycroft's home, namely because Mycroft had awoken before you this time, but also because it was the first morning you had ever been awoken by long fingers prodding at your forehead. That and also because, despite last night's late events, you managed to arise at a reasonable 9am.

"Did you know there are a lot nicer ways to wake somebody up?" You questioned, opening your eyes to see Mycroft staring at you with a slight frown to his brow. He retracted his hand slightly and shifted to sit a little higher.

"You know, Sherlock as a child once woke me in a similar way. I felt small scratches on my eyebrows and woke up to see him crouched over me with a smug little grin on his face. As it turns out, he had slipped sleeping pills into my cup of tea before bed and in my slumber covered my eyebrows in toothpaste." You covered your mouth with your hand and snorted slightly. "He'd come in to see if there was anything left beneath them, which, of course, there wasn't.. claimed it was just an experiment. I'd like to laugh and be more dignified about it upon looking back, but I struggle because he was only six and already a sod."

"Okay, you've proven there are in fact worse ways to wake up." You didn't make big deals out of it, but every time Mycroft welcomed you a little more into the stories of his youth, you can't help but feel your heart warm. It may not seem like much, but coming from Mycroft, a very private man who hasn't been treated the best over the years, it meant everything. You stretched and moved your hands up to rub your eyes, flinching a little as your fingers brushed against the bit of your head above your eyebrows. "Bugger." You winced, poking again and feeling a small lump.

"I was going to warn you but you laughed at my traumatic eyebrow removal story." You groaned and recalled your memory of last night and where you believe the bruise originated from.

"I jumped into bed last night sulking a bit that you wouldn't talk to me and uh.. misjudged.." Mycroft snickered slightly from your side, you swatted his arm. "Tit. I'm blaming you. This wouldn't have happened if you didn't go all Han Solo in carbonite on me." You spoke playfully, letting him know you weren't truly peeved.

"I thought you said it was cute?"

"That was clearly a concussion talking." You stretched once more and climbed out of the bed, walking over to a mirror above a dressing table and rolling your eyes. "Might need your special government powers to clear out the cafe else Ms Woodall will think we've had a domestic." Bernice Woodall, owner of one of your favourite little cafes settled on the outskirts of St James' Park was a very.. particular lady. She could have a good laugh one moment, and start a quarrel with a customer over the amount they stir their tea the next. But, you'd have to admit, she has one hell of an all day breakfast menu; you could practically taste one of her omelettes just by thinking about it, making your stomach growl loudly.

"I would but, if I am to be very honest, she genuinely scares me a little. I think she could overthrow MI5 so I daren't even try." You stood and moved into Mycroft's bedroom, grabbing your bag of clothes and picking through a few of the pairs of your jeans Anthea had brought and scanning through the t-shirts. Your fingers brushed over the creases of the shirt that had formed from being stuffed in the bag and frowned.

"Perhaps it would be more suitable for you to pop those in one of the chest of drawers? I'm sure I have at least one drawer empty.." Myc's voice came from behind you and you fell from your crouching position, clutching your heart.

"You and your bloody spy legs, you just scared the shit out of me." You stood back up, your pile of today's clothes in one hand and the bag of the rest in the other. "Giving me a drawer in your place already? Ooh Myc you are serious." You grinned playfully, following him as he guided you to a set of drawers in the opposite corner of the room. Mycroft halted and opened his mouth to make some kind of comment but you cut him off, placing your folded clothes inside the Edwardian furniture. "Only teasing.. I'm just glad you haven't kicked me out yet. Though I don't think my own bed will ever feel as comfortable as yours. I might not want to go back now you've spoilt me, you'll just have to be blunt when you're bored of me." You winked at him and carried your outfit into the en suite bathroom to get ready. Mycroft headed over to his wardrobe to pluck out his own clothes, electing to remain somewhat casual for your trip to breakfast with a pair of navy chinos and a lighter blue button up before muttering slightly under his breath.

"And if I never am?"

In the rare parts of his life where he allowed to imagine himself getting into a relationship, Mycroft had never expected himself to be overwhelmed with so much emotion so quickly, but with you it was almost as though he had no control; as though there had been so many pent up feelings over the years that they just seem to have exploded without any rational thought behind it. And whilst these were all new to Mycroft, and how he still wasn't entirely sure about everything that he felt when it came to things with you, the only thing he was positive about was that he didn't want it to go. And that meant not wanting you to leave. Which was ridiculous. You had just under two weeks left together until you would be needed back at work, and he would have to return to fighting on Britain's behalf, but the thought of you not being at home to greet him when he finished, or him not being able to pick you up in one of his cars from the Yard to take you both home made him feel a sense of disappointment. He shook himself from his thoughts when you emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

"On second thoughts, I may take the risk. I'm not sure I can have members of the general public associating me with a Sex Pistols fan, no matter how humerous you may believe that top to be." You walked out proudly wearing your 'God Save the Queen' t-shirt with a grin. "You are aware tha-"

"That when the Sex Pistols released their song 'God Save the Queen' in 1977 it was around the same time of The Queen's silver jubilee and thus it was banned for a while on the premise of being 'bad gross taste'? You've only mentioned it every time I wear this shirt.. Though if your research extended enough then you'd know Paul Cook said it wasn't written specifically FOR the jubilee.. So if one of Lizzie's spies catch me in the act, I shall make a very sincere apology." Mycroft took his own clothes into the bathroom to get ready himself and scoffed.

"But I AM one of 'Lizzie's Spies'." He mused, leaning slightly against the doorframe after settling the outfit on the counter. You turned around on your heel and stood up on your tiptoes, pushed him more forcefully against the doorframe and placed your hands on Mycroft's cheeks, pressing your lips softly against his. His shock subsided before he kissed you tentatively, his hand resting on your lower back. You pulled away after a moment and ushered him into the bathroom to get ready, closing the door behind you and leaving him still slightly red faced and confused.

"Consider that my sincere apology." You headed over to the dresser and began to tie up your hair. "But hurry up, I'm starving." You called, moving the hairbrush too low and brushing against your bruise, making you wince loudly. From the bathroom, you heard Mycroft's voice before the sound of him brushing his teeth.

"Head?"

"Well I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast, but who knows what the day will bring." You heard the sound of Mycroft choking on his toothpaste and wished to whatever deity out there that you could have seen his face. Yes, you had promised to try and be less overbearing with your comments but he walked into that one. You grinned and sat down on the side of the bed, briefly scanning through your phone before Mycroft emerged, his face still burnt a red as deep as the burgundy sweatshirt he had paired with his outfit. The fact he had come out at all at least let you know that your joke hadn't taken it too far.

"You're a minx."

"And you wouldn't change it. Now let's go!"

---

Only 20 minutes later had you both be found sitting comfortably in Ms Woodall's cafe, tucking into your respective meals- with you noticing, but not commenting on, Mycroft eating comfortably until the last bite of toast was gone, a sense of pride warming within you. Not too long after, Bernice herself headed over to clear up your tables.

"I trust everything was up to standard?" She asked, piling your plates onto her little trolley and offering top ups on your drinks.

"Splendid as usual, Ms Woodall." Mycroft smiled, accepting his new cup of tea and cradling it comfortably between his long fingers.

"Still proving to be our favourite place for breakfast." You praised, your hand reaching out to fondly brush against Mycroft's before taking your coffee into hand. Bernice watched your movements and raised her brow knowingly.

"Took the pair of you long enough. I had been half tempted to abstain from feeding you here until I got one of you to say something, it had started making me feel a bit sick watching you eye each other up each time you'd get up to order something." You rested your elbow on the table, hand covering your mouth as you let out a laugh.

"Yes, well, I can't promise you the ogling will stop on my behalf." You teased.

"And why should it? Mr Holmes in those posh little outfits is enough to make anyone swoon." And with that she had headed back out into the kitchen again.

"There you go, Myc. Should anything happen to me, my replacement is only round the corner."

"Mmm, and she does make a rather good cup of tea. Perhaps I shouldn't wait that long." His lip raised slightly in a smirk as he took a sip of his hot beverage.

"Oh really? Need I start getting possessive; stand my ground?" Before Mycroft could quip back, Ms Woodall had returned with a plate of biscuits in hand.

"Means you've already answered my next question, anywho." She hummed, placing the plate down between you and perching on the corner of the table beside yours. The pair of you gave her a questioning look and she continued, pointing up to her own forehead. "Tony and I were just as bad at the start of our marriage. Anywhere and everywhere we could get our hands on each other, I ended up with bumps and scrapes from alleys, the backs of cars, even in that one restaurant toilet that time.." You choked on your coffee and Mycroft all but dropped his teacup. "Oh don't act so ignorant, even us oldies had sex in their time." Your eyes caught Mycroft's and you could see him stifling down a laugh, biting softly on his knuckle- which, in itself, shouldn't have been as attractive to you as it was, but it is what it is.

"And with that thought, we best be off. Got a movie date planned." You commented, coughing down your own laugh as Bernice continued.

"Though to be fair it never stopped, all that spontaneity. Even towards the end, he could be like a lad of nineteen with how it was. God the positions, you'd have mistaken me for a gymnast and he could last for ages. I'd just lie there wondering 'will this pleasure never end'?" You could feel tears prick at your eyes as your laughter began to break through. "And then of course once Tony passed a couple years ago it all stopped. Shame really, all those years together, ending how it did.. Though sometimes I'm not sure if it's him that I miss or his massiv-"

"Ms Woodall we really should be going, thank you for breakfast." Mycroft hastily threw a few £20 notes on the table, far too much to cover your meal but enough to distract Bernice while tugging your hand and beelining for the door. Once safely distanced from the apparent nymphomaniac cafe owner you had to stop in your tracks to let out a laugh, Mycroft's hand still in yours as you doubled over.

"I can't believe she said that! She's so open."

"Evidently." Mycroft's comment set you off again, his laughter following, ignoring how you caught the attention of a few people passing by. "I do hope you are in no rush for breakfast there again any time soon, I don't think I can look her in the eye for a good while."

"Still so sure on replacing me with her so soon? I think she'd break you."

"Or turn me into a whore." You snorted and settled back to walking.

---

"Drink?"

"Please. Tea, hold the sexual history."

"I'll try my very best, though, much like my tea, I imagine my list would be abysmal in comparison to old Ms Woodall." You flicked on the kettle, eager to replace the half drunk coffee you had discarded on the cafe table in your escape from listening about pensioner sex. "Will you load up the movie?"

"No. But I shall get the film ready to go.. How the American dialect found its way back to England will never fail to disappoint me." You had followed him into the room shortly after, mugs on the table and settled on the sofa beside Mycroft.

"You know, typically, when people elect for a movie day, they don't choose the tenth movie in the series to watch first." You grinned, tucking your legs beneath your body in an attempt to get comfortable. You continued your shuffling movements and heard Mycroft's voice.

"I believe we both agree that Carry On Cleo is the superior of the 31 movies for, well, a multitude of reasons." He trailed.

"I shan't object. It's sweet that you remember it's the first one we watched together.. Had it not been for you hearing Kenneth's famous 'Infamy, infamy' line persuading you to come over, I fear that I'd have been set up with one of Greg's mates by now, sitting in a pub nursing a G+T."

"I never said I remembered that."

"You didn't have to. You and I both know that your favourite was always Carry on Camping."

"Yes, well.. Opinions change with experience."

"Is this our equivalent of a patronus? Yours has changed and matched with mine? Very cute, Myc. Might I expect you in a 'Never Mind the Bollocks' shirt next week?" You teased, electing to lay down with your head lightly using Mycroft's thigh as a pillow, feeling grateful when he didn't shove you off with a comment about ruining the linen of his trousers, and instead took to softly brushing his fingers over your head, narrowly missing the purple bump each time.

"You'd have better chances of catching me running naked down the street."

"Is that a promise?" A flick to your forehead.

"Just play the bloody film."

---

By the time the film had finished, your cheeks had hurt from smiling and your eyelids had felt heavy. Whilst getting up at a reasonable hour had felt like an achievement this morning, the lack of sleep from the previous night was beginning to catch up to you.

"Myc? Would it be entirely improper to nap on the sofa when there are multiple reasonable beds upstairs before continuing our films?"

"Only about as improper as it is to have a midday nap when you're not a young child." You shifted your head from his lap and sat up, ignoring the fact that you actually did end up ruining the linen of his trousers with the crease of your skull.

"Let me rephrase. Mycroft, would you be willing to break your proper posh boy streak and nap with me on the sofa?"

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to deviate from one's usual behaviours in order to satisfy those one holds dear."

"That's a yes, right? Good, lay down, else I may just collapse right at this moment." Mycroft's sofa certainly was a significantly bit bigger than those usually found in somebody's front room, but it was still nowhere near wide enough for two people to lay with distance. Even still, he followed your request and rotated his body, lifting his long legs to rest down the side of the sofa while you slid into the gap beside him. He eventually circled his arm beneath you and rested his hand on your hip, your face softly brushing against the comforting material of his jumper. "If you drop me, I will be holding you accountable." You mumbled, shifting your body closer to his. He merely hummed, his hand slightly bunching in your shirt and his arm tightening. "I'd always hoped you were secretly a cuddler."

"Make a point of it or tell Sherlock and I'll throw you off." You couldn't even think of a witty comeback before your slumber had taken over, the smell of Mycroft and the sounds of him breathing overstimulating your senses. Mycroft being a secret cuddler hadn't been as much of a shock to you as it probably should have, but you welcome it completely and feel incredibly thankful that he trusts you enough to let you be that close to him, to feel his body in such a way. And you would embrace that- and him- as long as he would let you.

[zsocca55]

Hello There fellow Hungarian from Poland!

Do you have aby headcanons about Poland or Polish and Hungarian Relations?

Yay, another Pole! :D Much, much love from Hungary to you guys! ❤️❤️❤️ I tried to summarize my thoughts in short sentences but….eh… sorry for the length of this, but there is like, a ton of history to work with, and one idea popped up after another and then I just got lost typing this. I might as well write a whole book about it. XD

These are listed in more or less historical order. Am I doing this right? I’m bad at making headcanons! Also my interpretation of Poland is very different from his Hetalia presentation and my notes are based heavily on how Poland and Polish people are perceived in Hungary. Sorry if that bothers anyone, but I like to stay accurate to History.

Anyway, I hope this list satisfies!

Poland:

-Used to be really childish and carefree but after the partitions he matured rather quickly

-He is quite the attention-seeker, very social and has many friends but only a few real ones and he has trust issues and fear of abandonment - that’s why he can get very clingy

-Has pride like the size of the moon

-Communicates his emotions poorly - which results in him sometimes mistreating people he likes (Lithuania and Ukraine for example) - he is getting better at reading people though

-He is a “lets get shit done” type of person - you give him a job and he will do it impeccably and in time

-He appears like this happy-go-lucky guy, but it’s actually a coping mechanism

-When he feels down, he becomes emotional - and drinks a lot - he is an emotional drunk

-Had a big fat crush on Ukraine (he even has a folk song dedicated to her, Hej Sokoły!)

-Complains a lot - like a really lot

-Poland keeps old gifts he received from his great kings and queens in a safe (nobody knows about it though)

-The partitions caused him to lose consciousness for weeks. It was the shock of losing his identity as a ‘state’. All countries involved believed that he would die.

-Poland lived with Russia between 1795-1918 due to Russia possessing most of his territory. But he often made official visits to Austria and Prussia to negotiate the treatment of his people with them. He also got away on his own a few times (to help out Hungary in 1848-49 for example).

-Poland accompanied Tadeusz Kościuszko to America, but couldn’t stay for long. Youthful America’s enthusiasm inspired him a lot.

-He is a very bad driver, and had so many accidents he doesn’t keep count, but he is a skilled pilot so he often complains about not being allowed to fly around instead of driving around.

Poland and Hungary:

-Poland was also victim of Hungarian tribal attacks before the 10th century so his boss decided to befriend the new southern neighbour in hopes of making an ally. At first Hungary thought Poland was a girl while he thought she was a boy.

-Hungary first met a Polish tribe called “Lendzianie” and so she named his people “lengyel”. Poland never corrected her though.

-They paid visits to each other often during the early decades of the 10th century and played a lot. Once they jumped in a lake for fun’s sake, without clothes, and Poland quickly realized that Hungary is in fact a girl but he hadn’t got the heart to break the news to her because she was so confident in being a boy.

-They got distanced whenever internal crisises rose in their countries. Even up to this day, if one of them has an internal struggle, the other doesn’t pry and keeps a respectful distance. They respect each others boundaries in every way.

-Poland and Hungary were married twice, but all they ever did was giggle about it like the young teens they were and caused a lot of trouble for their kings with their pranks and mischiefs.

-Poland never understood why Hungary’s attention turned towards Austria in the 1400s though. Hungary also never understood why his attention turned towards Lithuania either.

-Poland and Hungary have a very similar residing scar running in three directions across their bodies which are testimony to them being thorn in three. Poland during the partitions and Hungary during the Ottoman-Habsburg invasions when she was also basically three entities in one.

-Poland fought with Hungary against Austria in 1848-49 but was dragged back by Russia when Hungary lost. He learned of her marriage to Austria through a newspaper much later and was severely disappointed in her.

-Poland tried to negotiate with the Allies in order to save Hungary from being chopped up and lose their shared border, but France faced him with a decision: either shut up and get a place on the map or refuse the treaty and have less territory. Poland never ratified the treaty but he still resents not fighting it more.

-Hungary tried to help Poland during his war with the soviets in 1920-22 but because Czechoslovakia refused to grant access to him out of spite, she turned to Romania of all people, pleading him to help. Romania actually helped.

-Hungary was pretty shaken and isolated from everyone after WW1. Only Poland and North Italy reached out to her, searching ways to keep in contact.

-Hungary resents joining the wrong side in WW2, which made her and Poland enemies. She tried to make the best of the situation and help Poland when her troops were stationed on his territory. They met accidentally in a forest while Poland was marching with partisans towards Warsaw in 1944. She helped him out but Prussia found them and Hungary pretended to take Poland hostage in order to release him later during the night. Her men were killed for fraternizing with the enemy.

-During the German occupation in Poland it was forbidden to listen to Polish nationalist songs and so Hungary and her men played “God save Poland” on repeat just because they could and Poland and his people were very thankful for it.

-When the Iron Curtain was drawn, Hungary hid away in her land, depressed, but Poland kept fighting the new rule until the Poznan protests inspired the uprising in Budapest in 1956. Originally Hungary organized a solidarity march for him but it turned into a freedom fight. She was struck down by Russia though, leaving her bleeding out on her streets with a hole in her chest. Poland flew to Budapest and offered his own blood to save her. Hungary remained unconsious for a week until she woke up. He was at her bedside the whole time.

-Poland often jokes about Hungary probably inheriting his “immortality” because of the blood transfusion.

-Hungary hid away again after 56. He tried to help Hungary get over her trauma by visiting her often during the rest of their years in the Soviet Union, but something broke in her and he didn’t really know what to do.

-This put a certain distance between them.

-After the USSR fell, Poland was quick to make new friends and make up with his neighbours but Hungary came out of her shell much slower. She did admire him for his strength to move on. He also encouraged her a lot to get up and improve her country.

-Hungary considers him her only real friend. She doesn’t trust anybody else with her life anymore. Out of gratitude, she decided to declare a special day for Poland (March 23) and when he heard of it, he actually teared up.

-Nowadays they visit each other on their Independence Days and celebrate together. They also go and cheer for each other’s football teams with hundreds of Poles chanting “Ria, ria, Hungaria!” and hundreds of Hungarians chanting “Polska! Polska!” on the streets.

-After hearing the song “Varsó hiába várod” from the band Republic, Poland thought Warsaw is indeed too far from Budapest so he made a plan to build a railroad so they can come and go between each other’s capitals in five hours. The idea is under construction at the moment.

-Poland and Hungary like to think that they are the heart of V4.

-Hungary goes along with whatever mischief or prank Poland makes up. And vica versa.

-They also promote their friendship with so much enthusiasm that Romania often calls them out for being too mushy.

.

Uh, thanks for reading through this! I know this is a lots of text, I get carried away when making up ideas. I’m unable to summarize my thoughts in short sentences. I don’t have the ability.

Also 50% of this is not even headcanon, some of these really happened or are happening.

Anyway, I hope I answered your question! :’)

[themadlostgirl]

Treasure Hunt

*Some wholesome fun with a little Panlix tension to garnish*

~~~

We had new toys on the island. New to me anyway.

The Lost Boys and I crowded around the beach and stared out at the ship anchored on the horizon. Pirates.

Where they had come from or why there were here was a mystery to us. But one thing was for certain, they were certain to be fun. Peter ordered all of us back to camp while he spoke to the captain. Not that most of us listened anyway. We stuck around hiding at the entrance to the jungle to see what would happen.

A single rowboat came ashore with a trio of men. One was covered head to toe in tattoos, one was short and portly with a bright red hat, and the third I had to assume was the captain. He had a tall, dark, and dangerous look about him that I’m sure plenty of tavern wenches falling all over themselves.

“Holy shit,” the boy next to me muttered softly, gaze locked on the captain.

“Snap out of it, Teddy,” I slapped the back of his head, “What would Sanjit think if he saw you drooling over someone else?”

“I think he would understand.” Teddy shrugged, “Come on, even you have to admit the man looks great.”

“He looks good, I will give him that,” I peered closer, “Does he have a hook for a hand?”

“Nice,” Teddy grinned wider. I slapped him again.

Peter and the captain talked and argued before the captain and his men got back into their boat and left for their ship. Peter turned around and addressed us hiding in the trees. “You can come out now you disobedient tree stumps,”

Half of the boys fled at having been found out while the rest of us emerged. “So what brings them here?” I asked first.

“Youth and revenge, not the first time I’ve come across that salty sailor. Have to say, he has a lot more backbone as a pirate than he did when I first met him.” Peter said. “Captain Hook he calls himself now. Sounds much more fun than leftenant Jones.”

“Is the revenge he craves against you?” Felix asked. “I could see him blaming his brother’s death on you.”

“No. He’s upset about that for sure, but apparently the Dark One killed his lover and cut off his hand. That’s who he wants to get revenge against. Figured he would have more than enough time staying here while he concocted something. Idiot doesn’t even have a way back. It’s clear he didn’t think any of this through.” Peter scoffed with a smile. “His idiocy is our gain. Tell me, what do pirates always have?”

“Drinking problems?”

“Yes, but not what I was looking for.”

“Big hats.”

“No.”

“Terrible songs!”

“Treasure!” Peter snapped, “They have treasure!”

“Oh...that makes more sense.” I nodded. “What is treasure to us? Not like we have any shops to purchase things from using any of their shiny baubles.”

“True. But it means a great deal more to them.” Peter grinned. “Tomorrow morning, we’re gonna go on a treasure hunt.”

When we got back to camp those of us that stuck around informed the others about what had happened with Peter and the pirates. Many of them were excited about the idea of a treasure hunt. By the time dawn broke the camp was abuzz with anticipation.

“Morning everyone,” Peter greeted his camp, “Last night your fearless leader, me, snuck aboard the pirate’s ship and stole their chest of treasure right out from under their nose.” The camp whooped with cheer. Peter held up his hand to silence the boys. “I have now hidden it somewhere on the island. First person to find it is King for the day. That is...if any of you flopping codfish can find it.”

The boys jeered and raced off in all directions to find the treasure. I had started to run off with them when I remembered I didn’t have a weapon. Knowing the boys they would get violent and try to steal the treasure from one another when it was found. I needed something to defend myself with. I turned around to head back to the now abandoned camp.

I ducked into my tent to find a suitable weapon when I heard voices in the camp. I poked my head out and saw Felix and Peter were the only ones still around. I understood why Peter was still here but why was Felix?

“How long do you think they’ll be out searching for the treasure?” Felix asked Peter.

“They’ll search all day and probably into the night before giving up.” Peter laughed, “The whole time they’re digging around dark caves and in rotten tree trunks the chest is safely buried by the mermaid lagoon. None of them are going near there and even if they do none of them will think to start digging.”

“Maybe I should go dig it up then,” Felix said, “Let myself be crowned king for the day.”

“Now where is the fun in that? Let them struggle for a good while first.” Peter looked around the camp and I quickly closed the flap of my tent. I don’t think he would be too happy about my eavesdropping. ���It’s nice to have some peace and quiet around here for once. The noise can get grating at times.”

“I understand that better than most,” Felix’s voice answered. “Even rarer that our Lost Girl isn’t hanging about. Seems she sticks around you more than usual.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Felix?”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious and she’s a good friend.” Peter said. “I still cannot believe that you and those other idiots thought that we were interested in one another. As if I would actually even want to be with her.”

Okay. Ouch. And incorrect! He was the one that assumed that I was confessing my love to him the night I came out to him and said he was okay trying to have a romantic relationship with me. We agreed it wouldn’t work out between us after I told him I was gay but this was needless slander. Got to keep up appearances for the boys I suppose. Can’t let them know he actually considered me at some point. However brief it may have been.

“Not your type, huh?” Felix joked.

“No…” Peter said, “Has a lot of traits I do like. She’s straightforward, bloodthirsty, knows how to have fun, doesn’t take any of my shit, which is refreshing,”

“What are you talking about? I don’t take any of your bullshit either.” Felix said, his voice rising a tad.

“I know, Felix, that’s part of the reason I like you too.”

The camp was silent.

“You know, makes you a good friend too, a great second in command.” Peter continued after a beat.

“Good to know,” Felix sighed. “I’m going to refill my canteen.”

“Felix--”

“What?” Felix snapped at him. The harshness in his tone made even me freeze and it wasn’t even directed at me.

“Nothing…” Peter’s steps receded, “I’m going to go watch the boys run in circles.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Felix muttered before trudging off.

I waited a few more minutes before poking my head out to make sure the coast was clear. That was something. Those two have more issues than I thought. If they could get a nudge in the right direction--no! No! I am not getting myself involved in their problems.

I grabbed the sword I had come to retrieve and fled the camp. At the very least I know where the treasure is now! I ran towards the mermaid lagoon. It was deserted of Lost Boys but I could see the ripple in the water of the mermaids lurking right below the the surface, waiting and hoping I would venture closer so they could pull me down and drown me. I only made that mistake once when I was very new on the island. They were very pretty and I thought maybe they would be friendly towards a girl. I was soon proven how very wrong I was when one of them pulled me under the water and the Lost Boys had to come in and rescue me before I drowned.

Scanning the sand I found a patch that looked like it had been pretty recently disturbed. I started digging with my hands until I felt the solid weight of wood. I dug around it until the very top was uncovered. How was I supposed to get it out by myself? It was firmly stuck in the ground and getting it free by myself would be near impossible.

Maybe I could just grab something to prove that I had found it and cover it back up. I dug my hand down into the sand for the latch and pried it open. Inside laid a wealth of gold coins, gems, jewelry, and other shiny baubles. I stuffed a handful of coins and gems in my pocket and slid a pair of shining, jewel encrusted bracelets onto my wrists. That should be enough. I closed the lid and covered the chest once more. I decided to mess with the boys while waiting for it to grow later and dropped random coins and jewels around the jungle so they would think they were heading in the right direction.

By the time night fell the boys had returned to camp despondent. Some holding up the coins and jewels I had strewn about with a small amount of disdain. Peter was back to his jovial self but looked confused at the boys holding coins. Surely he hadn’t let anything fall out when he stole the chest.

That was my cue. I strolled into the middle of the camp and raised my glittering wrists to the sky. “Bow before your queen!”

“What?” Peter gaped at me. “There’s no way you found the chest!”

“Oh but I did,” I dug into my pockets and tossed the remaining coins I had onto the ground. “That chest was so big and heavy though I couldn’t take the whole thing myself but I think this is sufficient enough evidence.”

“Wait, were you the one leaving coins and jewels all over the island?” one of the boys pointed at me, accusingly.

“Duh,” I rolled my eyes, “I needed to have my own fun.”

“Never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word,” Peter gave an exaggerated bow, “Our dear Lost Girl shall be Queen for the day...or at least for the rest of the night.”

Some of the boys cheered, a lot more of the jealous boys booed. I didn’t care. I basked in the attention and laughed with the others at the silly antics the boys did to entertain their “queen” like court jesters. It was all in good fun, Peter even fashioned me a crown of sticks and leaves.

I pulled him over to dance with me. “So,” I spoke up to be heard over the pounding music, “How long till the pirates find out you stole their treasure and come to hunt us down for taking it?”

“Who knows,” Peter shrugged, “it’s sure to be fun though.”

I laughed along with him as the night grew late and my night of queendom came to an end. The game would begin again tomorrow but with the chest in a new spot. Looks as if I’ll actually have to hunt for it this time. Not a problem, I liked a good challenge.

[krreader]

BTS scenario → falling for you, their newest make-up artist.

pairing: bts x make-up artist!reader fandom: bts warnings: mentions of sex ; language genre: fluff ; smut ; hints of angst word count: 2.4k+

a/n: heeeey @yuu95line​, I really hope this is how you had imagined it to be and I hope you like it ♥

kim seokjin

The first thing that Jin noticed about you was how hardworking you were, desperately trying to prove to everyone that you were here for a reason and that you were serious about this. An attribute that he appreciated greatly.

However, there was also this other side to you that he loved even more. He loved how bubbly and cheerful you always were, even if they didn't have a good day, you always tried to keep the mood up and make everyone happy (again), something that he could relate with.

But it was also your kindness and that youthfulness that made him fall for you.

“What's that?” he asked with a chuckle as you had handed him a drink.

“They call this the 'volcano of flavors'. Honestly, I'm not 100% sure what's in it, but it looks freaking cool and so I thought of you and wanted to know what you think.”

“You value my opinion that much?”

“Are you kidding me? You're the only opinion I can trust when it comes to something to eat or drink. You're the master of that.”

He was flattered. More than that, he loved compliments such as this one. And he wasn't sure whether you were just really good at making someone feel good about themselves, or if you genuinely meant it. Whatever it was, he was just really glad that BigHit had decided to hire you.

Life would be extremely dull for him these days otherwise.

You waited to apply his base so he could try it first, beaming happily when he obviously liked it.

“Yes! Mission successful!”

My god.. he really found his soulmate, huh?

min yoongi

Sometimes the artists liked to pretend as if the make-up artists were invisible when they did their make-up.

They never hid what they were doing on their phones when you guys were around, because most knew not to say anything.

But you were new and you couldn't keep your mouth shut when you saw him play a mobile game and fail at it, again and again and again.

“Shit, you're bad at this,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

But he heard.

Yoongi was so perplexed, looking at you from under his eyelashes through the mirror, “Excuse me?”

“I said you're bad at this. Wasn't tongue technology one of your verses in a song? Guess 'finger technology' isn't in your skill book.”

Yoongi wasn't used to this anymore. Someone talking like this, so straight forward and brutally honest, without holding back. He was used to being pampered and people lying to him to make him feel good, people treating him like he was special, so instead of taking offense to it, he actually decided to play this game with you.

“So you want to talk plainly, yes? Alright then,” he straightened his back, looking directly into your eyes when you applied some blush, “How about I show you my finger technology? There's a really quiet room next door we could go into. I’m sure I could convince you how good I actually am.”

“Oh yeah? Sure,” you shrugged, “I'll be nice to show you the ropes and how it’s done these days. My generation has a lot up their sleeves, you know?”

He loved this. Oh, he loved this more than he could say.

“I don't think you'll show me anything. It'll be the other way around. Experience comes with age, you know?”

“You'd wish,” you snorted.

That was probably the moment that Yoongi had found his favorite make-up artist ever. And... fell in love a little. It’s been too long since he’s had a relationship like this and he immediately never wanted to lose it.

“Where's Yoongi and (Y/N)? They should be done by now,” a make-up artist asked into the room at one point.

“Don’t know. They walked out fifteen minutes ago and haven’t come back. Maybe gone to eat something.”

“Hm, must be.”

Yeah.. must be.

jung hoseok

It was the annual BigHit party that every staff member and artist was invited to.

It was spread out over every floor, the party was in full motion, with people playing games on some floors and just talking on others.

And then there were those few on the rooftop, that including you and Hoseok as you were sitting on a bench next to each other, watching the stars with the music faintly being audible.

Suddenly, you could feel his hand on yours, you whispering, “Not here.”

“Why? Let them see.”

This wasn’t the first time the discussion had come up and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last.

However, your answer hadn’t changed since the last time you talked about this.

“And then what? They will make up rumors, how I only got to the point where I am because I'm sleeping with you.”

Hoseok sighed heavily and turned his body to really look at you, “Or maybe they will be happy for us. Have you ever considered that?”

“I can't. Not when there is so much on the line for me and so little for you,” you sighed just like he had, “I know you mean well, Hoseok, but right now, at this time, I can't risk my career, not even for you. You know how much you mean to me and I know how much I mean to you, it is not something I take lightly. So just.. leave it like it is for now. Because I don’t want to lose what we have. Career and relationship wise.”

He loved you. Not just a little, but very much.

And he wanted to tell the world just that.

But that was selfish, especially when what you had said was true. It would probably cost you your career, but it would cost him absolutely nothing but – at worst – a scolding.

If he really loved you as much as he thought and you said, then he'd accept that and do what you asked.

"I promise you, my love.. one day,” you smiled at him.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he smiled back.

kim namjoon

Out of all the members, Namjoon would have been the last person you had suspected to do this. Not that you had suspected any of them to pull a stunt like this, but him? The most responsible one out of all of them?

No way.

“I.. don't know what to say,” you were holding the strap of your bag tightly, staring at him with wide eyes as he was standing in front of you with a bouquet of flowers after just having come clean about his feelings for you.

Feelings, that he had developed over the last couple of months and the many deep and heartfelt conversations that you two have had. After he had opened up to you and you to him, he started to realize that this wasn't merely a friendship anymore. He wanted.. more.

“You don't have to say anything if you don't feel the same.”

“No, that's not what this is about. I just don't know.. how you think this is going to work out. I'm your make-up artist and probably not even that yet. I'm just someone who helps out when one of the others is busy. I'm a nobody that worked really hard for this position, even if it sucks sometimes. If we were to date and they'd find out.. I'd be fired immediately.”

Namjoon nodded, immediately understanding your concerns, placing the flowers on a table nearby and then approaching you slowly, gently taking your hands into his and looking at them, “I've spent the last few years hiding my relationships and my feelings for people. I've become quite good at it and so has everyone else in this company. It is.. one of the skills that you’ll have to develop once you start working in this industry,” he finally looked up into your eyes, “I wish it weren’t like that, but that’s the truth.”

“I’m scared, Namjoon.”

“You don’t have to decide right now. I just wanted to be honest with you about my feelings,” he hesitated for a second, but then he settled for a small kiss on your cheek, “Think on what I said. I will wait for you.”

He didn’t pressure you that night. He gave you the choice on what would happen next. And you couldn’t thank him more for that.

park jimin

This was extremely unprofessional in any situation, with you working for him and not just that, but having only started working for him four months ago. You were the rookie that still had to prove herself. And to top it all off, you were seriously doing this on concert day.

“Don't!” you stopped him when he wanted to kiss you, “I just applied your make-up, don't ruin it.”

Jimin chuckled darkly, “You'll need to re-apply it anyways,” he turned you around, pushing you against the stall in the bathroom, “I don’t intend to go slow.”

You wished you could resist him, but you simply couldn't.

This attraction between you two had started out the moment you walked into the room and introduced yourself as the new make-up artist and had only grown within the last few months.

Now, it had come to the point where you couldn't keep your hands off of each other anymore, not even on concert day.

And so here you were, having sex in a bathroom stall with Jimin for ten minutes, because he had to go up on stage soon and if you turned up any later, people would be angry at both of you.

“Where the hell were you two?!” one of the make-up artists asked, inspecting Jimin's make-up and being.. rather impressed.

“He needed some.. touch-ups. I finished it real quick, so that you wouldn’t have to.”

“Hm.. not bad, rookie. You were good.”

And as she walked away, Jimin whispered into your ear, “So fucking good, baby girl.”

And you got chills all over your body.

kim taehyung

You looked absolutely gorgeous.

That was the first thing that he noticed when you walked into the room, bowing to every single person in the room, because you were the youngest and wanted to be respectful.

Taehyung beamed happily when it was his time, “It's nice to see you.”

“It's nice to see you too. Did you have a good weekend?” you smiled as brightly as he did, taking off your sunglasses and brushing your hair out of your face to get ready for applying his base make-up, so that the older and more experienced artists could do wonders to his eyes.

“I did. Very relaxing.”

“Ah, that's good to hear that you actually didn't work for once,” you chuckled.

Taehyung watched you silently as you gathered everything that you needed, but that smile never faltered. He just let out a dreamy sigh, like a teenager that was in love.

Which was exactly the case, minus the teenager part. He had fallen hopelessly in love with you, or maybe just with the idea of you. He made up scenarios in his head of what the future might look like and even more of ways of telling you what he felt for you.

But as of right now, they were only imaginary scenarios. 

“Okay, here we go,” but even as you continued applying the base, he never looked anywhere other than your eyes, until you eventually asked, “Do I have something on my face? Is it.. mascara?”

“No, just.. I really like your eyes.”

“Oh..- well, uhm. Thank you,” you could feel your cheeks heat up and quickly turned around so he wouldn't see the effects his words had on you.

As the newest and youngest member, you had to prove yourself to everyone. That you weren't just here to get with one of them. Them letting you do Taehyung's make-up, the one that everyone yearned for, meant they trusted you a lot. You didn't want to break their trust.

However, you've noticed that this had become harder and harder in the last few weeks. He'd make you compliments, he'd stare at you and what you thought was simple niceness at first, had made you wonder nowadays, if maybe, he had something else in mind.

“You're welcome,” he smiled once again when you turned back around to look at him.

Maybe one day, when your position would be more secure, then he could figure out how to make this work. Until then, he’d just keep showering you with compliments to see your beautiful smile that brightened his day.

jeon jeongguk

Normally, Bangtan would get their make-up done at the BigHit building if they had a mere video conference, but one of the staff members had shown symptoms of the virus and now no one was allowed into the building for the next week, until everything and everyone was cleared.

But because Bangtan hadn’t been to BigHit in a while and they had a video conference scheduled today, some of the make-up artists had to go to their dorm to do their make-up there, you being one of them.

And as the youngest, you were assigned to do Jeongguk's make-up.

In his room.

Alone.

While the door was closed.

And he could feel how nervous you were.

“It's this room, isn't it?” he asked with a cocky smile, “Gives you flashbacks.”

“Don't,” you just continued applying his base with a slightly trembling hand.

“What furniture is it that makes you most nervous? The bed? The chair? The rug?”

“I said stop.”

Jeongguk let out a chuckle and leaned back when you walked over to his desk to grab something else, cocking his head to the side, his eyes on your butt.

“I bet it's the rug. It's still ripped by the way. And you haven't paid me back for it.”

“I tried giving you money, you didn't want it, what else do you want me to do?”

He was quiet for a moment and when you could feel his arms around you from behind and his mouth right next to your ear, he whispered, “I want you to stop lying to yourself and admit that you loved it as much as I did.”

You had started out as colleagues, then friends, then you blurted out that you liked him and the next thing you remembered was being in his bed. That had continued on for weeks, with you two not really dating, but not being nothing either. Until you had called it quits because you just couldn't focus on your work anymore whenever he was around.

Not that it was any easier now.. actually just harder. But you tried telling yourself that it was better this way.

“I still like you. A lot,” he whispered when you hadn't answered him, “And that won't suddenly go away. And I know you feel the same way.”

You turned around in his arms, his eyes had become a little sadder, hoping you'd say what he wanted you to say.

But just as you tried to, a knock on your door from one of the other make-up artists interrupted you, both of you jumping away from each other.

One day, you'd talk to him about this. But today was clearly not the day, even if he wished it were.

[johnkrrasinski]

nothing to forgive; 

full masterlist

Pairings: dark!Ransom Drysdale x female!reader

Word count: 4,014

Warning: smut!!! BDSM, use of toys, dirty talk, stalking, humiliation. (MUST BE 18+)

Summary: there’s nothing more dangerous than a jealous ransom drysdale. 

a/n: this is for @imanuglywombat​’s 4k writing challenge. i chose the song “jealous” by labyrinth with the city as for the moodboard. i know it’s a heartbreak song but i just couldn’t resist taking ransom to the extreme with the title. this was fun to write. hope you like it. please leave a like & comment. enjoy!

If there’s anything to describe Ransom as a lover, it would be a jealous one. No, he’s not exactly an insecure boyfriend. He knows the appeal that he possesses and the charisma that he carries. He knows with that dashing face of his, he could get any woman he desired, with only the touch of those aquatic orbs and that enticingly smug attitude.

And of course, he had you wrapped around his finger too. And he liked it while it lasted. But what he strongly does not like is when someone dares to even think about getting close to what’s his.

You, a fierce, headstrong woman; someone who had no interest in wasting her time on incompetent men who were incapable of keeping up with you and your swiftly flourishing career. You were too busy building your thriving makeup company that is soon to be an empire. You were proud of your baby.

And you weren’t talking about Ransom, hell no.

He lost you the moment you found out that he slept with another woman whilst he was on his trip to London doing God knows what. Ransom likes to go on random lavish trips because his inane brain has no idea what should he spend his money on. The money that he didn’t even work for a day in his life. The money that he was so entitled to because of his family’s wealth.

You really liked Ransom at one point. Your families grew up together and you and him hooked up every now and then every time he was in New York, the city where you lived or you were back home and needed to release some tension.

He was hot and he knew your body inside out well enough to give you a good orgasm. And so, last summer, you two began dating after he jokingly asked you out after you gave him one of the best blowjobs in his life. You rejected him at first but he kept insisting until you had no other choice but relented. He was such a persevering man when he wanted to be.

It lasted for an entire summer, he would go back and forth to New York to see you and fuck you on every surface of your apartment or he would take you to his five stars hotel and aggravate the other guests by making you moan like you two owned the place.

Until last Christmas when he didn’t even tell you that he was going to London, which you only found out through Linda Drysdale when you visited the Drysdale household. You weren’t one to be a clingy girlfriend, but when your ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t even inform you at all that he was going on a spontaneous trip, it was pure outrageous.

When he went back to Boston three days later after his unbeknown trip, he went straight to your parents’ house where you were staying for another late-night rendezvous. Your parents weren’t home yet due to them being at a Christmas party that you weren’t interested in attending so you had to pretend that you had unbearable cramps and that you needed to stay at home.

Ransom didn’t spot your parents’ car so he knocked on the front door and waited until one of your maids opened it. You didn't expect him to return this soon so you didn’t bother leaving a message to your maids that if Ransom comes, don’t open the door for him. So he went straight to your bedroom and there was a contented smile on his face.

“Hey babygirl, I’ve missed you.” He took off his coat and hung it on your study chair.

“What the hell are you doing here, Ransom?” You truly didn’t expect to see him tonight. You were in the middle of answering some of your work emails regarding the packaging of your upcoming eyeshadow palette. Work didn’t stop despite the calendar saying it’s Christmas.

“Well I had to see you first after my trip, baby. You know I’ve missed you.”

“You asshole! You didn’t even fucking tell me that you were going to London!” You got up from bed, ready to punch him on his stupid gorgeous face.

“Sorry, baby, it was a last-minute trip. I just had to get away from my shitty family before Christmas comes so I don’t have to see all of them. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you when I get back.” He kissed you before you could even reply. You’d never admit it but the way he plays his tricks with his lips always prevails every fiery emotion in you. So you decided to let it go. Not that you had much of a choice anyway when his hands were already roaming under your oversized sweater before taking it off of you.

After making you cum twice and chased his own release, Ransom fell asleep seconds away next to you. You couldn’t help but admire his sculpted figure as you were lying bare next to him. He looked so… gentle when he was sleeping. Anything that he wasn’t when he’s wide awake.

Sometimes you wondered, is there a future for the both of you? You weren’t one to settle down and have kids. You loved your freedom and you would like to hold on to your youth a little longer. Marriage and kids are going to make you feel like you gained 50 years into your age and you weren’t ready for that. You don’t think you’d ever be, honestly.

But if you could take a look into the future to see whether you and him are going to stay together or not, you would. You didn’t want to waste your time by committing to a man when you could be sleeping around with actors and models. Of course, you could do that too whilst still dating him. He didn’t have to know. But, if there’s anything that you execrated is cheating.

You took pride in your deep-rooted loyalty. You didn’t share your love with too many people but the lucky ones who do have a piece of your heart were promised of your devotion. And that includes Ransom.

Not for long though.

You rose to your feet to use the lavatory in your room. After you were done, you walked to your study chair where Ransom’s coat was placed and then you grabbed it with the intention of hanging it on the coat hanger. Gosh, Ransom could be quite disorganized sometimes.

You had this habit before you put your raiments where they belong, you’d always rummage through the pockets to make sure that you didn’t forget a valuable item there that would cause you to act frantic because you need it and your life would be on the line if you lost it.

You checked the left pocket and nothing was there until you felt something soft inside Ransom’s right pocket. It felt like a material made of lace. You took it out and then… The garment that you had in your hand felt like a slap on the face.

Whose fucking red underwear is this?

You immediately woke Ransom up and he was confused as hell. Why the fuck were you suddenly going apeshit at nearly 3 AM? His drowsy state fought hard to adjust his vision to the lighting in the room.

“What the hell y/n?”

“Care to explain this?” You shoved the red lace underwear onto his face.

His eyelids instantly dilated. Oh shit, he’s been caught.

“Whose fucking panties is this, Ransom? Did you fuck a bitch in London?”

Instead of giving you the answer you already knew, he only stalled by saying “baby, calm down, alright? Let me explain.”

But he didn’t need to. The look of trepidation on his face pretty much gives everything away. “You. Fucking. Cheater. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Shh! Just give me a second to explain, okay?”

“I don’t wanna hear anything that comes out of your mouth. Now get the fuck out of my house! Out! Now!” He was still naked but you couldn’t care less. You grabbed all of his clothes that were scattered on the floor and his coat and threw them along with the alibi of his misconduct at him. You pushed him out of your bedroom door until you both reached the front door of your house. He was still trying to make you stop and listen to him but you didn’t give him a chance.

He stood on your porch naked and hurriedly put on his clothes. It was a private residence so he didn’t have to worry about the neighbours seeing him naked. Not that he cared anyway, but still, the embarrassment of being thrown out while he was still nude was what he dreaded.

The next day, he tried to call you for God knows how many times and left you hundreds of text messages. He tried visiting you the next day but you refused to let him in. You asked your security guard to block him from entering the house. You told your parents what happened and your overprotective father was enraged.

He even went as far as facing Ransom himself at the gate to warn him that if he ever came anywhere near you again, your father wouldn’t hesitate in hiring a private bodyguard for you to keep him away from you. Well, with your rising fame and success, you figured you eventually were going to need one anyway, but now that you had an unrelenting cheater in your ledger, he might need to hire a highly trained one for you sooner.

You dumped him officially on a phone call and before you ended it, the last thing that he said to you was “without me, all you’ll find is heartbreak and misery.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Goodbye, Ransom.” Then you pressed the end the call button and blocked his number. You changed yours and then a few days after New Year, you fled back to New York. Your company was waiting for you.

For the next several months you kept yourself occupied with your work. You were thrilled for the launching of your new eyeshadow palette. The stress accelerated to a much level higher that you didn’t even have a second to think about Ransom. You hadn’t heard from him for a while and you certainly liked to keep it that way. There’s no room for a cheating, lying, lazy scumbag in your life.

A part of you couldn't help but feel grateful that you broke up with him before the clutter in your work increased. You weren’t sure that you were capable of maintaining a relationship with someone that you don’t near to. You would’ve had to make time to see him and it would’ve been a major distraction.

You held a party to celebrate the launch of your new eyeshadow palette, to say you were nervous would be an understatement, there was nothing more that you feared than failure. Despite being fortunate enough to be born into a wealthy family, you still spent years saving up money and studying hard in college to major in dual degree; business and cosmetology to construct your dream makeup line.

And now, for the first time, the eyeshadow palette that you had been tirelessly crafted to perfection, is going to be available for purchase on your website. The countdown shows there’s only two minutes and thirty seconds left until every makeup enthusiast gets to put it on their shopping cart.

You were holding a glass of rose champagne in your hand whilst giving a speech to the team that you loved so dearly because they were your second family. You didn’t see them as the people who “work for you” but rather, you saw them as equals; your partners and your biggest supporters. Without them, this entire makeup line wouldn’t be standing so tall.

What you didn’t realize was, through the glass-structured building, Ransom was watching you like a hawk. He had his hands in his pocket and he had his gaze fixated on one person only and it was you. Despite the distance and the crowd, his focus didn’t bend.

The past few months for Ransom had been filled with acrimony by his wounded ego caused by being dumped. He couldn’t get anywhere near you due to your heavily guarded apartment building. You even had your own bodyguard now. Great. He was taller and bulkier than Ransom and he wasn’t foolish enough to try to fight the big guy.

You also ordered every security guard in your office, which is the headquarter for your makeup company, that if Ransom ever dared to show his face, they must get rid of him immediately. The only way Ransom could get to you is by stalking you on social media through your company’s official Instagram account and your rising personal account too.

He really thought that it would only take a month before you come crawling back to him. Ransom was so used to getting his way that he strongly condemned being rejected. He would do whatever it takes to have you back.

Whatever it takes.

He had everything prepared meticulously for months. He waited for the right moment to execute the plan and then you would never be able to escape him ever again.

What he didn’t see coming was you going on a date and laughing with a man he didn’t recognize. He really thought that you wouldn’t be dating again for at least a year but he clearly he was mistaken. He thought you secretly missed him but you had too much pride to admit it. He also thought that you could’ve done better than that.

Who the hell does this guy think he is swooping in on his girl like that? His jealousy whispered wicked things into his ears like a red-horned devil. He had waited in his car in front of your apartment building thirty minutes before you left. He found a way to bug your phone without your knowledge and from there, he could monitor every single text, every single phone call and every single person you associate with.

He did a background check on this bloke who was a few years younger than him, making him someone your age. The result showed that he had gone to the same university as you and now he had his own publishing company located in New York as well.

This fella named William had the same distinctive features as Ransom; a brunet with blue eyes, which means, you probably had a type. “So fucking predictable.” He thought whilst he was scrolling through this stranger’s biography. The man was just as tall as him. He posed in a dark grey suit with a tie that synchronizes with the look for the camera.

Apparently, you had run into him at one of the finest restaurants in town when you were having dinner with your girlfriends. He had come up to you to make sure that it was you. You two chatted, catching up on things and he charmed you by asking the one thing you were most passionate about which was your cosmetic line. You exchanged numbers and after talking for a few weeks, he asked you out and you said accepted.

You truly didn’t do anything halfway. When you were going out, whether it be with your friends, for a party or on a date with some guy you used to go to college with, you were dressed to the nines. You looked so crushingly stunning, your beauty dazzled him like daylight. He couldn’t blame this fella though, there’s a reason why he asked you on a date first before this schmuck inserted himself between the two of you. He had to have you and once he got you, he blew his chance. He lost you.

Not for long though. You belonged to him and only him.

You walked into the restaurant as the jazz music serenaded your ears. You asked the receptionist looking for someone named “William” and she led you to a table in the centre of the room, with a good-looking man sitting there in his raven suit.

You greeted William and then made your order when the server came with the menu. You ordered a bottle of Champagne, and you were truly enjoying the company of this man. He was courteous, smart and a little shy for someone as smart and as successful as him. Maybe it’s time to get yourself back in the dating game.

Not all men are Ransom Drysdale.

Ransom couldn’t stand seeing you laughing at his jokes and touching his hand. He didn’t have it in him to wait for another second to let you roam in your freedom without being his. He was going to do it tonight, but he had to do it before you reach your apartment where your personal bodyguard would be guarding you like a fort.

So he went to the parking lot two blocks north of the restaurant. There was nobody there so he had to act fast before someone came. He used a screwdriver to unlock the door of your car and once he succeeded, he sat in the backseat and obscured himself within the absence of light.

Now all he had to do was wait…

The date was lovely but it was time to go home. As much as you loved dressing up in your Lobouton heels and flaunting your beauty downtown, the thought of your warm bed and cozy pyjamas make your heart flutter. You didn’t know if there will be a second date or not, and even if he asked, you weren’t sure whether you’d say yes or no this time, but it was nice to catch up with fellow alumni.

You walked to where your car was parked and unlocked the driver’s seat car and sat behind the wheel. You revived the engine by pushing the ignition starter and adjusted the rearview mirror but what reflected on the glass made your heart drop like a beat.

“…Ransom? What the hell are you-”

But before you could finish your vexed question, Ransom pressed a drugged handkerchief onto your nose and despite your attempt to fight him, his strength overpowered you. Then in a matter of seconds, everything turned black.

You woke up with a sore head as you slowly felt your visions turning pellucid, it took you a few seconds to realize that the dress you wore had been stripped away from you. Your undergarments were also no longer covering your bare body from the cold… What the hell?

You began to realize that you were currently in a cramped, dimmed room with a single pillowless bed in the centre. There were many other sex toys that you were familiar with, you even had some in your drawer, and there were also a few other contraptions in the room that looked like they belong in a sex dungeon.

When you tried to move, only then your brain began to discern the state you were imprisoned in. You couldn’t move and you couldn’t pull your limbs away for they were secured with a device that you couldn’t see due to the position you were in.

Your cheek was pressed on the futon mattress and when you tried to scream, you couldn’t form any words for there was a ball gag in between your lips. You tried to scream but that only made you drool even more, making a tiny pool on the leather material.

You squealed, trying to get any help from anyone out there who might listen but then you heard the sound of the creaking door opening and someone entered the room. You tried to give them a single to set you free by making incoherent noises.

But all you heard was; “well, well, well, look what we have here.”

That voice. That voice sounds familiar. Your mind tried to distinguish it, and then you realized… It was Ransom. You remember it now, you walked into your car after a date with William, you saw him in the backseat through the rearview mirror and then you couldn’t recall anything else that happened after that.

And now here you were, bound by a percontator, exposed and helpless in a strange, unknown place. You began to thrash your body but it was futile, the device really did an excellent job in keeping you immobile.

“Hush now, dirty whore. You really think you could escape me forever? You must be dumber than I took you for.”

You heard the sound of unbuckling belt then he took off his shirt behind you. “No amount of protection can keep you away from me. I’ll make sure of that.”

He stepped into the mattress and lowered himself to his knees. He didn’t wast any second in placing the tip of his cock near your entrance then he intruded your body with his length. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and kept your head there in place. He spanked your right ass before he began moving.

“Ah,” he groaned. “I’ve always loved this pussy. Always so fucking tight.” He accelerated his pace and he grabbed your hair, forcing you to look up at him through your tearful eyes. “Is this what you want? To be fucked like a bitch? ‘Cause I will, whenever I fucking want to.” He gritted through his pounding.

You could only moan and cry. Your mind took you back to the last Christmas eve when you caught him cheating. “Did you fuck a bitch in London?” He was deriding you by weaponizing your own words against you.

He put your head back on the mattress and kept thrusting brutally. He spanked you once more and you shrieked. He loved the sound of your agony so he did it five times more until your ass was as red as he liked. “Fucking slut. Aren’t you better like this? Not talking, no CEO bullshit.” He stopped his thrusting and pulled your hair back once more to glare into your eyes. “I’m gonna have so much fun breaking you piece by piece until you’re nothing but a brainless fuck toy for me to use.”

He slammed your face back down to the mattress and resumed his violation on your body. He kept pounding until there was no more energy left in you to fight. He then threw your body around so you were lying on your back.

He inserted himself back into you and picked up his vigorous pace. Your breasts jiggled with every assault. “Missed those perky tits.” His hands shamelessly groped your breasts and held on to them like they were knobs.

His right hand went from your breast to your throat, encircling the fingers around the delicate flesh. Your breathing becomes difficult and you felt yourself seconds away from passing out but before it could happen, you felt the tightening coil in your lower belly that was familiar with Ransom. And the expanding bubble burst, making a soaked mess on the leather underneath you and all over Ransom’s cock.

“There you go, what a fucking mess.” He smirked. “Last time I fucked this cunt, I don’t remember you getting off this soon, baby.” His hands went back to your knees as he chased his own orgasm. And in a matter of seconds, he released his cum deep inside your womb, staying there until he had no more drop left to give.

He withdrew himself out and then he stepped out of the mattress. He put back his sweater and jeans and before he left. He sneered at your disarranged state, complacent with the mess he made you of. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Be good or there will be punishments worse than you just had, understood?” He didn’t wait for your answer before kissing your upper lip.

He disappeared behind the door, leaving you in the tenebrosity of the room as you languidly losing yourself into unconsciousness.

[razberryyum]

TGCF donghua Episode 11 Thoughts (SPOILERS for episode and novel!)

Ok I didn't think they were actually going to kiss, BUT for a heart-stopping second I thought they were gonna get close enough before cutting away. Just to tease us, if for no other reason. I actually held my breath. It was still a big tease nonetheless but I am still grateful for the scene because my God was it beautifully done. The focus on Dianxia's lips as he says Hua Cheng's name, the way his breath catches as HC leans closer, the world fading away around them, HC's ponytail gently falling forward just so, the way they just focus on his lips just as if from Dianxia's POV....all of it just screams romance. Once again, that was all the work of the donghua's team. In the book, this moment occurs when they're actually back at Puqi Shrine, and Xie Lian's actually in the middle of cleaning a table when he very nonchalantly addresses Hua Cheng by his name. It was cute because Dianxia did it so casually but hardly THIS romantic. So, really, hats off to the donghua team!

Actually other than that last scene, of course I am grateful to the donghua team for many other moments in this episode. To start, whenever they show San Lang protecting Dianxia.

We know Xie Lian can definitely take care of himself, but I appreciate that Hua Cheng's instinct is always to protect him anyway. I actually thought that's why he gave himself the name," Hua Cheng". The words translate to "Flower City", and in the olden days, a city had walls protecting the people in it, so I figured that Hua Cheng chose this name to represent how he will always protect Xie Lian, that his protection is all encompassing. Lol, I can't wait to find out how wrong I am.

Even though Hua Cheng's fight with Pei Su was mostly off screen and limited to quick flashes of swords clashing, what they did show of Hua Cheng in his "real" form was DELICIOUS.

I am grateful to the donghua team for Hua Cheng's adorable reaction to Dianxia being cheeky. Too precious!

Our General Hua looking like a god in armor...and the way he made bis appearance in that scene too, like a savior coming to rescue mankind...or in this case, Banyue.

This scene actually made me tear up. I don't remember thinking Pei Su was that attached to Banyue when reading the book, but that might've been my fault for not paying close enough attention when HuaLian weren't directly involved. I was actually wondering how they were going to conclude the Banyue arc in just one episode since it felt like they would have to pack a lot into just 20 mins or so, but I think they did a really good job of wrapping it up. Didn't feel rushed or that anything important was missing.

I love both of them already, but I want to especially commend the donghua team's character design for The Wind Master. I don't want to spoil anything for those who haven't read the book, but trust me when I say THAT is a brilliant bit of character design. They will have to change two things about her next season but it's like she's mostly there already. 😂 I also love her voice and voice performance (by VA Qiu Qiu), so perfect for the character. I seriously cannot wait to see more of her next season, especially after hearing that news about the VA. 😁

I guffawed. This was a bit of brilliance too. Man, I just love the donghua team! They really did such a GREAT JOB bringing TGCF to life. I mean, is there really anyone who hates this adaptation?? I guess if you weren't into Xie Lian and Hua Cheng's relationship, the case of the week parts might be a bit underwhelming, but what I appreciate about them is that they inevitably link back to Dianxia and his past, or introduce us to new characters which then opens up the world. They always have a purpose, leading to bigger things. As a first season I think it was pretty strong, what they changed from the source material were usually positive alterations. I mean, I'm reading the book now because of this show, after putting it off for so long, so I'm definitely converted.

I do have to say though that the season did end on a rather odd note since it felt like there should have been just a few more beats before the end credits. It was a little abrupt imho, but it still is miles better than poor SVSSS's season finale, which ended on a freaking scene transition.

Of course there's still that special HuaLian episode on February 16th, so I guess technicallyyyyy this first season hasn't quite ended yet. The special looks to be picking up right where this episode leaves off: with Dianxia having a conversation with Hua Cheng back at Puqi Shrine about his role as Ghost King and other related topics. I'm not sure why it's airing a month and a half later, or why on February 16th instead of Valentine's Day, but I'm not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm just grateful we have more TGCF and HuaLian to look forward to. Second season is already in production, and apparently the theme song for it will drop tomorrow! A live action has been announced which they're still casting, and honestly some of those casting choices scare me so depending on who they end up deciding on, I might just gonna stay away from that completely and stick with the donghua and book.

Novel Reading Progress...about to finish Book 2... SPOILERS

MXTX-laoshi is a total sadist giving us THAT kind of sex pollen scene when nothing could be done cuz Hua Cheng's still a little bean sprout...I love Dianxia, love him more now knowing he was a pretty flawed human being, that he's absolutely not perfect...his heart is warm but his actions are sometimes quite cold...I blame his privileged upbringing and his youth and inexperience for some of his rash decisions...he means well but of course the road to hell is pathed with good intentions...wish he would stop forgetting about little Hua Cheng though, poor baby...the more I read about the human face disease the more I don't want to...just, overall, I feel this heavy weight on my heart now because I know things are going to go from worse to utter calamitous shit soon. I am SCARED, preparing my heart for breakage.

To read the TGCF novel: https://tgcfmxtx.carrd.co/

[izzy-b-hands]

I hope we do get even one flashback to early pirating Ed and Izzy. I know I've talked abt this already but it keeps coming back to my head lmaoo

Just. U know Izzy wasn't that responsible at first. And that neither of them were Cool or had any sort of legend attached to them. Like how long did it take them to get their own big ass ship, how long did they go abt in a smaller one that probably was not remotely intimidating. Just doing stupid shit the entire time because how young might they have been, ya know?

Finding escape together at some point in their youth, both eventually burnt out and exhausted but in different ways. The time before tho, just. Up too late together after they finally raid and get to keep their first actual ship, laying out together on deck. It's pitch black out and the stars are the only light. Maybe back then Izzy liked finding constellations, and giggled at Ed finding shapes in the clouds too. There's no discomfort in the dark there because they're confident in each other at the simplest way from shared experience.

And maybe there's a shared crush (I'm sorry I'm ot3 obsessed akdnkfgn but Ed does have two hands) and years later Izzy will kick himself constantly for not doing what he wanted to that night:

To scoot a little closer to Ed, close enough to touch. To fight back the pounding of his anxious heart (because what if Ed doesn't like him at all like this. What if this ruins the new life they've found) and let himself lean closer to ask, tentatively, for a kiss.

In his mind he has his ideal version of it, where Ed smiles and tells him yes and he can pour every ounce of every emotion he has about Ed (because it was still Ed then, the legend of Blackbeard was in progress but in early days), every bit of love and devotion and caring and lust and everything in between.

And Ed would kiss him back, gently, and ask if he wants to spend the night with him. It wouldn't have to mean fucking, though Izzy wouldn't have turned that down. But in his version, it's just cuddling and breathing him in under a rough, stolen blanket. He's only just getting into his future role of sheltering Ed, but in his unfulfilled wish for that night Ed shelters him. Holds him close and runs a finger teasingly down his bare back and smiles when it makes him shiver.

(side note Harbor Me by the Mountain Goats is a v good song that goes along with this idea in my head because that's what Izzy had wanted for that night. For them to be safe harbor for each other in this particular way.)

But he didn't do any of it, and they fell asleep on the deck together, woken up by a burning too bright sun. The regret of what he didn't do is sharp and leaves him gasping when he wakes from dreams about How It Could Have Been if he hadn't been a coward then (or that's how he feels abt his lack of action then at least)

And now he mistakenly thinks it's been too long, too much else gone on, and now with Stede he certainly can't try and take that chance. He can't ask Ed to lay out on deck late at night and name constellations with him (they don't always actually know the real names of them, so they used to make up their own instead) while he lays against Ed's chest and rests for the first time in many, many years.

But if he would, he'd find out maybe it's not so bad to have it be him and Ed and Stede. Or that Stede would happily share and encourage a night for him and Ed, letting them borrow a book on the night sky.

He's sat in his self made misery for so long he doesn't know how to get out of it, but I think Ed and Stede could be the ones to toss a rope or a branch, like dragging someone out of quicksand, and let him find his way to a life where he feels something other than fear, frustration, exhaustion, anger, and regret.

[slut4barzy]

sweethearts at the rodeo

jack hughes / new jersey devils

( synopsis : hughes get his heart broken for the second time  )

in dudley, texas only one thing holds importance to the youth in the spring time, and that was the sweethearts of the rodeo dance. every year when the rodeo comes to town theres always a special little dance held for people ages thirteen to twenty to come and have some good clean fun (as the parents like to think). for four years jack has been going to the dance, but tonight this would be his first year going without you. 

originally he was going to break his streak and not go. out of fear that he'd see you with someone else, and that would break his heart. but his mom pleaded, begged, and bribed him to take his sister since she was now of age and every girl's first sweetheart dance was like a coming of age in dudley. so eventually he gave in and went in the hopes that he'd see you there all miserable and alone just like he was.

"oh look theres yn!" savannah points out the second the two passed through the double doors of the town’s rec center. “she looks so pretty. let’s say hi!”

there you stood exactly like he didn’t want to see you, all smiley and under the arm of cory wormwood, a kid on his team that he didn’t like so much. savannah tugs on her brother's hand ready to drag them over to where you stood but jack stood firm, "i'm not going over there sav." 

huffing she stops and throws him an annoyed look. "are you going to cry again? can you just be cool and say hi. i miss her, and i want her to see how pretty my dress turned out.” he takes his hand out of his sisters hold and crosses his arms over his chest, “you can go see her but i’m not.”

savannah rolls her eyes, scoffing, “you’re such a pissbaby. i’ll be right back.” but she couldn’t make it far because while they were bickering you spotted them and were walking right over. savannah gives him a side eye with a little smirk playing on her lips, “can’t run away now, huh lover boy?” she elbows him and in return he elbows her back harder. “shut up,” he mumbles. 

“savannah! i was wondering when you were going to get here.” The two girls engulfed each other as if they haven’t seen each other in forever, which was the truth, because in their terms five months felt like an eternity. “god you look so cute. is that eyeliner you did?” savannah nodded, “ma let me do just for tonight. i tried the technique you showed me.” 

savannah always looked up to you. not only were you the only girl close to her age that she can talk to when she lives in a house with three rowdy older brothers, but she admires everything about you from the way you act to the clothes you wear. sometimes jack would joke and tell you to watch out before she ends up stealing your identity but you didn’t care. to you savannah was the doting younger sister that you never had. 

“i can tell.” you pick at her baby blue dress, “and your dress! I think you won miss. sweetheart tonight sav.” savannah squeals making jack roll his eyes. “don’t flatter her.” “oh shut up!” savannah interjects.

for the first time tonight you focus your attention to jack. making a face you reply, “why not. with the way your mom was able make a miracle out of an old curtain she just has to win.”  

playfully you swat savannah’s shoulder, “your mom made you take this bozo as a date. luke would’ve been better.” she shrugs, “lukes’ date is hannah denver and with quinn away i had no choice.” 

“ah,” you respond. “lucky for you i heard a little eight grade boy has been dying to ask you for a dance but he’s just too shy to ask. so i promised i’d do it for him, of course, only if your date doesn’t mind.” savannah gasps her eyes widening looking at jack for approval. he nods of course not wanting to ruin her night.  

“who is it?” “billy ryan,” you reply subtly pointing your head towards the direction of the stage. “he’s standing by the stage.” savannah squeals again planting a kiss on your cheek, “i’ll see you two later.” then off she zoom to have her first of many sweetheart dance and leaving two ex lovers alone. 

the band stops and soon the first couple of cords to the byrds you ain’t goin’ nowhere begins to play. you clear your throat trying to get the attention of the boy who was staring down at his shows like it was the most interesting thing of the night. he looks up, “what?” 

“you’re not going to ask me to dance? you know this is my favorite song.”

he clears his throat, “would you like to dance yn?” you shrug with a soft smile, “one wouldn’t hurt.” 

as jack whisked you off to the middle of the dance floor and as you were pressed against him, for a second everything almost felt right again. as if you were still his. 

"you look really pretty tonight." you lifts your head from where it was resting on his shoulder and looked him square in his eyes. he didn't know if it was his imagination or the lighting, but you were glowing. a sweet smiles plays on your lips, "really?"

he nods, "mhm." 

"thank you. you know you're the fifth boy to tell me so. i must look like a goddess of something."

you rest your head back on his shoulder. maybe it was because of the closeness of you that made him lose himself but he decided to blurt out what was right on his mind.

"we should get back together, you and me. i miss you."

"now hughes you know we can't get back together."

he frowns not liking your answer one bit. was this the same yn that cried the day you broke up with him?

"why not?"

"because i don't want to."

you sigh, "don't take this harshly but i can't go back to dating you. of course what we had was special, but i can’t deal with all the crying and fighting that we did. and don’t get me started on the other girls."

you giggle in what jack thought was a poor attempt to lighten up the mood "plus i like being single. who knew that so many boys were interested in me now that i didn't have hughes's girl stuck to my forehead."

you felt him go stiff and stopped your swaying. placing a hand on his cheek you said, "the offer to be friends is still on the table. you're always welcome by our house for dinner mama said so. even daddy misses you. he says that for once the teams not playing like dog shit this season and wants to let you know you're doing great."

you frown not liking the way he was letting you ramble on. "please say something jack."

he clears his throat, "yeah i-i'll stop by one day. " he stammers. smiling you say, "i'll always love you jack. you were my first love. we’ve been together for five years, and five years is a long time for teenagers to date just one person.”

"yo, yn!" it was cory. the two turned back and saw him standing by the drink table with two of his friends and his bow tie undone from the sloppy smile jack knew he was tipsy.

cory whistled and waved her over, “are you here with me tonight or hughes?” you giggles up putting up your hand, “gimme five minutes okay.” 

“make it two” he retorts

“three?” she calls back. “deal!”

you turns back with a huge smile on your face. a pang goes off in his heart cause he knows from now on that smile will never be for him. “i should go now, but i’ll defiantly give you a call about dinner at my house.”

then she stops herself, “unless i forget. then you should give me a call instead.” 

“with your memory i’ll give you a call.”

 “how about-”

 “i won’t forget. i promise.” 

“perfect.” rising on the toes of her heels she plants a quick kiss on his cheek. “i’ll see you around hughes.”

and as she bounced back to cory and into his arms jack would be lying if he said tears didn’t start brimming his eyes. 

( SEA SAYS 🧚🏾‍♂️ )

don’t you love the way I keep popping up and disappearing? can we just talk about my consistency. i realized i haven’t posted an actual story since march, yum, but you all understand. this isn’t my official coming  back because with the spring semester coming up i might just disappear again. as always sorry for any mistakes and i hope you like it.

aren’t you glad hockeys back!

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

F**k and Run

Inspired by the Liz Phair song of the same name. Such angst.

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC

Word count: 2,636

Content advisory: sexual references

I woke up alarmed/ I didn’t know where I was at first/ just that I woke up in your arms/ and almost immediately I felt sorry

This. Is. Not. Your. Room. It is not your bed. These are not your sheets. And that odd ochre shade of paint on the wall that greets you when you open your eyes, a color that seems like a projection of the hangover you’re feeling, is most definitely not your choice of decor. You can tell by the light streaming in from somewhere behind you that it’s morning but outside, someone is blaring WAP. That can’t be endearing them to the neighbors, whoever they are, and it’s certainly not making you feel any better because thinking about moving, bouncing, riding… It’s not what you want right now. 

You can tell, though, that it was exactly what you were doing a few hours ago. You have all the pleasant aches that come from a lusty romp and as you cast your mind back, you realize that you’ve been in this room with its bright morning light and ugly paint before. You don’t need to roll over to confirm the identity of the warm body pressed close to yours because you can feel the fragments of the night shaking loose. This is a very mixed blessing. 

You’d met up with Susan after you’d both gotten off work and headed to the Canopy Bar. No, under the circumstances, it wasn’t a great idea to hit a bar filled with people, many of whom were tourists and almost none of whom were wearing masks, but it had been ages since either of you had gone out and it was like your bones were aching for it. Besides, the hotel was miserable, with clients getting angry at having to sanitize hands and wear masks, while others got mad because the restaurant didn’t require people to have masks on while they ate. You and Susan had gotten your first vaccine and even though you knew you were supposed to wait until you got the second before re-entering the social world, impatience and youthful stupidity had taken over. 

So the two of you ditched your work clothes and headed down the beach to the covered open-air bar that always seemed to mean a good time. They had heaters at the tables to disguise the fact that it was not exactly beach weather but after a couple of cocktails, it might as well have been the 4th of July. 

You feel the body behind you shift a little, his face close to your hair. He gives a contented little sigh and slides one arm over your hip. His fingers press against a tender spot that you assume he made the night before, when he’d been digging into your flesh so hard, slamming into you as you rode him, that you thought he might break the skin. He’s still half asleep. At least half. When he wakes up, it’s going to be a different thing. 

Kenny. You don’t need to look at him to picture that deceptively angelic face with its sparkling blue eyes, or his body that looks like it descended from Mount Olympus. And you certainly don’t need help remembering his name, which is more than you can say for him, which is, funnily enough, the thing that started the chain of events that ended with you back here again. 

You’d spotted him with some friends at the bar, which seemed strange because you remembered from the first time you met him that he wasn’t a drinker. Like, at all. But he was clearly relaxed and enjoying himself, enjoying how he was so obviously the center of attention at his table, and in particular that he was the focus of a very beautiful, elegant woman seated directly across from him. One look and you knew he was on the make and you felt the bile rise in your throat because as far as you were concerned, you hadn’t finished the cycle of things between the two of you. There wasn’t actually anything sustained between the two of you, of course, but it definitely felt like there was something unfinished. 

Whatever happened to a boyfriend?/ The kind of guy who tries to win you over/ Whatever happened to a boyfriend?/ The kind of guy who makes love ‘cause he’s in it

You’d met Kenny a little over a month ago at The Canopy Bar and the two of you had ended up going back to his place. And it had been good. Damn, it had been good. He’d been effusive with his praise and compliments and he’d been sweet as the two of you drifted off to sleep. When you’d woken up, he’d taken you to get coffee from a pick up wagon and the two of you had hung out and chatted about pet stories and his time in Japan, a place you’d dreamed about visiting for years. 

Had you been thinking “relationship”? No. But it didn’t feel like a one night stand and god knows you’d gone through enough of those in the past couple of years to judge. You’d texted him a day or two later and suggested meeting up for a coffee at a place you liked and he’d responded within a couple of hours that he’d like that. You’d ended up setting a non-date date for the following week, which turned into you sitting at an outside table at the cafe for three hours. You’d tried texting and calling and had heard nothing. After about half an hour, you’d realized that you should leave and get on with the process of feeling resentful at being stood up. But you’d lingered because it didn’t feel like things were over. It felt like the night you’d spent together had been something a little bit special. 

Of course, you hadn’t been so sad as to keep trying to contact him after he stood you up, but you felt the memory of what had happened sticking to you like nettles. You just hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything about it last night and what you’d done about it, powered by a few stiff cocktails and a sense of indignation was march up and sit down next to him. 

“Well look who’s here,” you sneered, wanting him to know that he had some making up to do. “What the hell was with you no-showing?”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that,” he shrugged. “I was busy or something and I figured it wasn’t a big deal.”

“You know it’s considered polite to let someone know when you can’t make it to meet them.”

“Yeah, I guess that was shitty of me.” He gave a cheeky grin. “Sorry about that.”

He looked like he’s about to turn back to his friends and the doe-eyed beauty who looked a little too amused at how upset you obviously are, so you gripped his bicep to keep him focused on you. 

“Seriously, what made you not show up? If you didn’t want to meet me, you could have just said so. Or you could have canceled.”

“I mean it, I’m sorry.”

He was infuriatingly nonchalant about this, which made you angrier than you had been when you came over. In fact, it seemed like he was getting a bit of a kick out of the fact that you were angry. 

“This is Hikaru,” he said, motioning to the woman on the other side of the table. “Hikaru, this is… Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

You felt a surge of fury and humiliation mingled together, twisted with the fact that you could tell he was lying. 

“Ha ha. You know my name.”

“No, really, I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten it.”

Even through your alcohol-fueled haze, you felt like you had a very clear grip on the moment. You could tell looking in his eyes that you were right: he knew perfectly well who you were and what your name was. But he was committed to the pretence that he didn’t. Maybe it was because he wanted to be left alone with this new girl. Maybe it was because you were making him nervous. 

“Whatever,” you growled. “You can go fuck yourself.”

You made your way back to Susan and thought about running away with your tail between your legs but almost immediately dismissed the idea. To hell with that guy. You’d been having a good time before you saw him and you weren’t going to let him ruin that. You couldn’t start ceding public spaces to assholes. So you hit the dance floor with your friend and the two of you enjoyed the attention you generated, the eyes trailing over you, even the drunk college boys who tried their damnedest to be charming. 

After a while, you were aware that someone was lurking nearby, close to you without trying to engage you, seemingly happy to dance by himself and lap up the attention he was getting. His friend Hikaru wasn’t with him, although you saw her a couple of times during the next couple of hours, always looking at him, always looking like she was waiting. 

Finally, he was close enough that he leaned over and spoke directly into your ear. 

“Guess I’m heading out. Thanks for the laugh, though, stranger.”

You whirled, half inclined to punch him in the nose. 

“What the fuck is your problem? You think you can just be rude and act like that to me and it’s funny?”

“Ok, sorry, it was nice seeing you again.” He gave a little laugh and wiggled his eyebrows as he started to move away, his expression somehow inviting you to follow him.

Susan grabbed hold of your arm and tried to steer you away but you disconnected from her, assuring her that you just needed to say a few things to this jerk. 

So you trailed after him, yelling some insults and waiting for him to hightail it. But every time you’d dragged your feet a little, he’d slowed down too. 

“Ok,” he sighed as you stepped away from the bar and onto the beach, “you’re right, I remember your name. I was just being a shit.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Was that because you were trying to hit on Hikaru?”

“No. I think she has a bit of a thing for me.”

He started walking in the direction you remembered he lived in. 

“You coming?” He called back, obviously loving how aggravated you were at his cockiness. 

You almost felt bad/ you said that I should call you up/ but I knew much better than that

Finally, you roll over to look at him. He has his hand over his eyes to shield them from the light streaming in. The window is a semi-skylight built into the roof of the place. The light it gives is probably gorgeous when you’re not trying to sleep off a hangover. He gives you a tired smile without looking you in the eye and pulls you close to him for a few seconds. 

“I have to get ready for work. Sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

He sits up and as he does, it occurs to you that he’s actively avoiding looking at you, like you’re going to turn him to a pillar of salt or worse. 

“It was cool seeing you again,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about the yelling and everything.”

“I deserved it.”

“Yes you did. But I’m sorry if it makes things awkward for you and your friends.”

You sit up, letting the bedcovers fall from your body as you survey the room for your hastily discarded clothes. Angry sex is disorderly sex and there are bits of you strewn around the place. It takes you a few seconds to realize that he’s just standing at the top of the stairs leading down from his sleeping loft, watching you. 

He makes as if he’s about to say something but it dies unspoken, so there’s just a long, strange look between you. And this time you’re absolutely certain that this does not feel like a one night stand, or a two night stand, for either of you. There’s an electricity that passes from his eyes to yours and back, the kind of thing that gives you butterflies in your stomach. The kind of thing that’s going to continue to bring butterflies when you think about it over the coming weeks or longer. 

“I’m just gonna jump in the shower for a couple of minutes,” he says finally. “You want to have one?”

“No, I’m ok. I’ll just grab one at home.”

He nods and leaves and you wonder if you’re even supposed to be here when he gets back. You slowly gather up your belongings and get dressed, enjoying the little twinges you feel stretching your muscles out. Those make your stomach flip too. 

You make your way downstairs, hoping that you can at least snag a cup of coffee before leaving but the second your feet hit the final few stairs to the ground floor, you wish you’d stayed in his room. 

There are a few men milling around, a couple of guys with shaved heads and goatees, one of whom looks like a runaway extra from Sons of Anarchy. With them is an older, well-dressed man wearing sunglasses even though he’s in the house. You can’t decide if it’s just discomfort or if you genuinely dislike them at first sight. One thing is for certain, they seem unsurprised to see a woman appear from above. 

“Hi,” you rasp, unsure if you’re supposed to introduce yourself or allow them to pretend you’re not there. It seems like they’d prefer the latter option. “Is there any coffee?”

“Yeah, kitchen,” the older man directs you thrusting his chin in the right direction. 

You pour yourself a generous mug and decide that hiding out in the kitchen is the best plan for now. After a few minutes, you hear Kenny’s voice greeting the others, sounding just a little surprised that they’re there. They all seem boisterous and loud but you hear the voices drop for a second just before Kenny replies, “In the kitchen? Ok, just give me a minute.”

You gulp as much of your coffee as you can and square your shoulders so that you look more like someone who was just about to leave as he enters the room. 

“Hey, sorry if they surprised you,” he offers sheepishly. 

“No, it’s no problem. I helped myself to coffee, I hope that’s alright.”

“Oh, for sure. Take your time.”

“No, no, I was just leaving. I have a bunch of shit to do today.”

“Yeah, for sure, me too.” He pauses before giving you a quick hug, pulling back just at the moment that it feels he’s about to let himself melt into it. “So we should totally do that coffee date sometime.”

“Definitely. You know, whenever your schedule is…”

“For sure. I mean, I’ll call you.”

And as your awkward, staccato conversation stutters to a silence, your eyes meet again for a long moment and it’s like you’re both mourning for something that needn’t be as doomed as it is. 

“Thanks for last night,” you tell him, as cheerfully as you can manage.

“Hey, thank you. It was great.”

He shows you to the door and leans in to press a kiss to your cheek as you step over the threshold. The gesture seems to hang in suspended animation, your faces pressed together and your lips resting on each other’s skin. But then the moment passes and it’s like the butterflies in your stomach rise and flutter away all at once into the bright morning sun. 

I can feel it in my bones/ I’m gonna spend my whole life alone

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Give In To Me

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This is my post for the “new love” square for the @starkerfestivals January event. I listened to the song Give In To Me a stupid amount of times to get this one just right. Word Count: ~6.6K Warnings: There is some homophobic language/actions and a bit of violence in this one. It’s not the fluff fest most of my fics usually are, so approach with caution! Summary:

Tony always knew he was a little different - and growing up on a ranch in the middle of nowhere Wyoming didn't leave room for that type of uniqueness. College is supposed to be a godsend, and for a while - it is. Things start to spiral out of control when Tony's father dies and whiskey takes the wheel.

Twenty something years later, Tony is still struggling with the aftermath. It's not until the gorgeous cowboy Peter Parker walks into his life that Tony starts to feel like living again.

Or, the one where society sucks and Peter makes it all better.

Read on AO3 here.

In all 45 of his years, Tony never thought of himself as weak.

There were times when shit got hard and the walls felt like they were sinking in on him – even then, the feeling of weakness never even registered.

From the second that Peter Parker walked into his life – everything changed. The feeling of weakness came from the way the tan Stetson sat so temptingly on his head; the brim tucked down over his eyes that made searching out his gaze something of a mission. It came in the way his heart picked up when he saw the lean cowboy, his face and body still giving off the slightest hint of youth that Tony could only fondly remember in his later age.

Most importantly, the weakness came when it was just him and Peter – the two of them tackling the stalls or discussing the latest specs for the crop rotation they meticulously planned. In all his life, Tony didn’t once feel that earth-moving feeling of rightness like he did when in Peter’s orbit.

All of Peter’s finer attributes and deeply engrained intelligence compiled together could easily bring him to his knees – Tony fought with himself daily to simply stay standing under the strain of what Peter made him feel so easily. After almost fifty years of repressing all of his emotions, especially the hard ones like love and attraction, Tony found himself both fearful and excited by the immensity of his plentiful feelings for Peter Parker.

He wanted to burn from the fire of it all, while melting Peter down and taking him into the blazing madness together.

Of course, his thoughts were much braver than his actions and behavior.

It was never easy – coming to terms with his differences. From an early age, Tony could feel how other he was. Though he loved ranch work with all of his being, the thought of learning and getting so much more from the world settled in him before he really understood what it all meant. Where his daddy didn’t give a shit about his schooling, Tony strived to excel. Information and knowing things came pretty easy to him, and he reveled in it.

He studied so much, he figured the cows would start mooing all of the different facts and tidbits of information he always recited to them during his fence checks and daily feeds. There was always a craving for more that settled deep within him – the thing taking home in him in a way that held tight and wouldn’t come close to letting go.

Things got even more interesting when he figured one of the biggest differences between him and all his other buddies was the fact that he wanted to kiss them, and not the girls they were always whispering and gossiping about. He found out pretty early how off the wall those feelings were and desperately tried to stamp them down.

For a lot of his childhood, Tony did a lot of that – stamping things down. Whether it was his smarts or the warmth in his stomach he got when looking at certain boys, Tony did whatever he could to let those things fly under the radar. He figured the best way to stay hidden was to blend in with the normality of the crowd.

The one thing Tony wasn’t ever going to compromise on was his future, however – it was one thing to hide his brain and all the things he could do with it, but a whole other thing to waste it, just because someone didn’t like it. His daddy fought tooth and nail to get Tony to ditch the educated man dreams and stay exactly where he’d always been.

Taking over the ranch could wait – there were so many things to learn and tons of opportunities for Tony to do it.

When the acceptance letter for UT Austin came, Tony hid the envelope away and quietly went about the process of getting himself set up for attendance that next fall. Like most things in his life, Tony put his entire life together after high school by himself – making his own decisions and following the dreams that he never let anyone else know about.

Austin meant more acceptance – besides the amazing university, Texas’s capital was rumored to be amongst the more liberal parts of the state. For someone who held a whole piece of himself back in fear of what might happen, escaping to a place that wouldn’t condemn him for his preferences felt pretty sweet.

Against his parents’ wishes, Tony left for college immediately after graduation – his work ethic and know-how getting him a fellowship within the agricultural engineering department that got him to school as early as possible. Getting away meant everything after such a long time being cooped up in a small town with people who had narrow minds and an even smaller range of interests.

His introduction to all of the other things the world had to offer came hard and fast. His Levi jeans and cowboy boots were a hit amongst the people that never stepped foot outside of the big city – and the boys who liked other boys were not quiet about their appreciation. From nothing to everything all at once, Tony fell headfirst into the life he never knew existed.

And it was nice – for a long time, it was really (really) nice. Tony felt right under his skin for the first time ever and didn’t have to hide himself away – his brain or his lust for beautiful men that could take him apart and put him back together in a way that was much better than what existed before.

He flourished in the classroom, the lifetime of ranch knowledge edging others out in the application and understanding department. Tony used all of the pieces he accumulated over the years to absorb all of the information he could and quickly found himself with a double major in Business and Agricultural Engineering. Though he wasn’t actually planning to go back and take over the family ranch, knowing how to run one from all angles seemed like the right thing to do.

Austin felt like a dream – everything Tony ever wanted was right in front of his face just waiting for him to reach out and take it. And while he could, Tony clung tight to all of the things he never had before and probably never would again.

Things came crashing down when his dad died eight weeks before graduation. The night before he finally got ahold of his mom after noticing more than forty missed calls, Tony was out with his latest fling – Clint Barton, who could do things with his hands that Tony couldn’t get enough of. When he finally stumbled his way back to the dorm, Tony found his answering machine completely full – each one of his mother’s messages more desperate than the last.

Unable to just rush home, Tony settled his mom down and made a few calls to get himself a flight back to Wyoming as soon as he could. As much as he wanted to feel bad about the sudden death of his father, there wasn’t much in him that made Tony ache the way he probably should. His father never understood him – never even took the time to do so. There was sadness, but the idea of missing his very last midterm to mourn couldn’t be processed. Not when he worked so hard to get where he was.

He never planned to go back home – and rushing back just wasn’t in the plans, either; no matter the reason.

Of course, karma had a way of proving that not all decisions were the best. The very next night, while out with Clint and a few of their friends, Tony found himself in a sticky situation. Taking to the bottle the second he had everything in order, his blood was more whiskey than red blood cells by the time they hit one of their favorite bars – the word belligerent sat in the back of his head when he let himself think about just how much the world was tilting and his words were slurring.

While Austin was relatively liberal, there were still many people that came to the city that didn’t share the local attitude about the world. Most people Tony spent his time with were pretty accepting of his preferences and never shied away from him, especially when he brought his dates around. In a lot of ways, Tony felt stupidly lucky; the level of understanding his close friends were capable of surpassed all he received throughout the years of his childhood combined.

That wasn’t to say that the strangers on the street felt the same as his friends, however. Sober Tony understood that piece of information; he logically kept his personal and private business to himself when out in public. That Tony was long gone, replaced with the recklessly drunk version that didn’t keep his hands to himself and couldn’t care less about what other people thought of it.

When he pulled Clint into a kiss without a care in the world, Tony should’ve known he was asking for trouble. There was a beat of time when he pulled away with a smile where Tony felt like he was floating on air – he was just drunk enough to forget the world, just for that single moment. Then, the chocked-out word he dreaded his entire life rang in his ears. ‘Fag’ sunk into his skin, the heat of shame radiating down from his stomach until his legs felt molten with anger and fear. His fists clenched tightly by his side, the alcohol boosting his courage beyond anything reasonable.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Tony roared, his hand pressing flat against Clint’s chest, pressing him back and out of the way. He shifted his body until he was between Clint and the guys now closing in on them.

“I called you a fag. Out here in public, doing something like that – “ the guy was able to get out just enough to push Tony past a breaking point. He didn’t get to finish his thought – Tony’s fist connected with his jaw; then, all hell broke loose.

For what it was worth, Tony gave just as good as he got. After the initial punch, Tony threw himself into the first of the three guys that were gathered around. Searching for Clint’s eyes, Tony nodded his head towards the exit when he caught them. They shared a scared look for a second before the other man was gone, the sound of a fist hitting his cheek covering up the shuffle of Clint’s boots as he fled.

At least he was alone in the beating he took when a swift punch to the back took out a couple of ribs, the pain pulling all the fight from him in one swift breath. By the time his eyes were shutting with blissful unconsciousness, everything felt numb – his body, heart, and his already tarnished soul.

After almost twenty years, thinking back on the experience still took his breath away.

He regained consciousness in a hospital bed with his hands wrapped and one eye swollen completely shut. The thought of not being in jail was the only comfort he felt as every other injury made itself known. Fractured ribs, a dislocated jaw, and bruising everywhere. It hurt to breath and if he pressed too hard with his tongue, his front tooth felt like it might pop right out of his mouth.

Tony stayed hooked up to the machines just long enough to make sure there was no lasting damage, then checked himself out against everyone’s orders. Canceling his flight on account of not being able to handle the pressure of breathing, let alone at thirty thousand feet, Tony put his shit in a bag, packed up his truck, and hit the road. Fourteen hours stood between him and the distance needed to maybe mend his brokenness.

Instead of going back to Austin after putting his daddy in the ground, Tony took to his old room in the house he grew up in and dug into the ranch work as deeply as he could. He finished his degree with a couple trips back to the city to take big tests and put the whole experience behind him the second his diplomas came. All that education, all the time it took, and the effort he put forth – it all seemed a little flat after the huge crash back down to reality. The world wasn’t the big place he so desperately wanted it to be. The realization of that hit so close that he bottled everything inside, put his head down, and finally gave into wishes he’d been resisting for as long as he could remember.

In letting himself fall into the work, Tony found his enjoyment of being around the ranch again. His forethought in school put him in a good position to make some good moves and bring all the land back up to speed. In just a couple of years, Tony brought their profits up and made some decent headway into getting the soil ready and willing to spring up crops to at least sustain them throughout the seasons.

Little by little, Tony took to running the ranch the way his daddy always wanted him to. His mom let go of her work around the place one small chore at a time, her old age catching up to her after so many years of ceaseless work. In the last couple of years before she passed, Tony created the best memories, actually letting himself get to know the woman who raised him and allowing her to see him in return. When he came out, she simply looked at him with a knowing smile.

“I’ve always known, boy. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Those words echoed within him every time he thought of her after that. She succumbed to pneumonia and joined his daddy late in the spring of his thirtieth year. Now completely orphaned, without any family at all, Tony turned to building up the ranch – the place now one of the only ones in the world he could feel some semblance of home.

He started the change with an initial push to bring the ranch into the latest decade. He bought a new herd of cattle and got a few work horses that could maintain the load of the work about to come. Next, he increased the staff on the property. Where Howard got by with only one hired hand, Tony brought on a foreman and three other hands to help with the new livestock. There were several empty bunkhouses on their many acres of land, and with a little bit of fixing up, they made adequate workers’ quarters.

With the manpower and the ability to give up some of the physical labor for the brainier work, Tony watched the land flourish before him. The livestock brought in good profit year after year – the turnaround on the cattle almost enough to bring in new herds almost every year. When the need for a wider stock occurred, Tony wheeled and dealed until he bought out both of his neighbors, their land adding beautifully to the well working operation.

As the years past, Tony got more ingenious and found ways to keep everything organic, the cattle were grass fed, and the small round of crops they were able to sustain year after year grew chemical free. Despite rebelling against it for so damn long, Tony took to ranching like a natural – the land belonged to his family for generations; it was in his blood.

When the crop production started to pick up, Tony figured it was time to bring in a professional with the know-how and education needed to maintain the soil and produce bigger numbers during every yield.

Steve, after years of being Tony’s right hand man, brought up a young agriculture guru that was quickly making a name for himself in the farming business. Without blinking an eye, Tony took his name and number, making the needed calls to get the best in the business there as quickly as possible. In all his years of running things, Tony understood what it meant to tap into potential, and if Steve was right, they were getting someone more than qualified that could easily hit his stride under their care.

All thoughts of business rushed out the window when he first took in all the glory that was Peter Parker. The cowboy hat that sat low on his head made it hard to determine how old he actually was – the word young could be applied to many age groups now that Tony was getting up there in years himself. There was a seriousness to his eyes that made him seem a little older, yet the beauty of youth clung to him like it may never let go.

Then, their eyes met – the crackle in the stare shared between them obvious in the way that both men shifted; brown eyes were glued to him from that moment on. Tony automatically stuck his hand between them, a sudden eagerness in his blood that made his fingers itchy for contact. He wasn’t disappointed when the shock of eyes catching magnified when skin met skin. Peter’s hands were rough, callouses adorning them – they were workers hands, ones that knew what it was like to spend long hours sweating for the cause.

Though the touch was brief, Tony felt it on his skin for the rest of their brief meeting. Tony was enamored from the very beginning but kept his business pants on and listened with interest to Peter’s extensive background and experience with soil analysis, crop rotations, and the like. While he was an aggie where Tony was a longhorn, he figured he could forgive the cowboy for his follies of youth – if his credentials were to be believed, they were getting a real asset to their team.

It didn’t take much convincing on Tony’s end when all was said and done – Steve did a good job selling the place in his initial rundown and Peter was signing the employment contract before the meeting was even finished. Unable to stamp down his excitement, Tony let a rare smile flit across his lips when he looked up to see Peter watching him. There was a glint of happiness bubbling up, and for once, Tony wondered what it would be like to allow himself to enjoy it again.

Realistically, choice wasn’t in Tony’s hands – from the second he saw Peter working on the ranch that first day, his fate was sealed. It’d been so long since the last time Tony allowed himself to look, let alone feel, that he was having a hard time controlling himself. Whenever they were within distance of each other, he found his eyes roving over Peter, his brain desperately attempting to remember everything for later. He figured that Peter could feel the weight of his stare and was later assured of that when he finally brought his eyes back up to Peter’s face after a lengthy perusal to find a shit eating grin on his lips.

They didn’t talk about it – not at first. Tony felt too much shame in the simple act of looking, the last thing he needed to do was rush the process and fuck them both over. Instead, they took to sharing looks and small quips when they were lucky enough to bump into each other. Tony’s love had always been the livestock, so he stuck to the barn and stables the times he decided to get his hands dirty. There wasn’t a lot for Peter to do in that neck of the woods, but they ran into each other often enough, anyways.

One such evening, Tony was cathartically finishing up bedding a few of the horses when Peter walked into the tack room, his eyes roaming over the gear hanging on the wall. In their ever-increasing conversations, Tony came to find out that Peter spent most of his childhood on horseback and liked to be amongst the familiar animals. Leaning up against the door of the stall he’d been mucking, Tony whistled lightly, getting Peter’s attention.

“Want to actually saddle up and ride tonight?” Tony asked, his forearms leaning against the top of the stall. “I haven’t settled Midnight or Cocoa if you’re interested.”

Seeing the flash of hope in Peter’s eye had Tony standing up a little taller, his hand moving to push his cowboy hat up a little further on his head so he could see Peter better. His lips rebelled against him, the corners reaching just under his eyes in the most genuine smile to ever grace his face. He was sweaty and tired and knew that taking the horses out now would make for a couple hours of work later – but it was all worth it. Peter nodded his head excitedly, his long legs already carrying him over to the saddle on the wall he eyed on a nightly basis.

Saddled up and ready to go, Tony clicked his tongue and shifted the reins in his hand enough to get Midnight on the move. Peter followed him closely, their feet a couple inches apart from each other with every shift they made in the saddle.

The cool night breeze moved around them; the trails beautifully lit by the moon casting its glow all around. It was a gorgeous night for a ride and an even better opportunity to get to know the handsome cowboy a little better.

Pulling up on the reins, Tony settled Midnight into a light trot, Cocoa following along seamlessly. He felt comfortable enough to shift forward a little, his stare moving to Peter across from him. “How are you settling in? This is probably a big change from College Station where you’ve been the past few years.”

“I love it out here. I grew up in the middle of nowhere Kansas. My uncle had a few acres that he made last until he couldn’t anymore. Being out here reminds me of the slow days I used to spend out on the range with him. A&M was just a stop along the way. Out here, it’s where I’ve always wanted to be.”

Sucking in a breath, Tony felt the words hit him hard – the vast openness drew him home all of those years ago; there was just something about being able to look up and see nothing for miles. Instead of replying right away, he let the peace of the words and the environment around him settle; it felt good to just be out here, especially with Peter by his side.

“Seems like you’re in the right place, then. It’s real quiet out here and everything moves a little slower than the rest of the world.” He stopped for a second, shifting his fingers in the leather of his riding gloves. “I’m real glad you’re here, Pete. Glad that you don’t dislike the slow stuff.”

Peter didn’t say anything else for the rest of their ride, the silence between them light and easy – like Tony’s admission was the pin needed to break the little bubble of tension that always surrounded them. They made it up and back across the trail before it was too dark – and with an extra pair of hands, Tony got the stable ready for the night much quicker than he initially anticipated.

Without really thinking, Tony placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, pulling until they were pressed side to side. The contact felt amazing yet forbidden – Peter’s heat against him a craving he kept at bay for so, so long. “Thanks for the help closing up. I would’ve been out here for hours on my own.”

Peter moved then, his own arm wrapping around Tony’s waist – no hesitation, no shrinking away from the intimate contact. A couple of seconds went by before Peter moved again, his body turning and free hand coming to rest softly against Tony’s cheek. “Anytime, cowboy. You can’t possibly know how good you look on a horse. Or how sexy you get when you’re sweaty from work.”

The last few words were whispered, the space between them dwindling down to nothing as Peter inched closer – his fingers were wrapped tightly in Tony’s pearl snap, the first few buttons completely loosened by the time their lips finally met.

For just a moment, Tony let himself fall into the kiss. His arm tightened around Peter’s shoulder, bringing him into his chest a little tighter. The other hand reached up to rid Peter of his hat, then did the same for himself. Without the brims in the way, Tony leaned even farther forward, their lips and tongue moving in a dance that felt old hat now that they were finally connecting like this. Peter felt like home from the moment they met, and this intimate connection felt even better.

But then he remembered the many years of isolation and all the shame – the bad memories of those times more than enough to pull him away from the amazing sensation, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen and searing fear of what-ifs and ignorant people. Unable to push it all down, Tony put a bit of distance between them, his eyes glued to the floor where his boots were brushing nervously against the dirty planks.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I-I – “ Tony tried to babble out before deciding to ditch the niceties and make a quick escape out the door.

For two days, Tony avidly avoided the stables. Though it was his favorite place on the entire property, he wasn’t ready to face Peter head-on and knew the younger man would wait to find him there as long as it took. There was an unspoken connection that neither was willing to let go of, no matter how hard Tony fought against it. Between shared looks and hard-won tidbits about each other’s lives, something was created, the bond living and breathing, just like the two of them.

Deep down, Tony knew running away wouldn’t get him anywhere. His self-imposed isolation lasted for almost twenty-five years. In that time period, Tony didn’t take on a lover or even think about letting another person into his life. He got by on his excellent relationship with Steve and the few hands that had been there from the beginning. It was almost too easy to stay solitary and never let the world around him come close to hurting him ever again. The fact that Peter managed to get under the high walls of his fortress meant there was already no escaping it.

And now that their lips had met and Tony knew what it felt like to have Peter pressed against him – well, he almost didn’t want to fight it, anymore. Times changed and so did the way the world saw people with differences.

Unable to come to terms with what happened to him, Tony turned his head away from all of the advancements that occurred – allowing himself to hope for something better felt like a death wish.

Yet, the more time let himself get to know Peter, the more he felt himself wanting to give in to the hope – wanting to give in to Peter and the thing that could easily burn so intensely between them. At what point did the fear that ran his life get the better of him? When, after so much time of being by himself for both protection and self-preservation, was enough actually enough?

The answer to that question came in the form of a knock on the main house door halfway through day three of ignoring the entire situation. He was sock-clad in his kitchen with chicken salad halfway prepared when the sound echoed around the house – his heart kicking up in pace and volume with every resounding pound. Putting everything on the counter, Tony took a couple of seconds to pull in a few deep breaths before he could even think about turning around and answering the door. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was Peter there waiting for him, but something in his gut spoke loudly – the all-too-familiar feeling of rightness dragged him to the door without thought.

With so much adrenaline coursing through him, the door was within his grasp way quicker than he expected. The doorknob was already in his hand before he could think about what came next, and when Peter stood there on the other side, hat in his hands, a somber look in his eyes – Tony lost it. His momentum carried him over the threshold, long arms scooping Peter into him until they were pressed flush together, chest against chest. They shared the same breaths for a moment before lips were upon each other again, this kiss sure where the last one shared between them carried so much apprehension.

Their lips stayed sealed together until Peter pushed against him, the movement just enough to bring his brain back to earth. His eyes searched Peter, Tony eager to understand what brought the distance between them this time.

Understanding the inner turmoil, Peter placed another soft kiss on Tony’s lips, his eyes flashing with mischief and want. “You’re gonna crush my hat,” Peter mumbled, a soft smile overtaking his lips. “Invite me in, cowboy.”

“Oh. Yeah. Fuck – please come in, Pete.”

Tony didn’t hesitate to step back, his heart was racing, and limbs were shaking, but the chance he wanted was right in front of him – and he sure as hell was going to take it; fear and past-precedence be damned. With Peter in front of him the way he was, so open and willing, trusting Tony to make the right decision – he felt like he could take on the world.

Peter walked into the house just enough for Tony to get the door shut before he was manhandling long limbs. Tony’s back pressed against the heavy wood with a gentle push and answering thud. Now that the hat was no longer in sight, Tony took the opportunity to press their bodies back together, the feeling of Peter against him head to toe so intoxicating – literally everything he ever dreamed he could want.

Their lips pressed and pushed together, the never-ending battle of who controlled what continuing throughout the dance to Tony’s bedroom. Landing in a heap like they did, Peter ended up between Tony’s bare thighs, his hands passing across the goose fleshed skin there. Tony threw his head back with every caress, the weight of another man on top of him so foreign and exciting after so many years with only his own hand for company.

A soft nose pressed against the length of Tony’s neck, the exhaled air and light caress dragging a light moan from deep within. Lips traced veins and bare skin until Peter had the lobe of Tony’s ear in his mouth, soft kisses placed around the shell almost enough to end things before they really got started. Tony tensed up, his body desperately fighting itself with every touch and kiss.

“It’s alright, Tony. It’s alright,” Peter whispered, his fingers finding Tony’s to tangle them together tightly. There was a quick shift until their eyes were locked and Peter was gazing down at him with so much lust and affection.  He wanted so desperately to give in that his stomach was churning – the need and anxiety battled with each other every step of the way.

Instead of continuing the heavy petting from before, Peter kept their gazes locked – his hands running lightly down and around, then up and back until all of Tony relaxed. He used eyes and lips and arms to smash the surface of what Tony thought reality was, only to bring the truth to the forefront. His desire, the melting hot feeling of being consumed – there was merit to it, and it was returned so deliciously.

Sensing that Tony was finally settled, Peter got back to work – his lips trailed down Tony’s neck, across his collarbones and pecs with nips and licks following that very same path. He paused at each nipple, giving each nub a rundown until both were peaked and hard – the flesh sensitive to every touch now that the pleasure neurons were firing. The softest stubble of Peter’s five o’clock shadow drew soft sounds of joy from Tony’s lips – the idea of having beard burn on his body was insanely attractive; almost too much for his wrung-out soul.

Peter eventually stopped between his legs, that warm tongue of his worming out to trace along Tony’s length, down drawn up balls, across his perineum, and settling against his still tense pucker. He lathered the outside of the muscle with sweeps of a soft tongue and warm kisses – Peter’s ministrations dragging Tony even further under than before; his entire being was ablaze with the best kind of fire and heat.

Nimble fingers spread Tony’s cheeks for more room as Peter upped the stakes and started to go at Tony’s hole with vigor. Little by little, Tony felt the tip of Peter’s tongue press against his rim, each inch of it pressing in easier as the moments past. Every brush got Tony to open up a little further, his legs widening with each lick and press across his most private place.

Soon, a thumb joined in on the action, Peter pressing the digit in without any sort of preamble. Feeling a bit fuller, Tony forced his head up to take in the blissed-out look on Peter’s face. Though he was the one delivering all the pleasure at the moment, Peter looked like he belonged right where he was, settled between Tony’s legs bringing them one step closer to finally falling over the edge – together; the way it should be.

A quick fumble with the bedside table had lube in Peter’s hand, his fingers slick with it before either man could even blink. The added addition of long fingers to the already tantalizing push and pull of tongue and hole had Tony on edge, his cock almost completely untouched until that point. He let one, and then two fingers press into him without complaint – it’d been a long time since he even used fingers on himself, let alone allowing another person to do so. By the time Peter tried to push in with a third finger, Tony was panting with want – the tight bow of his body racked up and ready to release upon the slightest instance of a command.

The clench of muscle and heat around Peter’s fingers must’ve finally been enough for him – he gently removed his fingers from Tony’s ass and quickly fumbled with the lube bottle, the cap and his fingers a sticky-slick combination. While he worked that out, Tony tried not to mourn the fullness, his brain doing its best to remind the rest of him that Peter’s cock was inches away – and probably just as eager to drive home as Tony was.

About to turn over onto his belly, Tony was stopped by Peter’s hand on his shoulder. He gave him a curious look, his head tilting to the side in question.

“I want to be able to see your face,” Peter replied simply, the hand on Tony’s shoulder moving easily to press against his cheek. His thumb traced under Tony’s cheek bone – the caress filled with affection and meant to be calming.

Settling back against the mattress, Tony let out a small sigh. Peter immediately laid down over him, his weight pressing Tony even further into the bed. They shared a look as Peter shifted and moved, the head of his dick pressing against Tony’s entrance almost unexpectedly. With the slightest pressure, Peter popped inside of him, the stretch and burn there, but barely noticed.

Instead, Tony kept his eyes on Peter, their eyes dancing together with lust and want and need and safety – the intrinsic feeling of the rightness between them easing the way with every slow roll of Peter’s hips. Fully seated, Peter broke the gaze, resting his forehead against the side of Tony’s neck, instead. His lips were like liquid fire against Tony’s skin – every piece of him entering into that stage of delicious sensitivity.

“Oh god, Pete. You feel – “ Tony cut himself off when Peter started to thrust, the pleasure of it all robbing him of any tangible communication skills. Moans and pants filled the space instead, the pitch of his noises climbing in volume and intensity with every thrust.

Like most things between them so far, their coupling stayed pretty silent. Peter used touch to talk, instead – his hands gripped Tony’s hips, then shifted to press tightly into the thighs he was now holding up for better leverage for his own hips to thrust and move and roll in all of the right spots. He pressed kisses against Tony’s sweaty skin, and when things got really good, he let his teeth dig into the spot where neck and shoulder meet.

Tony felt his orgasm come on in little increments. His stomach filled with an untouchable heat. The warmth spread from there, down his limbs until each of his digits was completely overcome. When all was said and done, Tony felt the flare of that heat settle into the corner of his heart, the immensity of it dragging him down and under – his body and soul finally free.

Lips pressed against his ear again, Peter’s repeated “come on, come on – give in to me,” the soundtrack of first his orgasm, and then Peter’s right after. His voice shifted, Peter’s mumbled “Tony!” deep and gravely – low in the way that only something satisfying could bring out of someone.

Collapsing in a heap of limbs and sweat and the glorious scent of sex, Tony kept Peter wrapped up tightly against his chest – the thought of either of them going anywhere anytime soon more than Tony could possibly take. Peter was here now – the place in Tony’s arms belonged to him and this experience did nothing but drive that truth home.

He let a grin slip over his exhausted lips – the sedated look following him all the way into the deepest hour of sleep Tony Stark ever got.

Later, when cum and sweat and apprehension were washed away, Peter pulled Tony into the circle of his arms, the still wet strands of floppy hair resting against Peter’s chin. They laid in silence for a while, Tony’s only movement the soft brush of fingers up and back down a lean back.

“Thank you,” Tony mumbled, his arms tightening their hold.

Peter pressed kiss after kiss against whatever skin of Tony’s he could reach in their reclined position, his own grip tightening. “I’ll chase that hurt of yours, Tony. Just stay right here and we’ll get through it together.”

Glancing up, Tony let the words wash over him, let Peter see the way his promise affected him. They locked eyes for the hundredth time that day and with the utmost feeling of rightness, Tony nodded his head. He wanted to give in, wanted to take Peter up on the love and protection and companionship he was offering.

He nodded again, once more for emphasis, then tucked into the perfect Tony-sized spot against Peter’s side. Laying a soft kiss on the skin there, Tony felt himself sigh and relax – finally feeling himself giving in and letting go.

[jaskierswolf]

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 6/6  (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

Dandelion shivered as he wrapped his heavy burgundy red cloak around his shoulders. Kaer Morhen had some of the most beautiful views in the continent but it was bloody freezing. It was his first day at the keep and he had yet to meet the other witchers, too exhausted when he’d first arrived, barely conscious as Geralt dragged him through the gates. One bath and a good nap later, he felt more like himself again. If not a little nervous, not too dissimilar to stage fright he’d experience in his youth. His heart felt like it was racing in his chest and his fingers tugged at his clothes, needing something to do.

The sound of his footsteps reverberated in the draft halls, the acoustics just perfect for a performance. Dandelion made a note to bring his lute down to dinner once they’d settled in. Geralt’s family had probably heard of him, maybe even heard his songs through other, less talented, bards, but Geralt was the only witcher from Kaer Morhen that he’d had the pleasure to meet.

And oh it certainly was a pleasure.

The scent of cooking venison filled his nose as he drew closer to the kitchens, making his stomach rumble in anticipation, and he could hear the sounds of laughter.

“Ah, found them,” he cheered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The feathered bonnet that was usually perched on his head had been left behind in Geralt’s room, instead the thick woollen hood was keeping his ears warm, and completely messing up his hair.

Dandelion had hoped that he would look his best when meeting Geralt’s family, but alas the cold had rather scuppered that dream. So, he took a deep breath and held his head up high before entering the room. As expected the witchers fell silent, Geralt’s eyes found his across the room, and it was easy to get lost in his gorgeous golden gaze. Dandelion winked at his witcher before turning to the rest of the room. There were more witchers there than Dandelion had been anticipating. Geralt had only told him about three other remaining Wolf School witchers, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. The silver haired witcher resting closest to the fire with a book in his hand was most likely Vesemir. Another golden eyed witcher who bore a striking resemblance to Geralt, aside from the vicious scar that ran across his cheek and his dark brown hair, was probably Eskel. That left a third witcher with golden eyes, who he assumed to be Lambert, and two others. One had long flowing dark brown hair, and startling blue eyes, the other bald with a thick dark beard and green eyes. The latter two both had dark tanned skin that was striking in comparison the chalky white skin of the Wolf witchers.

“Greetings, I am so sorry I’m late. I do hope that Geralt wasn’t too much of a grump without me,” he flashed a charming grin at the occupants of the room.

Lambert burst into fits of laughter and stood up, pulling Dandelion into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor. The air was forced from his lungs and he squeaked as his legs were suddenly dangling in the air, but warmth bloomed in his chest. Lambert was supposed the most prickly out of Geralt’s family, and Dandelion had apparently won him over purely by teasing his own grump of a witcher.

“I like this one, Geralt. He can stay,” Lambert laughed as he dropped Dandelion back to the floor.

“Ah, why thank you, Lambert.”

“Geralt was inconsolable, pacing the floor, pulling his hair out. If he hadn’t already gone grey….”

Geralt growled from the corner which set Lambert off again. “Shut up.”

“Oh bite me,” Lambert snapped back.

“Boys!” The elder witcher, who Dandelion was sure was Vesemir, barked and the two younger wolf witchers fell silent. “We have a guest, try not to act like animals.”

“Well-” Eskel started to say with a crooked grin, “-we are wolves.”

Dandelion giggled and strutted across the room until he reached Geralt’s chair. The seat next to his witcher was vacant but it didn’t matter. Dandelion fell into Geralt’s lap, pressing his lips to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you were worried about me, darling. Now then, are you going to introduce me?”

“They know who you are, Dandelion.”

Dandelion scoffed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. It was surprisingly untangled, still soft and well conditioned despite the hike up the mountain. As he carded his fingers through the silver locks, Dandelion could smell the gentle scent of chamomile, the oil that he’d bought for Geralt on their first anniversary before their journey to Kaer Morhen. His usual lavender oil was too strong for Geralt’s heightened sense of smell, but the chamomile was subtle enough and helped to calm the witcher even when he was high on those blasted potions.

He began to separate the strands of Geralt’s hair, fingers working nimbly as he continued to speak. “They may know me, but I am afraid I wasn’t quite in my right mind when I arrived. I only know of your family, dearest, and unless I’m very much mistaken. I’m not the only visitor this year?”

“Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert you know,” Geralt gestured to the golden eyed witchers in turn. “Aiden,” he pointed to the blue-eyed man who had now settled onto the seat next to Lambert and was happily draped across the man’s lap. “Coën.” The green-eyed witcher smiled back at him. “And this is Dandelion, my bard.”

“I am absolutely thrilled to finally get to meet you,” Dandelion cooed at the witchers, not bothering to look at the braid in his hands. He’d done this so many times that he could probably do all but the most complex designs in his sleep. When he wasn’t playing his lute or scribbling away in his notebooks, he often needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise he felt restless. Geralt had noticed and suggested the braids. Dandelion had tried, and was still trying, to get his witcher to let him curl his hair, but Geralt was being stubborn about it. “Geralt has told me so much about you,” he lied.

Eskel chuckled. “That would be a first.”

“And probably a last too,” Lambert agreed.

“Fuck off,” Geralt grumbled and Dandelion giggled, poking his witcher’s nose with one elegant long finger.

“Be nice to your brothers, Geralt-” he chided before brushing his lips against Geralt’s ear, “-or else we won’t get to enjoy that fantastically large bed of yours later.”

The other witchers in the room all groaned, just as Dandelion had suspected they might, but he played innocent and smiled brightly up at them all, launching into a tirade of questions to divert their attention. Kaer Morhen was fascinating and Dandelion wanted to know everything! He was particularly curious as to why there were two witchers from other schools in the keep. There was just so much potential in just this one room! Dandelion’s reputation as the White Wolf’s bard and poet was about to get a makeover, he would be the barker for witchers everywhere!

The evening passed in merriment, music and mirth. Wine and liquor were spilled, and the roast venison was simply to die for. Dandelion kept a hand on Geralt at all times, in his hair, resting on his thigh, his arm, his shoulder. After a year together, Dandelion still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to love this beautiful, kind and generous man, and that he was loved in return, but Geralt showed his love and devotion every day.

It wasn’t poetry and roses like Dandelion was used to, but it was Geralt’s own unique language of love that Dandelion delighted in learning, and he’d always been a quick study.

No, Geralt’s love was more heartfelt than any superficial trinkets or flowers that would die. It was woven into the very essence of Dandelion’s lute, each note the instrument played, every word that fell from his lips. The love shone in the stars above their camp as they cuddled together for warmth, Dandelion’s chest pressed to Geralt’s back as their limbs tangled together. It was in the breath of each kiss, the swing of his swords.

Geralt’s love was all encompassing and it was his.

Or perhaps he was merely a poet in love.

What did it matter? The result was the same. They were happy together, despite the darkness in the world around them, there was light, like the flames that danced in the hearth as Vesemir began to snore.

Dandelion sighed, rubbing his nose along Geralt’s jaw and kissing his neck. “Time for bed, my love?”

Geralt grunted and swept Dandelion up into his arms. The world spun and Dandelion squeaked as he hurried to fling his arms around Geralt’s neck, not that he thought Geralt would drop him, but, well, it was always better to be safe, and it gave him an excellent excuse to continue kiss the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. The bruises never lasted more than an hour but it didn’t mean that Dandelion couldn’t try. He giggled as he nipped at the skin below the witcher’s ear.

“Would you two get a room?” Lambert groaned.

“Oi,” Aiden swatted his boyfriend over the head, “don’t be a spoilsport, we could always watch.”

Dandelion winked at the Cat witcher, making Lambert flush a deep red. “Out!” he barked.

“With pleasure,” Geralt chuckled, carrying Dandelion through the halls and back up to their room.

It didn’t take them long to disrobe, lips moving in slow languid kisses as they caressed and touched and held each other close. Dandelion’s fingers hooked under the chain of Geralt’s medallion, the only item left between them, and he held the silver wolf in his hand before kissing the cold metal. The witcher shivered as the medallion once again rested on his chest and Dandelion moved on to kiss the pale pink scars that covered his shoulders.

“I love you, dearest Geralt,” Dandelion hummed, and Geralt’s finger hooked under his chin, lifting his head so their lips once again met in a soft kiss.

They’d made love before, but this was Geralt’s room, not some shit-hole of an inn, or in the exposed elements of nature’s forests. This was a home, more importantly, it was Geralt’s home, and he was honoured to finally be a part of it. There was a whole new level of intimacy which warmed Dandelion’s heart, like the sun rising over the horizon, flowers blooming in the spring and fluttering cries of the birds to bring in each new day.

Geralt lifted him up, carrying him towards the bed and Dandelion could feel the anticipation, lust and arousal begin to cloud his mind in a dizzying haze. His witcher was looking at him with the utmost adoration and oh did that make his heart sing. As his back hit the mattress, Geralt stopped and stared at him, a calloused finger brushing against his cheek. It was almost too much, burning in its intensity.

Dandelion let out a nervous giggle, leaning into his lover’s touch. “What is it, my dear?”

Geralt just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Poppycock,” Dandelion declared, reaching up to capture Geralt’s lips in a quick kiss. “Tell me, darling.”

“You look beautiful.”

Dandelion felt himself blush. His hair was fanned out behind his head and he was sure his face was the colour of the sweetest roses but he was nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that Geralt hadn’t seen before. Yet this fire that burned between them felt entirely new, and his witcher’s expression was so tender, so heartfelt.

“You look beautiful,” Dandelion echoed, and then because he was a poet. “Radiant as the sun, and as ethereal as the moon, my darling, my dearest, my… hmmph!”

Geralt cut off his ramblings with a kiss and Dandelion wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. They had time to savour every moment, every touch, every kiss. They had forever.