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the-artist-grimm · 3 days ago

Note

Im sorry if you already answered something similar but does the twins ever reunite with Forneus in your au? If so how does it exactly work out, does Narinder, Anthea, and Forneus share custody?

Crimson Angel AU - The Situation between Forneus and the Twins

(Anon, @gerroacarnival and @xquaserh Putting all these asks in 1 cause oh boy this is a COMPLICATED question to answer oof. I wanna preface this that while I love Forneus just going by the characters personalities/themes of this AU the reunion is not as fairy-tale happy as it is in game)

Anyway-the boys do reunite with her technically, but not in the way Forneus dreamt. Reunions are good in theory, the long lost children reunite with their ‘real’ family, hug their mother, go ‘home’ with her, start life anew, but life isn’t so simple, now is it? It’s never that easy, not when one side clings to the memory of three day old infants and a reunion she'd dreamt of for so long it just became her expectation, and the other side has no memory and complex feelings on the whole matter with this slight feeling that perhaps while their mother loves the idea of them, she doesn't actually love them.

It's messy, complicated, and no matter what, will NEVER be the reunion Forneus wanted. The second they left her embrace, she lost the chance to be the mother she'd wanted to be for them, yet never realize till too late what else died with them.

(Putting this under the cut cause it's longgggg. The Twins and Forneus's story has so little in-game text that it's become this favorite thing of mine to interpret/expand)

The Two Parents

Forneus did and didn’t have a choice to give the boys up. When Shamura appeared, the newborn, extremely premature kits were already doomed to die, so the choice to either let them pass naturally or to allow War to take them as gifts with a potential of reunion was an either damned if she did or damned if she didn’t, situation. And in her grief and desperation, she chose the option that gave the potential for hope. She gave the twins to Shamura, accepted the golden skull, and waited. Waited for her babies to come home, waited as a mother who never really ever had a chance to be a mother-one who works off feelings but no experience.

Meanwhile when it came to Aym and Baal, Narinder never told them who their parent(s) were. How could he, when he himself had no certainty as to who they were? Though his 7th Vessel, Forneus, had left service specifically because of pregnancy, he had no means of tracking how much time had passed since when they first arrived (it could've been a century since for all he knew), nor any means to confirm without doubt that the black, newborn kittens were hers even once his next vessel gave him the date-he couldn't ask them to investigate something so personal and unrelated to their cause.

Their box held only their bodies, a spider-silk cloth which was their burial shroud, and a note penned in Shamura’s hand. ‘A Gift’ that’s all the note said. No names, no clues, no nothing. While Narinder had suspicions, he could not in good conscious tell the boys of a potential mother out of risk of being wrong-of getting their hopes up for a heroic parent only to be proved that it wasn’t her, or worse, told heroic tales just to learn they were abandoned all along. Vessel 7 was heroic yes, had a sense of justice yes, but during her service her luck had made her grow arrogant, had transformed flirting into a game of hearts and people into a way to get the upper hand-for all he knew, if they were hers, they could've all along been her means of trying to easily get out of vesselship. He just didn't know.

And thus Narinder raised them from there. He tried to use the title of ‘Master’ as a barrier in hopes that, if they did have a family awaiting them, he wouldn't take their place, (it was also out of guilt for being the reason they were trapped) but he also couldn't bring himself to fully shut them out either. The moment their dead bodies healed in the gate and they started to mewl for attention his unbeating heart bled for them, and he just couldn't deny them love because he knew how much it hurt to be without.

The Twins

As centuries passed Aym and Baal were content with Narinder as their 'Master'. He who told them stories of his time above, who taught them how to fight, who fashioned them clothes from whatever scraps of cloth he would get vessels to send-he was all they had and knew. When they felt the time to sleep it was in his paws they curled up, when they got hurt training or got bored it was from he they received comfort and attention. It was his magic which allowed them to age against the Gateway's stasis, it was he who saw their eyes open, watched as they learned to speak and walk.

But that’s not to say neither did think of whoever was left behind from time to time. Baal tried to keep hope that he and his brother were taken-stolen by the Bishops, with whatever parents they’d had having desperately tried to keep War away. Aym, meanwhile, only felt anger, bitterness and resentment, for who lets two three day old kits be taken and sacrificed? Narinder himself simply tried to keep neutral on the subject, not wanting to feed into either side in hopes that'd avoid a heartbreak or the smooth transition to their 'real' kin.

The Lamb

When the Lamb appears and starts to befriend them, it's then the boys suddenly find themselves feeling the same sense of security and comfort Narinder gives them towards Anthea. As the lamb brings them toys and books catered to their interests, teaches them to read, uses the crown to show them the world above and encourage their boundless curiosities. As nights suddenly see the lamb visit in their nightgown book and quilt in hand, letting the twins snuggle into their sides as the three are cradled against Narinder's chest while reading a book, and the boys fall asleep to a heartbeat for the first time. Narinder had always been stability and security, Anthea became tenderness and warmth.

Anthea teaches them what a 'Father' is as well, and the boys realize that's what their master actually is-he's their dad and tentatively start testing calling him as such, and while it's not until just before Silk Cradle they realize it (yet don't call them Baba yet) Anthea's long on their way to feeling like a parent too.

Which then begs the question…what of the parent(s) left behind?

First Contact

Baal still wants to meet them, he's always been curious and just wants to know who they are, while Aym is still angry and wants nothing to do with them. They got a parent in their master, and Anthea's their friend and practically a parent too, so why bother with the ones who abandoned them? Narinder overhears the boys debate over it more and more, and as Anchordeep’s door opens, Narinder hesitantly asks the Lamb for a favor.

He’d heard rumors of a shopkeep she-cat who wore a golden skull, and Anthea had been the first to confirm that cat's name was Forneus. He’d never asked a vessel to do such a thing before, mainly out of not feeling close enough to ever ask such a personal, unrelated to the Bishops, task, but he wants to give the boys closure, and Anthea would happily do anything to help the kits. And thus they're sent out, and in a bit of a side quest work their way to getting Forneus to sit down and just...talk.

She explains her side of what happened, how the boys were born too soon, how she had really no choice, breaks down, and as the cats had been listening in and Aym who's now uncertain feels bad, and he requests Narinder for permission to speak.

“Save your tears for when we meet” is what he says, and that’s all that’s said through the crown.

For Aym it’s an olive branch-he’s sorta gotten an answer as to why he and his brother were sacrificed, though he's not entirely sure how to feel since well...she still gave them up, but she looks sorry so... Baal's eager and happy to hear that they were cared about but is a little disappointed at realizing that she didn't really hesitate despite the situation, but regardless, both are willing to give her a chance. They want to get to know her, and then they'll decide how they feel after that.

They, do not, see her as a proper 'Mother'. Just someone who shares their blood who they want to meet. To then Narinder's still Dad-he's still the one who makes them feel secure.

Meanwhile for Forneus it’s proof that she’ll get what was promised. Her boys are not only alive, but they’re children-they’re still children, so she'll now get what she wanted and more. They'll reunite and she'll then take her children home to travel by her side-she’ll get to raise her dear little babies just as she’d planned, and while it took so long it's going to be perfect.

She's dreamt of the boys seeing and running into her oncoming embrace crying. That they'll love her instantly and had already because she's their mother so of course that's how they'll feel. How could they not? Children ALWAYS love their parents.

The Lamb promises to help her meet them once they’re free, and every visit after, Forneus tries to get the boys to talk again-offers gifts for the lamb to bring to the Gateway, rambles on about all the things they'll do together while the Lamb browses her shop. And...well they're things, at least. Most of the toys she offers are either baby toys or things that just don't interest the boys, and some of her plans are...plans. They're elaborate-taking them to X mountain, to X landmark, traveling here and there and everywhere. Big and grand and...and never mentioning their Dad or Anthea being there.

Baal thinks it's sweet how excited she is while Aym is getting more and more unsure-but even Baal eventually admits that she's a little...loud. Forneus is loud-she's energetic and eager and while he and Aym can be too, seeing it from a stranger about them is...weird. She keeps calling herself their Mama , and calling them Zamir and Delshad despite being told otherwise because apparently those were their names (a fact not even Shamura had been given. Narinder had to name the boys himself). She keeps talking about those three days they were with her, and it kinda feels like she loves the babies she gave up and not them.

Anthea tries to tell her about them, but she usually doesn't realzie since she's busy talking to her babies and not them, it's as if the lamb isn't even there. The boys can't even try to think of trying to talk-she never leaves an opening for them to try. Eventually the boys ask Narinder to mute the crown during the Lamb's shop visits the more uncomfortable it gets.

It's like going to a family reunion and being brought to your great Aunt who last saw you as an infant at your christening. She insists on kissing your face and hugging you tight and going oh how big you've grown sweetiepie and this and that and...and you put up with it because she's family but...well she's a stranger despite the shared blood. She doesn't actually know the you of now-and you don't know her.

Reunion

When the final Bishop falls is when Forneus suddenly finds herself left in the dark. For 6 months she sees hide nor hair of the Lamb, and gradually gets worried because where are her sons? The Bishops are dead, why hasn't she been given back her babies?

(The Lamb had been avoiding her cart during crusades out of both grief and guilt-Aym's dying word of calling them 'Baba'...it broke something in them, made them realize just how much the boys had meant. They had a shattered heart and endless guilt, and having to face Forneus and explain she'd never meet her sons? It'd been too much as a grieving parent themself)

The twins were revived after 4 months but Anthea only finally approached Forneus after 6, and she was too relived to finally hear she could meet them to bother asking what'd happened. Anthea invited her to come to the cult that weekend, and Forneus happily accepted, not even noticing the tiredness in the Lamb's eyes nor the uncertainty in their tone. Even on the day she arrived at the cult, she didn't mind the lamb, not even as Anthea gave her a final warning.

"There was trouble setting them free…they’re wary, skittish, they’ve been through a lot... I know you’re excited but please be gentle when you speak to them, be calm and keep your distance please they’re so easy to startle."

Meanwhile the boys waited at the temple with Narinder, who, for the hundredth time, asked if they were certain they were ready for this. Though it'd been 2 months, the toll of dying so traumatically via turning to ash, of being trapped in the gateway, the trauma of resurrection, the fear of being alone without their parents because that's what he and Anthea were to them, Narinder had wanted them to wait as did Anthea. The boys could hardly sleep without at least one of them there with them in bed, were just starting to be ok interacting with other people, could only handle the touch of a select few and even then sometimes would just break down into panic attacks out of seemingly nowhere. They weren't ok, but the boys had insisted. This woman who claimed to love them had been kept in the dark for so long, they felt bad and wanted to try.

They felt guilty for not being ok. Even as Narinder and Anthea repeatedly and gently reminded them that it was alright-that their feelings were valid, that they could take all the time they needed and they'd be right there to support them, the boys had insisted and they just couldn't deny them their choice.

But once Forneus arrived no one got the chance to even properly introduce the boys to her-she just saw them, ran towards them for the reunion she dreamt up, swept them into her arms, and next thing she knew she had two yowling, struggling kits trying to break from her hold. In her excitement and in not listening to Anthea's warnings she'd done the worst thing anyone could've done-she was louder, bigger, stronger, scarier than them, and as the kids managed to shock her into dropping them suddenly Baal was hyperventilating, and Aym was working himself into a panic attack. And Narinder and Anthea, having two months practice in calming them like this, and having long been the twin's safe people, immediately fell into place. Narinder got Baal, Anthea got Aym, and Forneus could only watch.

Could only watch as Baal started gasping for Dad as Narinder tried to get him to breathe, as Aym started sobbing for Baba and practically tried to bury himself in their embrace, as her babies looked at her in fear and clung to someone else.

And then all she can feel is anger. She'd waited 300 years-those boys were hers. Why are they clinging to someone else?

From there it just becomes a mess, she gets into a very loud, very heated argument with Narinder especially for 'stealing' her sons which just scares the boys more, and in a very poor move tries to just grab one of them which prompts Anthea to use a show of godly power and threaten her to get out of the Cult which she does since a crowd has also formed (the Cult was ALL aware of the twin's poor mental state, and they'd all grown very protective of the community's first children despite having to keep their distance because by gods those kids deserved more than what fate had given them).

Forneus leaves angry, and Narinder and Anthea now got two kits who had been tentatively healing temporarily back at square one, and who are now gonna start having nightmares of a stranger taking them away on top of preexisting ones.

I wanna note that Forneus isn't a bad person. She isn't, but she's also not used to things not going her way. As a vessel she was 'Lady Luck', she who rarely died, who always had the upper hand, who would pop curse shots at the Goddess of Famine for fun and be the heartbreaker of her own cult able to flirt and tease and talk her way to whatever she wished. She's kind and cheerful and charismatic sure and she genuinely does want to help people and do the right thing, but there's still this...ignorance, arrogance-that she doesn't even realize is there.

Like how above in Starfall Part 1 she VERY casually mentions how she 'knows what it's like missing her own twins' and 'how 'hard' it must be for Anthea to have nothing of their family to remember them by', but the thing is...she doesn't know. She's so hooked on this idea that she WILL get her boys back that she completely has just ignored the grief that comes with loss entirely this whole time. The way she misses her sons is NOTHING like how Anthea misses their brothers-she misses them like a relative you haven't seen in awhile but will see soon. Anthea misses their brothers because they're DEAD and they know that they will NEVER see the two again, especially now. Like Forneus has not considered how she's lost a LOT of moments with her children. They're still kids yeah but they're not returning to her as blank slates-though physically and mentally 11 they've been with Narinder for over 300 years, that's a lot of time to be without her. She loves them, but kinda more-so the sons she thought she'd get back.

Thus when you've been envisioning this 'perfect' reunion the entire time only for it to not go your way...it's a hard pill to swallow. She gets disappointed/angry understandably-anyone would, but instead of stepping back and realizing she can't fault the boy's feelings she takes it out of the ones who 'took' her place instead, which then turns her into this loud scary bad-guy to the boys.

And Aym and Baal aren't to blame in this situation, like they're kids, and like with my 'great aunt who last saw you as a baby' analogy, it's not their fault they don't immediately love her. She's a stranger-one whom, the more she tried to force interactions via the crown during their imprisonment, seemed to have little interest in them personally and more in whatever children she assumed she'd be getting back. And after that disaster of a first meeting? They don't want anything to do with her she scared them that much.

As for Narinder and Anthea they both feel awful because they understand why Forneus is angry, she only gave them up because she was promised a chance for reunion (though she ignored the CHANCE part of that), but in the same breath Aym and Baal are their sons and they'll take their side first over anyone else's. And the thing is there's nothing that could've been done on their part to prevent this really either.

Anthea telling Forneus the twins had died? Anger, grief, then upon their revival a fierce insistence for the boys to NEVER go near the Lamb or Narinder again, which the twins would've been just as terrified and against.

Narinder not showing care to the kits for those 300 years? They would've gotten attached to him anyway since he was literally all they had, though they might've turned out worse emotionally because of neglect

Telling the boys to wait longer to meet Forneus? She likely would've just shown up on her own within another month anyway since by that point Anthea had just freed Heket from Purgatory and word was starting to get around about the new God of Death so this would've happened but worse.

The only way Forneus could've had the reunion she'd wanted would have been if Narinder never forced the twins to start aging against the stasis. But then there would be two 300+ year old infants, which is a whole other can of worms.

Notes/Explaination

Again I love Forneus in-game she's so adorable and my one of my favorite NPCs to visit, but I also like making imperfect characters, especially parents and their relationships with their children. And while I love the idea of her being this wonderful, sweet, amazing mother, I also like the idea of her being really flawed about it to.

Crimson Angel is about learning to communicate with your loved ones, and in this case, it needs to be her looking at things from the twins view and realizing that if they don't want her in their lives, she has to accept that. She needs to realize that she's not entitled to their love just because she gave birth to them. She also has to let go of the sons she gave up that day-those three day old infants who were perfect little blank slates, and get to know the boys they became without her. She has to realize someone else took her place in their hearts, and realize that if she wants to join them, she HAS to let the boys come to her, and that she has to work on THEIR terms.

She cannot try and force a love if she wants a chance for it at all, and must swallow her pride and listen to others who know the boys better-Anthea and Narinder, alongside the boys themselves.

She'll get a relationship with the boys eventually, but it's not going to be the one she hoped for. She's gotta work on herself first and realize her flaws, maybe get some practice with handling children via unintentionally adopting a certain fan-favorite grave spider kid after finding him all alone, and just...wait. Narinder and Anthea are the twin's primary parents, and while Forneus does eventually get to a place where they're comfortable with her, it's never going to be on the same level, and they all just gotta contend with that.

Boarders are by @/lambouillet

#I love tragic stories can't you tell? Also stories that explorer the relationship between parents and kids-cause a lot of times kids agency #in the relationship is often ignored/taken for granted-they shouldn't be expected to love someone because of blood alone #*beats characters emotions to a pulp* it's for character development I swear!#crimson angel au #cotl #ask #cotl shamura #cotl narinder #cotl aym #cotl baal #crimson angel au lore #cotl forneus #cult of the lamb #my writing

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fujoshirat · 13 hours ago

Text

When the Shouto Todoroki saves you and your kindergarten students at the aquarium during a villain attack, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Bonus: you're quirkless and he's a pro hero, so you live in two different worlds. The glue? His cute nephew that's obsessed with rocks and that just so happens to be in your kindergarten class.

In short: You've become obsessed, you suppose. But that's all right, you're not the only one that's obsessed.

WARNING: infatuated Shouto = a ditz who embarrasses himself in front of his crush <3; female reader (srry I forgot to add this to the first part but you can choose the gender^^); Shouto and Kaoru bonding!!

Part 1 here!

2 - You're Obsessed With Me

Shouto has never seen a woman so perfect.

He had heard of you before. Every so often, when Shouto would take Kaoru out on a playdate or visit Natsuo, his nephew would casually bring you up.

"Y/N-sensei let me bring my rock collection for show n' tell."

"Oji-san, Y/N-sensei cuts her apple slices like rabbits. I wan' rabbits too."

"Today was Y/N-sensei's birthday, so I gave her a rock."

In a way, Shouto knew you. He knew about how you loved to take your students on field trips and that you want to travel to Venice someday and that you cry at every little milestone. He knew all of this from the lovely little stories that his lovely little nephew would tell him.

What he did not know was how obsessed he'd be with you once he'd finally met you. That afternoon, about an hour after eating his lunch and about 30 minutes into his patrol, he had received a call from his secretary and the authorities that there was a villain wreaking havoc at the Hosu City Aquarium. That afternoon, when he rushed to the scene with his five-year-old nephew's safety and the safety of others occupying his mind.

That afternoon, you laid there on the tile floor, wrists bound together and arms cut up, with the most beautiful face ever- 'Eugh! Weirdo!' Shouto mentally gives himself a slap to the face while shaking his head, prompting him out of his daydream. He looks down at Kaoru, the little boy holding his uncle's hand and observing the passing cars. Reaching the agency, Shouto types in his password and enters, bringing Kaoru along with him.

"Kaoru-kun, I just need to finish up a report before we can go back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san." As they approach the elevator, Kaoru looks up at Shouto with puppy eyes, making Shouto chuckle. "Go ahead." The five-year-old cheers and makes a beeline for the elevator, reaching up to press the up button. The elevator arrives, and the white-haired boy leads his uncle inside, also reaching up to press the 4th floor button.

Once they reach Shouto's office floor, Kaoru sits on the couch and looks at Shouto patiently, though his face reflecting expectancy. Shouto quirks a brow and kneels down at his nephew. "Yes, Kaoru-kun?"

"Do you have games on your phone?"

"..."

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Kaoru-kun, do you have your subway card?" Turning off the lights, Shouto leads his nephew into the elevator. He observes the little boy nod in response, a pleasant hum escaping him.

"That's good. We'll take the subway back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san."

Opening the main door for Kaoru, the two exit the agency and head to the nearby subway station. Almost 6:40pm, they board the train and Shouto makes sure that his nephew has a seat. As the subway starts moving, Shouto's thoughts once again wander. 'Does she take the subway home too? How long has she been a teacher for? And she's quirkless too? She's so brave.' Amidst the sound of chattering tracks and pleasant thoughts, the pro hero hears a little rumbling sound and smiles softly.

"Kaoru-kun, are you hungry? I can buy you dinner before we get you home." Kaoru nods shyly. Shouto nods in acknowledgement and helps the little boy find his way to the subway doors before they open. Once the subway stops, they exit it and push past the large herd of people. "Kaoru," Shouto squeezes his nephew's hand comfortingly. "What do you want to eat?" His gaze meets round, doe eyes.

"Salmon onigiri!" Hearing that, the heterochromatic man takes Kaoru to the convenience store and buys him his dinner.

---

"Kaoru! You're safe!" Natsuo envelops his son in a hug, receiving a whine of protest. Shouto laughs at the sight. "I already fed him, Natsu-ani. No injuries and no problems." His elder brother lets out a sigh of relief and looks face-to-face at his son. "Thank goodness... thank you so much, Shouto. I was so worried." The man in question shakes his head. "I'm glad I was there on time, and Kaoru behaved." "Really? That's good." He ruffles Kaoru's hair. "Thank you, kiddo." Looking up at Shouto again, he stands up and offers a smile.

"I made hambugu (hamburg-steak) for dinner, do you wanna stay and eat?" "Thanks for the offer, but I ate already with Kaoru. I'll just head home now." Natsuo nods. "If you're sure, thanks again, Shou." The brothers both bow in respect to each other, Kaoru copying his father. Shouto smiles and gently pats his nephew's head. "Goodnight, Kaoru-kun. Have a good weekend." "You too, oji-san." The pro hero heads back out and walks to the station to return to his own home.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

Shouto thinks that the American idea of Manifest Destiny must be true, because here you are, blessing him with your magnificent presence at his local grocery store (SPOILER! Shouto Todoroki is a Japanese citizen for a reason. That is NOT what Manifest Destiny is). You miraculously don't seem to notice his jaw-dropped expression, too busy reaching up to grab the specific brand of honey shampoo that you always buy. You're not wearing anything fancy: comfy sweats and a turtleneck for the slightly chilly weather.

But god, Shouto thinks that you're fine.

And did someone turn up the thermostat? Because suddenly, when you finally notice him and smile, the left side of his face flairs up. Thankfully it's not much, just a few flames that lick his face. Both yours and his eyes widen as Shouto quickly gets rid of the flames, leaving his cheeks dusted pink. "S-sir! Are you alright?" Oh goodness, you're coming closer! The air gets knocked out of Shouto's lungs when you look up at him with those doe eyes and worried expression. Clearing his throat, the pro hero attempts to save his ass.

"Ah, L/N-sensei, I apologize. I'm alright."

"No need to apologize! And no need to call me sensei." Your voice sounds like an angelic choir to Shouto, tone so sweet like candy. The tall man can only hope not to embarrass himself even further.

"Do you live in this area? I've never seen you here before." You nod cheerfully. "Mhm! I actually just moved here a few weeks ago because I got a pay raise. It's a beautiful area, and all the residents that I've met so far are lovely." Shouto likes how you're so cheerful and positive. Your face is welcoming and so far, you always seem to have a smile on your face. His eyes observe your left wrist, recalling the events of the day before. "Is your wrist okay?"

"Yes! I put some ice and it really helped with the swelling. I still try not to use it, but it doesn't hurt as much. Hopefully it will be back to normal soon!" Shouto's gaze softens, a soft smile appearing on his face as he adjusts his shopping bag hanging from his arm.

"That's good." He suddenly remembers something. "If I may ask, how long have you been teaching for?" "Hm..." Shouto can feel his heart do somersaults as he watches her slightly furrow her brows while thinking. 'Cute.' "This is my fourth year teaching. Ever since I started my career, I've been the kindergarten teacher for the school!" You giggle when Shouto's eyes widen. "Teaching young children is my passion. I love my students and want them to succeed. Sometimes it's a little hard when graduation rolls around the corner." He watches you dismiss yourself with a sheepish laugh, impressed at your dedication to teaching. The red- and white-haired man thinks it's absolutely adorable when you gush about teaching and your students. Every word that came out of your mouth, tumbling out of your kissable lips this loser really really really wants to kiss you :(, he becomes even more hooked.

And then, you take his breath away once more when you twirl a strand of your glossy hair and smile.

"You know, it's really nice interacting with a pro hero outside of their 'hero mode.' I've never done this before, and you're really kind, Todoroki-san!" Shouto's cheeks flush even more red at your sentiment. You enjoy talking to him??? Inside, he's mentally cheering screaming, on the outside, he's just looking at you with a shocked expression.

Yeah, you broke him. Yet, you don't seem to notice because instead of teasing him (like what his friends would have probably done), instead your cheeks turn a slight shade of pink like peaches and begin to speak again.

"If you're willing, I'd love to grab coffee with you sometime!" Shouto was definitely broken now, because his left side flares up with small flames again and you panic over him.

"Todoroki-san!?!"

In simple terms, Japan's Hottest Hero, Shouto Himura Todoroki, was definitely a loser boy man in love.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

A/N: Yayayayay! Part 2 is finally done (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) Thank you all so much for reading and (hopefully) enjoying this part as much as Part 1! I kind of suck at writing POVs for other characters, so I hope that this was still an enjoyable fic >< I love a strong independent hottie but I also love it when that hottie is a loser when in love <33333

On a similar note: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your amazing, sweet support for Part 1!! I did not expect it to blow up 🥺🥺🥺 and cause my other (old) fics to also receive support! I was very surprised and elated to see my inbox flooded with notifications, so thank you for making my days ♡♡♡ I will take a short break from writing, maybe a week or two depending on how I feel, so I apologize if Part 3 comes out a little late!

Also!! I'm starting a tag list so if u wanna be tagged for the next part, just lmk!!

TAGLIST: ♡ @roseapov

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strnilolover · 3 days ago

Note

What would have been maid! Reader and prince! Matt's first interaction?

(i love you) (maid!reader is being called darling since that’s what matt calls her)

so their first interaction with one another wasn’t planned at all. See darling was just a normal maid for the royal family, she did all different types of chores. But, matt had never seen her before until he was wandering through a part of the palace that he doesn’t go to much since there isn’t really anything there.

Darling had been minding her own business, dusting off some statues that never really saw the light of day except for whatever light filtered in through the giant glass windows. As she moved onto another one, she heard faint footsteps coming down the hall.

She didn’t pay much mind to it, thinking it was just another maid making her rounds and doing the chores she needed to do — since the royal family didn’t really wander too much into this part of the palace. Though, once the footsteps got closer, she turned her head just to see who it may be.

When she caught a glimpse of matt — the kingdoms prince — she immediately stopped all that she was doing. Quickly she scrambled to stand straight and tall, going down into a little bow as he went to walk by her.

But, matt stopped — his eyes focused onto her. He stepped closer to her, darlings head tipping up to look at him. He gave her a lop sided grin, “I don’t think i’ve ever seen you around darling, are you new here?” he asked, hand waving to dismiss her from her bow.

She straightened back up, tilting her head in confusion — but ultimately being respectful. She shook her head, “No, i’ve been here for a while your highness.” she said, and he nodded. His hand came up to his jaw, rubbing the skin there. “No need to be so formal — i’m just another human being.” he told her, his hand reaching out to brush a piece of hair out of her face.

“But your highness-“ Matt cut her off, holding his hand up, shaking his head. “Yes — yes i know what you were told when hired, i’m well aware. But i am no more than another person.” he said, giving her a warm smile to show he was being serious.

Her face flushed, giving a simple nod as she let her body posture loosen up, her teeth digging into her bottom lip softly. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous all of a sudden — he’s the royal prince, she’s seen him from a distance many times and he always looked so soft. But now being up close, he was a little more intimidating.

There was a long silence before he hummed, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his hands folding behind his back. His blue eyes trained over her figure one last time before he spoke again. “I hope I’ll be seeing you around more often?” he asked, his eyes coming back up to look into hers.

She gave a short nod, “of course.” and with that matt smiled, turning to continue his walk down the hallway and she couldn’t help but watch him walk away. Once he was out of sight, she resumed her chores — trying to clear her now clouded mind.

Matt on the other hand though, was quickly on his way back to his study — hoping to get the families personal assistant to give him all of darlings information. He wanted to see her again, and he knew just the way to do it — to have her become his personal maid.

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renhanaschewtoy · 2 days ago

Text

Coworkers

FINALLY. I'm so sorry it took so long. All the chaos and junk really got the better of me. I hope y'all like this, I really tried. I can't wait to write more. Strade's Favorite Bartender will be next! 💚 NSFW MDNI

You’d always had a certain fondness for Lawrence you supposed. He was always the quiet guy at work, hesitant to ever really speak or have attention be directed his way.

And it wasn’t like you’d bulldozed into his life either.

It had started small, really. He was stronger than he looked and often you both shared shifts. You’d asked him a few times if he could help you move some things, speed up the task and he’d always given a little nod and followed you to do so.

You wanted to bridge that gap, you bought some tea you kept in your locker, offering it to Lawrence on breaks. At first he just stared at you for a long moment before slowly giving a nod of his head, crystalline eyes directed anywhere but you. And then grabbing the sandwiches or other items from the corner Mart you saw him buy from time to time. You simply wanted Lawrence to feel appreciated in the warehouse. That you were grateful he helped you.

And it turned into routine after a little while.

Sharing breaks, eating together in the silence that was the wee hours of morning before the sun broke. Settled in the stale smelling break room or outside on the bench in the parking lot, side by side. You usually did most of the talking but from time to time, it was exciting to hear Lawrence talk. When he'd mention his plants, the most recent time he went on a trek through the park or on a hike, better was when he’d actually give you his opinion. Even if it was differing. If it weren’t for the occasional stutter or stammer, you’d reckon to say he’d have a rich voice. Dulcet to you, if you dare say so.

You gave him your number, just in case you switched shifts at work or something came up of course! Though that didn’t stop you from sending the occasional message asking how he was doing, or if you shared a shift a “have a good night! Oops, I mean morning!” sort of text. You wanted to endear yourself to Lawrence.

And you had.

You wormed your way under his skin and into his heart like vines of twisting ivy, you made it hard for Lawrence to breathe around you sometimes. The saccharine scent about you that was so alien, so absolutely opposite of damp rot and soil he’d become accustomed to. You were the fragrant bulbs of flowers he tried to nurture and fight the impulse to cut. You were soft, you were succulent in a way Lawrence didn’t understand like the occasional ones he had spotted around his apartment. Visions of you swam in his head at night in his bed, in the fog of his shower. Emboldened by the haze of burnt hash of a blunt that was discarded on the ashtray nearby. Lawrence wondered how you would feel…from the inside. How different you would feel from his hand. Water or lotion made do in a pinch when he’d fist himself to completion, more often than not he would grow frustrated after the clarity hit him.

“huff…huff…nngh…f-fuck…(Name)...” Water cascades down Lawrence’s pale body, head bowed with one hand braced against the cool tile wile the other hand stroked his weeping cock. You brushed up against him on more than one occasion today, he felt the soft warmth of your skin through your clothes, caught a peek of skin when you’d reach up high, Lawrence swore…goddamn it, he could hear the blood in your veins. Your hand brushed against his when you handed him a paper cup of some herbal tea you’d been so proud to prattle about hoping he’d like it. And he’d die before telling you that it was actually too sweet for his taste. But maybe that was you and your influence on the moment. Too sweet. His breathing grew ragged as his glacier eyes screwed shut, trying a slight twist of his wrist as Lawrence fisted his cock; reliving the encounters behind his eyelids.

The warm flush of your cheeks, he wondered how much blood could reach the apples of them…the plush look of your lips that always curled into a little grin, what might they look like swollen from his own pressed to them or his teeth sinking into them? Would your heart hammer in your chest? Or would it be slow and calm? Would you let him touch you? Actually touch you? To crawl inside of you and feel your warmth from the inside, to break your ribs and truly be in your embrace until you were cold and still like he often felt. A grunt passed Lawrence’s lips as he grappled with the thoughts– did he want that? No…no, he didn’t think he did. Lawrence wanted to savor you if he was ever presented the opportunity. You’d feel different. You were different. His mind rewound and pulled forward like a video on a loop, searching for just the thing to focus on. That breathless face you made after exerting yourself, the way your breathing drew a little rough and you tried to chuckle through, the way your (color) eyes would look up at him so gratefully in a way only you ever looked at him.

“Hhngh…haah…(N-Name)...” Lawrence choked your name from his throat as a shudder ripped down his spine, hips jerking erratically in a rhythm that grew sloppy before pearly, viscous cum splurted forward, coating his hand and dropping into the water to disappear down the drain. The smell of stale, foggy air and eucalyptus as the evidence of his mild perversion disappeared from sight. Maybe that’s why it was always easier in the shower. His panting eventually subsided into just one heavy sigh, the heaviness left him and again the frustration followed.

It wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t you.

Maybe Lawrence was getting greedy. Not that he could ever act on it. It always made him seize up worse when you were just looking at him with those eyes of yours. So patient for whatever he may say or do. It was maddening that he let it get this far. That you somehow had sunk so deeply into him instead that keeping you was now a regular rotation in his fantasy. That fire fed and fanned by content he consumed on the internet. But there was always just a slight pause on maybe trying such on you. Maybe. Exhaling through his nose, Lawrence turns off the water and steps out of the shower. His brow is deep set in thought as he lazily towels off his pallid skin and blonde hair that falls over his shoulders limply still damp.

Dressing for bed, Lawrence dares to glance at his phone- he never gets notifications. Not really. Just from you. And today must be one of those nights that the stars just align, one message from you.

(Name): “Hey!! I have some news tomorrow!”

Lawrence’s brows furrow and lips press in a thin line, he’s not sure how to reply. If he should. But he wants to.

Lawrence: Okay.

Like most or any social interaction- not his best work. Not that you cared. It never stopped you at all or caught you off. Most might find him brusque and socially awkward, which wasn’t untrue. Lawrence doesn’t linger on the thoughts of what it could possibly be, it could be anything with you; infinitely more optimistic than himself. You found the silver linings in most things, took joy in the small victories or whathaveyou. Something he would possibly find overwhelming or even annoying but you seemed to broach him a way just so that it never…felt that way. Lawrence didn’t want to keep you at an arms length like he had the first handful of shifts where he’d nearly tried to avoid you. And now he craved you. You were sunlight, warm and necessary. You were nourishment Lawrence didn’t believe he needed. He was starved in ways that didn’t make sense.

Tugging on old, worn sweatpants, Lawrence crawls into his bed and tries to settle in and stares at the ceiling for a while before his breathing lulls into sleep.

The next day, the next shift. Stars litter the sky and the moon hangs along them. The streets are mostly dead, the silent stillness of the parking lot of the warehouse is usually comforting but there’s an odd looming sense regarding your news and Lawrence doesn’t know why. Why his stomach turns and twists so strangely when he sees you eagerly wave him over as he pushes the heavy door open after a swipe from his employee badge.

“Hey, Law!” you greet, warmly as ever- you were probably the only one who forced themself to adapt to the lifestyle of working this shift and still function. Or function better than most of the other workers here. Granted it made sense to Lawrence, it was what he preferred though it never showed.

Lawrence gives a low hum of acknowledgement you had grown accustomed to as you met him halfway to walk to the lockers together. “You…mentioned you had news…?” After spinning the dial on his lock, those piercing baby blues turned to you, seeming to perk up at his voice addressing you.

You bite your lip in that way that makes him wish he could be one of your teeth. To feel the plush skin under pressure. Lawrence blinks before turning his focus back to your eyes. “Yeah! Yeah, I finally got a grown up job, heh…” You run a hand through your (length) (color) (type) hair, your grin faltering to something almost akin to nervousness or anxiety. Because all Lawrence can do is stare at you with a blank, unreadable expression. The silence hangs over heavy as you scuff your shoe on the floor.

“... you're quitting…?” It feels like he's choking it out but if he did, you didn't seem to notice. And he's grateful for it.

“Well, yeah, I mean…I gave my two weeks. It's just…I can't work here forever. It doesn't pay enough and I'm not exactly cut out for it long term.” You admit with a little bob of your head, glancing around the warehouse stacked with pallets and equipment. And it was true if Lawrence was being honest, you weren't as strong to continue this sort of labor for long without it doing something to your musculature or God forbid your beautiful bones. It was bad enough when you bruised.

“...oh.” There's an odd sort of thrum in his chest he can't discern, a tension that settles tight in too many places for his liking. Your sharp eyes seem to snap to him at the monosyllabic reply and soften. That look. Not of pity, just soft.

“But we can still text! Or meet up on off days! I'd like to check out that trail sometime, if you'd be down?” You're quick, so quick, to offer him the modicum of comfort. That you somehow, some way, want to be around him even when no longer coworkers. You were so odd. But it wasn't unwelcome. “But uh…I was gonna throw a little party. At my place with people from our shift. If you wanted to come.”

Lawrence raises a brow at that, it isn't a “no” (it would be for anyone else)but it's more of that confusion. He didn't do parties. He didn't do other people. Crowded spaces. Not without some sort of necessity or incentive tied to it. His pause seems to make you fidget. “I know it's not your thing, so don't feel you have to or anything. But it would really nice to have you there.” You uplilt your word with that hopeful tone.

He shifts on his feet, his eyes unable to hold your gaze. Honestly? He doesn't want to. He really doesn't want to. Lawrence shifts on his feet a little as if still chewing all of the information over. He didn't like any of it. Most of all your leaving. Your absence would be felt so deeply. Lawrence felt like had something, had someone, even on the humdrum shifts you shared. Be it normalcy, warmth, Lawrence didn't know. But he wasn't about to let it go. Let you go. He couldnt. You might be vines constricting around him, but Lawrence could be all the thistles, barbs, and thorns in the world of it kept you ensnared to him.

Sometimes the stars just aligned like that.

“But, like I said- I know it's not…”

“I'll come.”

You blink up at Lawrence, surprise stark on your face for just a moment at his definitive tone. It lingers before your lips curl into a toothy grin making his heart thud against his ribs. “Yeah? That's great. Really great.” You pull out your phone and tap on it few times before a buzzing comes from his pocket. “That's my address, it starts at seven but y'know…it's a party so show up whenever.” You shrug casually.

Lawrence glances to the side, racking his brain for a moment, thinking of what next, of what to do when he gets there- nevermind that it's days away. “Alright! Well, let's go kick this shift in the teeth!” You chime, clapping your hands together and wandering off to whatever task you were assigned and Lawrence slowly trailing after you.

×××

Relationships were complicated. People were complicated. Well…living people were complicated anyway. For the briefest moment Lawrence thinks back to his family, people that meant little to him in the grand scheme of things but whether he liked it or not was part of his building blocks. At least a little.Which brought a vague memory of a muffled voice from childhood, “We can’t go to a dinner party empty handed.” A few hours before Lawrence decided he would make his appearance, he stopped at the liquor store on the corner to bring a bottle of…fuck. What did you even like?? All you drank when you were together was whatever was at the vending machines, the convenience store, or tea. Lawrence stood near the door of the shop- bottles lined all over the shelves and walls. Advertisements of several brand plastered all over in bright colors or neons.

Augh.

Eventually Lawrence meanders over to the wine section, staring at the bottles blankly, drifting from label to label. White wine? Red wine? If you would even drink it. Dry? Semi? Sweet? It was alcohol for fuck’s sake, why did it have to be so complicated. With a shake of his head, frustration beginning to simmer in the pit of his stomach, Lawrence swipes a bottle of sweet red with a delicate looking label adorned in little gilded flowers. Maybe even if you didn’t like it, you would think it’s pretty. Or maybe you’d think he was weird, like most other people– no…no, that wasn’t true. It was you. None of his antisocial tendencies seemed to deter you or bother you, opposite; you’d been nothing but accommodating and patient with Lawrence.

Keeping his head down, Lawrence shoves a few bills at the unbothered clerk who bothers to spare him a second glance before he begins the trek to where your apartment is supposed to be. Gingerly stepping through the building, Lawrence lingers in the hallway probably a beat longer than necessary before rapping his knuckles against the door. His palms are sweaty as he cradles the bottle of wine and waits…and waits…he can hear the thrum of bass through the door, music playing paired with a few voices…by the sound of it, not to many people (thankfully) or so he hoped. Just as he debated leaving and tossing away any hopeful ideations, the door is abruptly pulled open to reveal you. In more casual clothes. A warm flush blooms beautifully over your cheeks that has his breath hitch ever so slightly.

“Law! Oh man, I was beginning to worry you weren’t gonna show up!” You lilt, posture so much more relaxed and…oh. Lawrence spies the red plastic cup in your hand, of course. It was a party. People drank. He brought a bottle that he’d almost forgotten about seeing you the way you were. The drunk blush on your cheeks looked ever so enticing. “C’mon, c’mon in!” You usher him in warmly and he can take in your apartment. Posters decorate the walls, well loved furniture, a small cozy kitchen…that same sweetened perfume that was so uniquely you seemed to seep into the very walls. Lawrence shuffles inside, keeping his eyes down, only sparing glances to the other coworkers mingling around your place. Some chatting, some playing video games you had set up on your television, others bobbing a little to the music.

Lawrence’s hands tighten around the bottle before looking up to you and awkwardly thrusting it towards you. “I…I didn’t know what to bring…If I should bring anything.” He admits, biting the inside of his cheek as you blink and accept it, looking it over.

“Huh? That’s real sweet of you, thanks Law! Wine, huh? Fancy. I’ve never really tried it.” You inspect it, but keep it carefully tucked in the crook of your arm, though before Lawrence can feel embarrassed about his actions you give a mischievous grin. “You’ll have to come over again and maybe try it with me, huh? Can’t drink alone.” You chime warmly before disappearing only briefly to tuck it safely in the kitchen so nobody thinks to open it. Something for just the two of you…it ignites a spark of hope that he allows himself to buoy on for comfort now that he’s vastly out of his element. You poke your head out of the kitchen, “You want something to drink? I can mix you something or uh…I’ve got water, soda, juice…” Lawrence takes the opportunity to follow you and the variety of beverages and snacks.

Opting for water, Lawrence takes up post along one of your walls, simply watching you and everyone else. Time ticks on as his hands worry the label of the water bottle to shreds. The music feels too loud, he can feel the bass in his bones. Nobody but you really wants to talk to him, he’s spared a nod of acknowledgement or a brief greeting but nothing more- if anything people seem surprised to see him here at all. Lawrence swallows thickly and glances to the clock and moves to stand up and you seemingly appear out of nowhere. Your eyes seem to trace over his features, lingering on his face for a beat before you do that wonderful thing you do. Soften up. Relax. “Hey...I know this isn’t really your scene. It can probably be a lot huh? Here…my room is quieter, you can chill there for a bit maybe? Kinda decompress? I really…hah…I really don’t want you to go yet…if that’s okay?” The alcohol has you emboldened, your lips a little looser, your thoughts more apt to slip between them.

And a strange warmth is surging through his veins, he feels it in his own cheeks, feels his fingers twitch slightly before Lawrence finds himself nodding. Your hand slips in his smoothly, gently- and he’s tempted to flinch but instead he squeezes, carefully. True to your words, your room is notably quieter than the living room, the length of hallway giving a decent berth. You settle on your bed with a dramatic sigh and Lawrence almost shyly sits beside you, hands in his lap. “...I’m glad you came.” You admit as you fall onto your back on your duvet and tilt your head to look up at him. “Is it greedy I wanted to keep you a little longer? Just to myself?”

It’s not greedy.

You’re not greedy.

You’re perfect.

Lawrence swallows thickly, your words reverberating in his skull, echoing his same thoughts. You wanted what he wanted. He could only hope anyway but you said what he was thinking aloud. You made it real. You were real. “N-No..No I don’t think that about you.” Lawrence manages to mutter out and it makes that smile grow wider on your lips. Your hand reaches for his again, delicately, as your fingers trace his knuckles.

“We could hangout more often, y’know. I meant it when I said I still wanted to see you even after I’m outta there.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Nobody’s ever wanted to hang out around him, much less. Well beside that one friend he made online who seemed down to maybe talk in person. But they weren’t you. Nobody compared to you. The silence hangs for a moment but in the soft lighting of your room, your eyes roam over his face again before you push yourself to sit up again, shuffling a little closer to him that Lawrence can feel the warmth of your body next to his. “...is it okay if I…” You dip your head slightly, lashes fluttering to make a point of looking down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. Just barely, Lawrence shakes his head before you give a breathy little chuckle and press your lips to his, a hand raising to cradle his jawline. The light stubble there is felt against the soft, smooth skin of your palm. Your lips are plush and sweetened by whatever alcohol you’d been drinking before, slightly sticky and sweet that Lawrence savors before clumsily kissing you back. Pushing back against you perhaps with an eagerness you hadn’t anticipated that draws a soft sound from your throat. Lawrence swallows down your groan, wanting more, feel you more, taste you more, feel all that livelihood that seems to emanate from you.

The kiss grows, heat building as your arms string around his neck and hands tangle in his blonde hair as it falls messily from its elastic. Lawrence leans, arms circling around your waist, a soft grunt muffled against your lips as he dares to deepen the kiss, tongue tracing your lower lip before being granted. Being able to explore inside of your mouth before pressing you down into the mattress. He can feel every breath you take, the expanding and compression of your chest, the way your heart thrums against your chest- Lawrence swears he can hear your heartbeat. Or maybe it’s his own pounding in his hears. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is more. More.

And you seem of the same mind. Your hands drift down to his hoodie, moving to push it off his shoulders and Lawrence awkwardly shrugs out of it, loathe to part from your lips even to breathe. With you on your back, his hands take the opportunity to roam, albeit shakily. Taking in every curve, noting the muscle and fat on your body- soft under his larger hands and so very warm. Lawrence could get lost in you endlessly. He wanted to. Parting only for a moment, his breathing ragged, you seem to waste no time as you greedily take in air while yanking your shirt up and over your head and reaching for the buttons of his plaid shirt. It isn’t long between the two of you, clumsy hands- some from alcohol and others from lack of real heated experience, before clothes are strewn over your floor and you and Lawrence are a tangle of limbs on your bed. His body cages you in, body anchored to you as he savors each sensation, each beautiful sound he’s able to pull from your lips, feeling the way your body moves and the way it works against his own. Lawrence reminds himself to be affectionate, what he was taught affection is supposed to look like through media consumption anyway, though with you it’s easier. It’s so lovely to kiss along your neck, feel you gasp and shudder, to feel your pulse flutter under his lips. “...feels…fuck…so good…” he groans lowly against your skin.

Lawrence can almost picture the expression on your face as you give a chime of laughter and dare to roll your hips against his own, feeling his erection straining against the cotton of his boxers in a very obvious tent. “It can feel better…I can make you feel better…” You croon softly and that’s the snap that breaks him. Pulling away so abruptly you look up at him owlishly, he shoves his boxers down his pale thighs, impulse and need overriding most if not all thought in this moment. The desperation that burned through Lawrence to feel you from the inside.You lift your hips accordingly as he paws at your underwear before they slip down your legs and carelessly discarded with everything else. Bare before each other, there’s the briefest moment between the way the two of you have been interlocked, drinking the other one in. Before Lawrence’s hands grip the meat of your hips and tugs you closer with a strength you usually thought was reserved for the warehouse, not that you minded. The feeling of his fingers digging into your skin, you certainly wouldn’t mind a little bruising if not more come morning.

“Just…Just stay still…Just let me…” He pants, his eyes clouded and glazed over, transfixed as he mumbles almost to himself and you arch your back just so to give him a better angle as one hand releases you to line his aching cock up to your sweet entrance.First he notches the bulbous head in and groans, chest heaving with every breath as you bite your lip with a soft whine- spurning him on, urging him to just push. And so he does, inch by inch, Lawrence spears you on his length and his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull. You feel divine; tight, wet, impossibly warm around him as you clench like a vice that his his hips already stutter the first time within you. Sweat already begins to bead his forehead as Lawrence’s jaw clenches- as tempting as it is, he couldn’t bear the embarrassment if he came undone within you so quickly.

You keen below him, hushed little murmur of, “Please…fuck, Law…need you, please.” While resting your hands on his shoulders with a little squeeze, you don’t mean to rush him, really you don’t- but you’d wanted this, thought about this, more times than you cared to count. And with a little liquid courage in your veins, you finally fucking had it. Had him.

And surely, he begins to rock his hips. The push and pull between you growing as Lawrence begins to rut within you, rhythm building and pressure mounting as you buck your hips in kind, pushing him deeper until his cockhead nudged against that delicious spot within you that made your lashes flutter and moans spill from your lips. Ordinarily, Lawrence wasn’t one for much noise- but the music muffled anything beyond your door and these sounds were for him and him alone. Shouldering your legs over his shoulders, Lawrence picks up his pace and his hips snap against you, heavy balls wetly slapping against your ass that has you squeak until you relax some in his grip. It leaves you helpless, putty as he fucks you into the mattress with reckless abandon now- your headboard knocking against the wall with each brutal thrust as he moans and grunts above you. While the sight of your is ever enticing, something Lawrence wants to burn into the folds of his brain, the need to feel close to you wins as he hunches over, nearly folding you in two. Hands bracing on the bed as he buries his face in the crux of your neck and shoulder as he kisses along the skin, breathing hotly into your ear as he continues to pump his cock into you. “...close…so…need to feel you…so warm…so fucking good…” Lawrence babbles to you, drunk on the euphoria as he feels pleasure coil hot in his stomach, on the brink.

So close.

“L-Law…’m not…a-ah, oh fuck…!” You gasp and choke on your words as you’re pinned below him, bliss drawn over your flushed features as your brain struggles to send words to your mouth, “...’m not gonna last...just like that, like that…!” You encourage as he surges with renewed vigor. Lawrence wants, no, needs to feel you come undone around. What you feel like when overcome with pleasure, what you look like, all of it. He grits his teeth before finding better use for his mouth, latching onto your throat to suckle a deep mottled mark into your skin that has you nearly scream into the room before he claps a hand over your lips to muffle it as he feels you contract around him. Convulsing, throbbing, spasming all around him in a way that Lawrence shuddering as his engorged cock finally empties itself within you, the excess forming a creamy ring around the base of his shaft and dripping down the plush swell of your ass onto the duvet. Ragged huffs fan over the hickey now left into your skin as Lawrence gives a few more languid, shallow strokes to enjoy the lingering feeling of you tightly wrapped around him as you try to catch your breath with a few low sounds of complacency. Sated, Lawrence almost begrudgingly lowers your legs carefully and his piercing eyes look up at you- trying to gage if you might be disappointed or upset, but instead is met with a bleary, satisfied smile and a breathy chuckle.

“...fuck, Law. I knew you had in you.” You mutter playfully before resting your arm over your sweaty forehead and Lawrence can feel his lips quirk ever so slightly. Something akin to pride settling in him slightly, but he remains knelt between your legs as a silence settles over the pair of you and you raise your arm to peek at him. Wordlessly, you pat shift and shuffle, peeling back the blankets and patting the spot next to you.

“But…your party…?”

“I’m pretty sure people heard and I’m pretty sure they didn’t. What’re they gonna do? Rob me? I don’t have shit.” You chuckle, though Lawrence seems to give pause and glance to the door. His reluctance seems to sober you some as you sit up slightly. “Uh…unless you wanted to go.” You try to keep your tone steady not to betray the tinge of hurt that creeps in all the same.

“No…! No, that’s not what I want…uhm…” Lawrence awkwardly scoots off your bed and grabs his boxers to tug on padding to your door and opening it a crack, peeking and listening for any other life in your apartment. The music had since stopped and it was still silence.With the knowledge your apartment is now empty, Lawrence locks your door for you before returning into bed and you just smile. The simplest thing, as if this was normal. Maybe it was, Lawrence sure as fuck didn’t know what that was, but this was nice. This was beautiful. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he moves to the other side of the bed and slides in beside you. Lawrence has not slept next to another person, honestly it was never something he thought he would like but it feels like it’s both what you want and what is expected. And frankly- it could be worse. “...Can I…?” He shuffles under the blankets, swathed in your detergent and perfume, his frame shifts over yours and his head presses to your chest where he can hear the steady beat of your heart. The intrusive thought rings in through his head that he could have it, have that piece of you forever. Sealing this moment forever between the two of you...but he pushes it to the back of his head. No, another part of him didn’t want that- as tempting as it may be. If he took that part of you, this wouldn’t be possible. And Lawrence wanted this, whatever this may be, and more of it. More of you. Sex. Intimacy. The touch and warmth of another living being. It was odd, it was still something Lawrence was trying to make sense of. A way that this could remain but you might still be wholly his. All his. Only his.

Lawrence’s reverie is broken only by your arms encircling him and hugging him close to you, one hand carding through his hair to keep his head pressed to your chest as you hum in contentment. “Night, Law.” You mutter with an affectionate kiss to his head as you reach an arm out to turn off your lamp and succumb to sleep. Lawrence lingered awake a while longer, his nocturnal nature something he was grateful for as he relished in the soft breaths while you slept, how your heart slows, the sweet silence as he curls around your body and eventually, an hour or so after observing you, Lawrence sleeps as well.

Eventually sunlight dapples through your blinds, making Lawrence crinkle his nose slightly- he wasn’t accustomed to this. Not that he slept poorly necessarily, but it would take a day or so to get his circadian rhythm back. But it hadn’t been a waste as you groggily rouse beside him with a sleepy smile. “...Hey.” You greet warmly, throat still raspy from sleep as you push some of his bangs from his face. “You sleep okay?” Lawrence nods slowly, drinking in this vulnerable vision of you as you yawn and roll to look at him on your pillow. “You want breakfast or something?” You offer up with that languid smile and something akin to adoration lingering in your eyes, the afterglow looked all the more prepossessing on you. “I have some of that tea still that I brought you a few days ago.”

He pushes up to sit and chews his lip for a moment. Maybe a part of Lawrence had hoped. Had known. “Uh…actually I, uh…I brought some tea for you. I can make us some.” He replies slowly, shifting his gaze to look at you, testing your reaction, if you would find it odd that he brought something besides the wine.

“Aw! Yeah, I’d love that.” You grin and sit up as well, moving to tug fresh underwear on and a large shirt, “You know where the kitchen is, the kettle is on the stove. I’m just gonna freshen up quick.” And with that you disappear into the bathroom while Lawrence prepares you his own specialty brew.

#lawrence oleander #btd lawrence #lawrence oleander x reader #btd lawrence x reader #btd x reader #boyfriend to death lawrence #boyfriend to death lawrence oleander #boyfriend to death #boyfriend to death x reader

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beef-brisket · 2 days ago

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Lucifer moved closer to Adam and hugged him.

He hated that he felt this way. And for what? Because a woman lost her baby one hundred or so years ago? Amd she was forcing innocent people to become hosts for her?

It was all a waste in the end. All of those people who got hurt or died weren't even close to being able to being a host for Eva.

Lucifer: I don't think you're a freak. Actually, you're one of the most normal people I've met in a long time.

Adam: ...Seriously?

Lucifer nodded: When I first got mixed up in this shit, I went to look for my wife, who had been missing. Turns out she's been held captive in some fucking house in Louisiana.

Adam: I've heard you mention that.

Lucifer: Yeah, well... you're more normal than those... that family. The mom was a bug nest. Literally. Right on the puss was a fuckimg wasps nest or some shit.

Adam: What the fuck?! That's disgusting!

Lucifer: Imagine being the one to fight her!? She was crawling on the ceiling! Shooting her puss bugs at me! And don't get me started on the dad. He wouldn't fucking die. I mangled his fucking brain and he still got up. The worst was their son. He was completely normal. He pretended to be under Eveline's control. But be wasn't. And... his dad... forced him to merge with him, to become something so... monstrous. Kid was an asshole, but I felt bad for him. Having to pretend he was one of them. Having to watch his family die and be replaced by what Eveline thought a family should be... it's sick. All of it.

Lucifer continued to talk about what he saw and killed those years ago. How it changed him. Changed Eve. Adam listened to all of it.

Adam: Do you think that's what's made Charlie different?

Lucifer: Hm? What do you mean?

Adam: Well... Eve was possessed by Eveline. That could affect Charlie's whole dna. And who knows what happened to you when you were knocked out on that boat. Besides, didn’t mom chop your hand off? And my sister and I stabbed you through the leg.

Lucifer: Wait- what? Do you think I've... got a parasite?

Adam laughed: No! No! There's two types of forms that the parasite can take. One looks like mine, a physical thing under the skin, affecting the nervous system and the brain. But then, there's the mold. It can't really survive here because it's too cold. But it's completely takes over the body. Till there's nothing left. It mimics everything. Blood, organs, the brain, memories- everything. Seems a bit weird that your hands fine after being cut off, don't you think?

Lucifer looked down at his hand. He's never thought about it. He just thought that the healing aid was just that good.

Lucifer: I... just thought that medical stuff was good?

Adam: Oh yeah. Really fucking good. I think Michael should do tests on you and Charlie. Especially you.

Lucifer rolled his eyes: He'd jump at that fucking chance...

Adam: Good. You're very interesting. So... he should test you. Like, for everything. Colonoscopy and everything!

Lucifer laughed and pushed Adam.

But this gave him something to think about. He never thought his healing was weird. He had a lot on his mind that he had never thought about it.

Lucifer: Yeah... maybe I'll get him to run some tests... I'm sure he'd love it... he's a real nerd for that shit...

Have you seen Resident Evil: Village? All I'm saying is Adam and Emily as two of the three sisters and Sera as Lady Dimitrescu.

Lucifer is Ethan trying to find Charlie.

At first, Adam was on his mother and sisters side- but because they have a weird thing against dudes, he eventually helps Lucifer.

Trust me, it feels illegal not to make Adam the stunning Lady Dimitrescu, but for story reasons, he'll be one of her kids.

I mean, their hot. What can I say? Adam would look great like this 🤷

Adam: Mmm- man flesh~.

Lucifer: ...Kinda gay, man.

Adam: It's not gay.

Lucifer: It is- man flesh? Really?

Adam: ...

Lucifer: ...

Adam: *stabs sickle into his leg and drags him away* Mother!

I have seen it! Ha I love this. ((Yes he'd rock being the Lady of the house 😩))

Lucifer: Ow!! What the fuck!?

Adam: It's not gay! Mother was right.

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seikkoi · 3 days ago

Text

ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰɪᴠᴇ [1, 2, 3, 4] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 9.8k

There isn’t any conversation surrounding Pepper’s visit, or the divorce, but it’s all around you regardless.

Random items disappear from the penthouse–a Pollock (your present takes its place), some throw pillows from the study, and a few Turkish ceramics you never knew existed. The phone rings far more than you care for. Tony has far more meetings than you care for. A bespeckled lawyer and his blonde associate nearly become housemates, spending hours behind the frosted glass door. Natasha makes a few appearances as well, which confuses you the most. You find the spice in her perfume too bold.

On her third exit in as many weeks, you question Tony on it. He absently traces patterns on your calves, seemingly not paying attention to you or the film on screen.

“Should I be worried?” you hide your sincerity behind a glass of wine, twirling the stem between your fingers. The red liquid mirrors the motion inside, spidering against the walls.

“About Natasha?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes,” you draw out, “and you–all of it, really.”

“Now why on Earth would you be worrying about me?”

You would love to point out the obvious and address the building-sized elephant in the room that says ‘you’re recently sober and just got a divorce’ but the look on his face tells you it’s unnecessary.

Tony finds a way to answer the unasked anyways.

“It’s a shit ton of paperwork, and signing things, so it’s annoying, yes but I am fine. Scouts honor.”

He kisses your hand and grins with all the confidence in the world. It’s so fucking arcane each time–close to magic in how it undos every worry and mirrors his gleam.

You wished it had more permanent effects. Something long-lasting and memorable. Easy to spread over the evening and into the early morning hours, when he’s inconsolable in your arms. You could turn it back into magic words. Banish whatever miasma racked his body and go back to peaceful nights (because you had those at some point, right?).

Being able to ask the hard questions doesn’t mean shit if the answer’s always a dismissive work of fiction. You never learned what caused their separation, or sent ‘everything to shit’ as Tony put it. Not because you didn’t ask, no that question came the same night Pepper did. Apparently it’s the same driver of every modern American divorce–money. Tony summarizes the event as a fatal disagreement over corporate shares, though like always you feel you’re being told an official story. Clean cut with all messy details chopped away.

“You don’t have a signature stamp at this point?” you joke.

“Oh no,” Tony’s hands brace your ankles to pull you closer, “ every squiggle needs to be authentic and fresh.”

“Right, how could I assume anything less.” Your eyes roll but you let your legs drape over his lap.

“Seriously, I’m doing fine–things will calm back down soon.” A gentle squeeze drives the point home.

A thought crosses your mind. An insecurity, really, but one you haven’t let go since meeting Pepper.

“If it’s like, I don’t know,” you hesitate under Tony’s raised eyebrow, “–I can head back to my apartment if it’s too much.”

Stark Industries was still footing the bill even though you spent less than 10 hours there in the last two months. There’s a fear in overstaying your welcome, or whatever it is you were doing here. Either way, you figured it was less than ideal to have your girlfriend around during a divorce.

“If what’s too much?”

“I don’t know, if you need your space right now or–” you answer exasperatedly.

“Honey,” he gives a hearty laugh, “if I ever start asking for space, call a doctor.”

All resistance becomes futile.

You keep your apartment (for unnecessary security), but more time lapses between visits. You issue a long overdue farewell to bartending. Even being driven, the commute to that side of town is hellish and the whole thing got more pointless with each day. You drank in the fruits of this life, but not without a tiny bit of unease. It’s unease that you bury down under all the other feelings. The affection, the simplicity, the serenity. So you swap mixers for paintbrushes and solitude for the man you love.

Other subtle changes require a quicker adjustment, but you’re getting dangerously good at adapting. With Tony’s birthday past, you recognize a pattern to Harley’s visits. Every three months like clockwork. You begin to anticipate them well enough, and start appreciating his occasional presence during your early morning tea. By his third appearance, you brew two cups.

On the first visit he barely utters a word. You were ready for some witty insult that never came, and offered him a cup in silence. You want to ask why he arrives so early just to sit in his father’s kitchen, but opt for peace instead.

Once Pepper’s placard is gone in the parking garage and Natasha stops showing up (at all hours of the day, atleast), he’s there a second time.

“How he’s doing with the,” he trails off, peering at you over an empty mug as the sun starts to break. He doesn’t need to motion at the empty space for you to pick up his meaning.

The official story is dancing on your tongue. The one you’ve told two times over at this point (Jarvis, Natasha). He's perfectly fine, better even. It was a piece of cake then, but now you can’t seem to look Harvey in the eye and speak in half-truths.

“Honestly,” you sigh, “Good–not good, I don’t know.” You were dying under the irony of it all. Consoling Tony in the darkness of morning and then watching him make million dollar deals by noon. You don’t know how he’s managing any of it, and if any of this qualifies as okay.

Green eyes blink slowly through an overgrown fringe. Barbers were clearly scarce in the last three months, wherever he spent them. Exhaustion forces a yawn before he speaks again, pinching his nose.

“Figured as much.” Harley stands for the sink.

He goes through the labor of washing the ebony cup, a rare quirk amongst the obscenely rich. You’d learned they are very reliant upon their quiet servants. You wondered if he did it out of modesty or good manners.

“Do you know why they separated?” If he was in the mood to talk about Tony, you weren’t going to pass up the chance.

“Uh, something with the company, her share or whatever. Always about the money with them.” he answers casually, tossing a look over his shoulder.

It’s genuine enough, but all too similar to the rehearsed lines. You half-expected him to call you nosy.

“No real loss there.” Harley adds, a hint of disdain in his voice

“Not a fan I take it?” The flimsy tag finally crumbling under your ministrations.

He chortles as he slumps back into the bar stool.

“Pepper can be, uh,” A yawn and an eye rub take precedence, “overbearing, yeah that’s a good word for it.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine that worked well for Tony.” You murmur into your tea.

“Oh it most definitely did not.” Harley laughs again. “Not for a guy that does the opposite of whatever you tell him.”

His laugh is infectious (like father like son), and you smirk even though instead the mental picture makes you cringe. A lull passes between you. Outside, morning traffic begins, trickling upwards to interrupt the quiet. It cues Harley to get back to whatever it is he comes here to do, while you move on with the day.

As an advantage of all the free time, you get to invest more time in your estranged friendships. Being around old friends turned out to be surprisingly good. You had anticipated more awkwardness, but there was something comforting about not having to wear a mask for once around someone besides your boyfriend.

At this point, you slowly filled in a few close ones about your relationship with Tony. Clearly you were in this for the long haul, and keeping things under wraps was becoming futile. The general consensus was positive, thankfully. Obviously, that’s due to a great deal of details being omitted. The act left a sour taste in your mouth. Not from the content–how easy it was. You hated to repeat such behaviors, but it was less complicated this way. You wouldn’t have to labor through justifying your relationship, or hear concerns you didn’t already have.

Tony’s reception was, oddly, less positive. He didn’t care much for your old ‘starving artist’ clique. He thought you should take advantage of his access to New York’s greatest–the real pioneers. It took little arguing from you for him to drop that thought entirely, and he conceded to just be happy to see you happy.

Like good friends, they tease about your newfound love. One asks when they’ll get to meet ‘Mr. CEO’ and you have to brush it off casually. You like your worlds better separate.

A sweltering autumn soon becomes frostbitten winter. This gives you less light to work with, resorting to find shuddering shoulders in complete darkness. You don’t think it’s worth searching for warmer pastures or a simpler life. No, you order a cashmere robe and get used to seeing by touch.

Late nights in the tower turn out to be a great place to hone such skills. The halls are narrow and void of any windows, so you ghost the pads of your fingers around for customary shapes. A cushioned nook and a neglected book lull you into a nap one evening and you wake past the sunset. If you were able to sleep so late undisturbed, Tony must be preoccupied. You planned to tiptoe into the kitchen without a sound, but your ears catch words murmured behind the glass. The door is cracked slightly, just enough to let a streak of light breaks across the hardwood floor

“–fifteen, ten, maybe if we’re lucky.”

The bespeckled man’s words are measured, precise as usual. You can almost picture his lips barely parting to utter syllables behind round-trim frames.

“Jesus christ–the fuck am I paying you for? Because I am paying you, like a metric shit ton”

At Tony’s voice, you press closer.

“I’m not the idiot getting a divorce.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just stay focused here.” Natasha raises her voice above the two men, and you hear a chair drag across the office.

“Uh-uh, don’t think you’re getting off scot free–we wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you did your job a tad better too.”

“I will say it was ‘lot easier to spread the financials between two people.”

Social norms concerning privacy start to get to you, urging your feet to pivot and take you back upstairs. Your escape goes undetected, and you seek refuge in the shower.

You wash the day away under warm jetstreams. Part of your mind is stuck replaying everything, wondering how he was handling it all, trying not to indulge in the urge to check the sink drawer. In a flash, you toss the thought away. It’s easy to not overthink at this hour. Especially when coconut vanilla soap tugs you back towards exhaustion. You make it back out to the bedroom, where you find Tony removing his shoes at the end of the bed.

He smiles at the crack of light from the bathroom. Tony’s days were getting longer while the rest of the hemisphere’s got shorter. He would say he missed when life was simple, but he can’t remember such a time. Life growing up was anything but simple, then the older he got the more it sucked out every ounce of his energy. Everything after became, well, everything after.

Picturing a new future keeps him going. One in a coastal city, something global like New York but much, much warmer. He fights the urge to picture your silhouette amongst the waves. It’s not guaranteed. He might find himself in this dreaded cycle all over again. Then his coconut scented fantasy would be tarnished.

No, it’s better to cherish the present with you. Like right now, watching coconut scented water droplets descended down your legs and shoulders. Even though he knows he won’t be here long. Truly, he’d wish you weren’t awake, knowing he’d have to leave soon.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You teased, abandoning your towel as you pulled the dresser open.

He’s easy to rile up, and you know exactly what you’re doing–bending over slowly to pull your panties above your hips. You can’t help it when he stares like it’s his first time seeing you, every time.

“Please don’t tempt me.”

Tony’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. He’s unmoving on the edge of the bed, hands braced beside his thighs as his eyes follow the movements of your hands around lacy black fabric. Truly he’s perplexed. Who knew watching someone get dressed would be just as much of a turn-on. Or maybe it’s just you.

You toss one of his faded band tees on, and he thinks this might actually be better than any sun-soaked dream (it’s definitely just you).

You cross the bedroom, the loose cotton brushing against your skin with each step. As you approach, you snake your arms around Tony's neck and straddle his lap. His large hands ghost up the smooth skin of your thighs, leaving a trail of warmth as they make their way to your back. The moment your skin touches his, Tony’s eyes lock onto yours, but you can tell his focus is elsewhere.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask softly, raking your hands through brown coils.

You assume his mind is still on the conversation downstairs, but the grin spreading on his face says otherwise. His lips move to pepper your exposed neck with kisses, still smiling.

“Really wanna know?”

“Sure, hit me.”

The ghosts across your veins turn into full blown grazes.

“You, in a bikini, drinking margaritas somewhere with no extradition laws.”

You chuckle at the notion and swat his shoulder when his teeth find your pulse point.

“Hey, you asked,” he laughs into your skin, gripping your hips tighter, “besides it’s your fault–’smell like I’m damn near there already.”

Tony’s mouth turns hungrier and hungrier, moving feverishly across every exposed inch until the flesh is tender and you're panting in his lap. It’s just encouragement, so he doesn’t pause for a moment as his fingers slip behind your lace. They work at the wetness already ruining the fabric, dragging it across your length and making your shiver.

Okay, sure, maybe another period of minimal alone time was getting to you, maybe. Sue me, you thought. Honestly, Tony should be more grateful to have such a willing partner–and you told him as much. Unfortunately, this elicited a need for Tony to instill a sense of gratitude in you.

In the next second, you're tossed onto your back, wrists pinned tightly above your head. His other hand pulls your panties down your legs and you try not to make a joke about the futility in getting dressed. Instead, you soak his weight against you, the roaming hand between your thighs and teeth on your neck.

Marking you is the obvious goal-sucking harder with each breathy whimper. He wasn’t kidding earlier, either. You smelled good enough to devour and he intended on doing so. His danced along your folds, a cufflink scratching the supple skin at the top of your thigh. They are never anywhere long enough to give you any real pleasure. Just to take more breath from your lungs and feeling from your legs.

You squirm against vicuna dress pants, trying to gain more friction on his hand. Instead of catering to your needs, he stops all together and the noise you make is almost pathetic. Who are you kidding, it’s fully pathetic–it couldn’t have been over two weeks, and pleas can hardly form on your tongue for more.

Tony reels back with a smirk that flips your stomach. A scheme is brewing behind darkened pupils. His eyes stay on you as his hand returns to your center, slow and heavy over your clit.

He doesn’t relent when your wrists strain and hips buck against him. No, a tighter grip and knee over your hip hold you steady enough for his fingers to work faster. You want to chastise yourself for how much you missed this–then two fingers slide into you and there isn’t room to think of much else.

He moves quickly and silent, like a serpent, finding that perfect rhythm that makes your eyes flutter. Your soft moans fill the quiet space. He’s too steady, not changing a muscle as your peak comes closer. The most desperate you get, writing against his palm to get even one extra inch of depth, the slower he moves.

“Did you have fun sneaking around?”

Your eyes flutter open in the dim bedroom, Tony’s sly grin shining above you. It cuts straight through the fog of pleasure taking you over.

“I don’t know what you’re–” you start to bluff.

“You’re not very sneaky, you know? Or a good liar. That’s a particular skill set that you, my dear, sorely lack.” Slow and teasing, he slides two fingers back into you.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was eavesdropping a little.” He finally moves with purpose again, but of course not enough.

“A little? Let’s not start underrepresenting things, hm?”

Before you can debate him further, he withdraws and you think you might honestly cry if this continues.

“Okay, point taken, would you please stop torturing me now?”

“Now, why would I reward bad behavior?” he asked, lowering his gaze.

“If it helps, I wasn’t trying to.”

“It doesn’t.”

His palms grip your hips, flipping you onto your stomach and lifting your waist upwards. The sudden movement leaves you breathless, searching for balance on your forearms until they’re pulled behind your back.

“You know exactly which nerve to press, don’t you?” he breathes into the base of your neck, chest flush to your back as he hands work at his zipper.

How ironic, considering he spends the next hour tuning your body like an instrument. Knowing exactly where to press, where to ease off, until you finally unlock, bare and moaning into the mattress.

Afterwards, you fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

You’re half way to sleep when Tony slinks out of your arms. At first, you don’t bother stirring. Then, the soft draw of the dresser catches your ear.

You flip over onto your stomach to get a better view. You watch Tony’s shadowy figure attempt to quietly dress. For a rare sight, he abandons the tailored suit for dark Levis and a t-shirt. It hardly looks like him, in the best way possible (ignoring the obvious question of where the hell he planned on going in that. Less larger-than-life, more real. This, now this was someone you can imagine running into at the grocery store. The sharp edges of his suits always added a degree of gravitas to everything.

“Where are you off to?”

“Going to see a man about a horse.”

He leans down for a bright smile and a quick kiss before he leaves, and you let sleep suppress any thoughts about what that could possibly mean.

You awake to a sun that has long outran the horizon. The sheer curtains were already pulled back, with the smell telling you Jarvis made a feast for breakfast. Tony’s side is empty. Which is no surprise there, but you don’t expect him at the kitchen table.

He grins behind a newspaper as you approach. Jarvis is busy with the espresso machine, muttering curses under his breath.

“Tell me, what are your thoughts on cyclamen–oo, or actually, narcissus, yeah, that’s better.” Tony asks like you've been having some sort of conversation before five seconds ago.

Jarvis clicks the tamper in with a satisfied click as you stare back confused. You’re two blinks away from falling back asleep and desperately craving something stronger than green tea.

“What are you-Is-Are those restaurants?”

“Oh, morning ma’am. Shall I prepare you a tea, perhaps breakfast?” Jarvis turns at the sound of your voice, wiping damp grounds from his hands.

“Good morning, but no, just some coffee, please.” You try to sound natural. It’s weird giving someone else orders.

“Nope, flowers. We could do something simple like a peony but I don’t think that matches the whole vibe with the satin garlands.” Tony continues.

“Tony, hon, I have no idea what you’re on about right now.” you groggily slouch in the chair beside him.

“We, my dear,” the newspaper is folded and plopped onto the table for dramatic effect, “are having a Christmas party. The proverbial ‘we’ in this situation being the company, of course.”

“A Christmas party?” you muse with a laugh.

“For tax purposes, a gala. For my purposes, and therefore to make it fun, it is indeed a party, yes.”

Espresso warms your veins as you listen to Tony ramble through plans for catering, guests, decanters and a whole bunch of other shit you can hardly keep up with. Good thing that responsibility falls to Jarvis, who jots away on a worn notepad. Once your eyes fully open, the thought starts to excite you. Your yearly festivities normally boiled down to a bottle of chardonnay and some loosely Christmas film like Die Hard. “Plus, if I auction some art, it works out even more.” He punctuates his brilliant plan with a bite of a muffin.

“That’s not like a massive trigger for you?”

High-volume social events dropped off the radar recently, for good reason, you assumed (not that you minded a break from fake smiles and cold handshakes) . Instead, Tony dragged you along to more intimate dinners with whatever broker or councilwoman he needed to charm. Your role as plus-one never went anywhere, but doing so at Tony’s your home would give you more confidence.

“What are you, my sponsor?” he teases but you're less amused at the thought.

“You don’t even have a sponsor.” You know so, because Tony believes Narcotics Anonymous is a, quote, ‘sad-ass glorified tea party’.

“I have Jarvis.” He’s completely serious, and Jarvis hides his laughter behind a stack of plates.

You don’t want to point out the obvious cognitive dissonance. That a man who spends his nights in petrified somnolence might crack under the pressure of dozens of inebriated colleagues. Not now, in a moment of peace. Not in front of Jarvis. You’re not sure how much sound slips out into the hall.

Tony watches the worry creep over your face from the edge of his newspaper. With a sigh, he abandons it again.

“Look, all you have to do is look pretty–which is no sweat for you, maybe drink a few apple cider cocktails, and relax. I’ve got everything else perfectly handled.”

He gives you a look, both reassuring and decisive. It’s a simple message meant to be taken without debate, ‘trust me’.

You get one more peaceful morning drinking tea in the dark with Harley before the holiday season.

The event overtakes your life from Thanksgiving onward. You really don’t know how this sudden festive fervor spawns, but it slowly creeps into everything. From the elevator music, to miniature elves by the door, to candy canes everywhere, and more Christmas ties than days in December (you can’t be sure he’s not switching them multiple times a day).

You weren’t a total Grinch, not by a long shot. Tony just so happened to be creeping into that weird overly festive zone reserved for suburban moms and kindergarten teachers.

“Tony, what’s all of this?”

Vivaldi plays faintly on the record player. There’s a delicately placed mistletoe just off of the elevator, accompanied with a haphazard trail of roses leading out onto the balcony. You navigate through a candlelight kitchen juggling a heavy box of resin.

“Tony?” you call out again once the box makes contact with the counter,

“Out here!”

You follow the voice and rose trail to the balcony. Unsurprisingly, he’s donning a god awful Christmas sweater, grinning and pointing to the wool like it’s runway fashion. A small table holds two covered silver platters, and a tall bottle of champagne rests in a bucket of ice. It’s the kind of overtly romantic display you’d gotten since night one, but it never fails to sink your breath straight in your heart. Something about the way he’s standing there, beaming like a nervous, lovestruck fool, tells you this isn’t just a normal gesture of affection.

Still, your lips part to thank him, but he stops you instantly.

“Just wait–” he pleads, “I got like thirty minutes of practice into saying this and I can’t fuck it up.”

His voice is rushed enough that you believe. Clearly the words were threatening to jump out of him. It sets you a bit on edge, trying to anticipate what this was about. You indulge him anyway and nod.

Tony crosses the balcony to take your hands in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Okay, I know things haven’t been copacetic around here. And I know I’ve asked for a lot–more than I ever thought I would–and you know sometimes it feels like I’ll never be able to return what you’ve given to me, but I swear I’m going to make this worth it.”

He squeezes your palm, tired brown eyes searching yours for something, any sign that his words meant a single thing. It’s a fast-winded speech that makes you wanna laugh at the irony. Tony, the man who’d move the stars if they had a price tag, somehow feeling the need to repay you. Yet his voice is raw like a frayed nerve. Exposed to the cold winds whipping against the tower glass.

“Tony, you’ve made it more than worth it, everyday.” You smile, though it’s worth wondering what’s driving him to say all this. The words ring true regardless.

“Not nearly enough,” he says softly, “but I’m going to–I’m going to give you the world.”

In that moment, you see it: the weight of everything he’s been carrying. Your ribs seem to tighten inside your chest. That unspoken fear you’ve both been trying to avoid–it was far easier twenty seconds ago when you thought it was yours alone. You realize now that the fearless man you saw in fact was scared of something (losing you, primarily). Yeah, you comforted him through nightmares, but even then he managed to carry an aura of control.

This wasn't about holding onto the life you’ve built together, the one that’s felt so fragile lately. And for the first time, you see how much that matters to him, too.

He starts to say something else, dropping your hands. His fingers fiddle behind his back, seemingly nestled in his back pocket. He stares like he intended to say something else, lips parting and closing right back. In the next second, he seems to shift gears, pulling you into a hug.

You welcome the warm embrace, as the chill has started to gnaw at your bones. He plants a kiss to the top of your head, and you want to stay in that feeling for the rest of your life.

Sadly, he does eventually pull away to admit dinner on the balcony would be quite miserable, and the two of you move inside.

You could spend the rest of the evening overthinking about what all that meant, but you don’t bother. Why go through that mental labor, when instead you could drink $500 champagne, carefree while your handsome boyfriend flirts with you like it’s the first date.

You don’t think about it then, or later in the night when your legs are pressed to your chest and you can’t recall a single thing he said. You focus on what he’s saying then–filthy words about who you belong to, and exactly where you belong–a whimpering mess underneath him.

Even when it turns possessive (more so than usual), when your throat is littered with marks and his hand stands to leave another on his hip, you don’t think of it. But it’s the only thing on Tony’s mind. When another orgasm rips through you, all he can think about is how much he needs you. He whispers ‘you’re mine’ over and over and over as you fall apart just so your broken moans can still echo–so he can hear just how true it is. How could you, with such a dutiful guide at the helm?

Afterwards, when you’re drained of every ounce of life, it still doesn't bother you. You don’t wonder if tonight might be another night he slips into plain clothes and disappears until sunrise. You can’t muster a single thought as his arm slinks around your waist to pull you closer.

You simply close your eyes, and let sleep take you.

Eventually the days tick by to the gala, and you’re somewhere between impressed and overstimulated with all the ensuing holiday glamor.

Though, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out.

The first floor of Stark Industries is transformed from a cold minimalist space to Ebenezer Scrooge's worst nightmare. A makeshift stage sits at one end, complete with enough tinsel to suffocate a horse and twinkling garlands. Piles of fake snow anoint the corners, and a particularly large one sits beneath a 12-foot tall Christmas tree in the middle of the lobby. The open bar even serves drinks in frosted holiday glasses. He even has the guards wearing reindeer ears.

By ten p.m. the vast floor seems smaller than a shoebox, packed with guests in evening gowns and tailored tuxedos. Initially, you’d planned on wearing a new piece for the gala–something to make the overwhelming festivity Tony demanded. Once it came time to get dressed, your eyes caught the sanguine dress. You hadn’t gotten the chance to wear it since your first date. It had felt too exquisite for any other occasion, but for some reason you were drawn to wear it tonight.

You wish you could say Tony had a good reaction–or a reaction at all. From sunrise until the doors opened, he’s caught up in planning and preparations. Matter of fact, you were two hours into the gala and had only seen glimpses of him shaking hands in the crowd. It takes away from the expected familiarity. You imagined this night to be simple, easy for you to blend it with Tony on your arm, in his home your home. Instead, you wander like a lost gazelle, feeling every pair of eyes on you. You want to blame the dress. Revealing and bright red.

In the blurry swarm of faces, bright auburn stands out. Natasha wouldn’t be your first pick, but she’s the only familiar face and you need a respite.

You squeeze in next to her at one of the corner tables. The spice of her perfume permeates your nose but you can look past it for the moment. She pays you no mind at first, legs crossed and head turned to the crowd. You don’t mind one bit. It’s quieter towards the back, and you have no issue with it staying that way.

Natasha sighs deeply, almost in boredom, maybe annoyance, but not with you.

“I don’t know how you stand him.”

“How do you figure?” you respond absently, picking apart at a stray piece of tinsel.

“One of the richest men on Earth-I know he’s got the ego to match it.”

“You’d know better than I would, wouldn’t you?” you answer. You’d gotten the sense Natasha and Tony back way further than him and Pepper a while ago,

“Touche, but I’m not dating him.” she shifts to take another sip from her glass, “though, I’m not really sure why you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you really love him, or are you just after a family fortune?” Emerald eyes points like knives, her tone blending from casualty to scorn.

“W-what,” you stammer, “Of course I love him–Tony pursued me.”

“Please, he’d pursue anything with a pulse,” Natasha chuckles, “and relax, I’m just finally getting around to doing my due diligence.”

“Your ‘due diligence’ is being a cunt?”

“Ooh! I see you’re a feisty one–you did sit here after all, you know.” she muses.

“Just needed a break from the crowd,” you mummer, rising.

“Stay then–relax, like I said.” she gestures towards your now-empty seat. When you sigh and retake your place, she smiles. “I like you, you know.”

“We’ve barely spoken.” you declare, a dry chuckle spewing alongside.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t know a smart person when I see one.”

“Smart?”

“Smart decisions, going out with Tony, not screwing that up, though I’ve been told you’ve come close a few times.”

“Who–”

“This isn’t an interrogation, like I said, I like you–I don��t really care what happens between you two.”

“Then what is this?” you flag the nerdy tuxedoed waiter for a glass of water.

“You said it yourself, we’ve barely spoken. My job is to keep Tony’s business running smoothly, and that’s become a lot harder since he won’t make a single decision without considering the ‘y/n’ of it all.”

You scoff, unimpressed. “We don’t talk about his business.”

“Oh, I know,” Natasha remarks, “A bartender has no idea how to run a billion dollar corporation, and even less of an idea how to advise one.”

“This is the part where you tell me I have no business being with him, right?” The waiter drops off a tall pitcher of water for you both. Once your glass is full, he passes along a message that Tony’s speech starts soon.

“Dear god no,” Natasha laughs, “I imagine you’ve heard that enough–and he’s much more pleasant since you came around. Besides, you’re living the dream.”

“Is that so?” You have to give a laugh of your own (considering you had a bit of jealousy buried for her).

“Oh yes, filthy rich, live in a penthouse, never work another day in your life, loving husband–maybe not my dream, but still a dream.”

You don’t know if she’s trying to be funny but your next laugh is genuine, and she joins in.

“What is your dream, then?” you question.

Natasha’s grin stiffens, surprised. Contemplation passes for a second and you worry that you’ve underdone the last three minutes of camaraderie.

“Ballet teacher–but that stays at this table.” She gives you a matching pointed look.

“My lips are sealed.” You do try not to giggle, but it’s odd to imagine her frigidity in a warm lit studio surrounded by tutus.

“Did you mean it, what you said about Tony? That things are...okay?” Natasha asks, referring to Tony’s sobriety. It’s weird how everyone dances around it, especially someone so usually straightforward as her.

It was weeks ago when you parroted that claim. And you only call it that because the question annoys the fuck out of you. It’s entirely subjective, and you give in to the optimistic look in their eye and tell them what they want to hear. He’s fine, better even.

Maybe it’s because she’s being nice, or because you already gave up this facade with Harley, but you can’t be bothered to pretend you know what’s going on with him all the time. Besides, clearly you weren’t doing a good enough job for her to ask you about it again

“I want to say yes, but I don’t know, I guess?” you admit, staring into the crowd.

Natasha’s mouth parts to speak again, only to have the microphone’s feedback interrupt her. The host–some Nobel prize winning chemist Tony invited to pull donors–clears his throat before starting his introduction, and the noise draws to a lull. Natasha excuses herself, presumably to find Tony before his speech. You decide to stay at the back of the lobby, with a good enough view of the stage.

Supposedly this entire sordidly festive affair had a true business purpose, some big announcement Tony was making on the ‘future of the company’. He didn’t explain much more than that, and you’re certain the technical logistics were beyond you anyway.

After a long, boring welcome, the mic is passed off to Tony. It’s the first time today you’ve been able to see him fully–draped in a jet black tuxedo and bright red bowtie.

It whines again in his grip, and Tony pauses once the cheers die down, glancing at the expectant faces below. Thick cards press into his palm, each written meticulously inked by Natasha last night He clears his throat, glancing out past the lights into the crowd. He hopes they can’t see how heavy the stillness starts to weigh on him like before. The sudden quiet, all that attention. Including yours, somewhere out there. His heart stalls at how must look to you up here. Larger than life probably, or maybe you weren’t looking at all (he hopes you aren’t). A hundred odd pairs of eyeballs, and he hides from yours.

Tony knew what he had to do, and was quite confident in his choice. But he can’t risk looking you in the eye while he does it. Ironically, his decision had very little to do with you, and everything to do with Pepper. The edge of his mouth still twitches.

“Tonight…” he starts, turning the twitch into a warm smile, “…I’ve asked you all to be here in celebration, to celebrate Stark Industries, and talk about the future of the company,” He clears his throat, rolling his shoulders as if trying to loosen some unseen knot.

There’s a small, brief ripple of confusion among the front of the room, murmurs. Something shifts in his expression—just a flash—before his eyes catch something and harden. A gesture is made to the guard at the end of the stage. His hand tightens around the mic.

“To keep things transparent,” he says, stuffing the cards into his pocket, “the real reason I threw this party, asked you all to be here, is because I want everyone to see how much this means to be.”

Your ears perk up. Natasha swears under her breath, glancing at you before sharply leaving the table, tapping away at her phone. Tony can’t hide from your gaze anymore, and he finds your confused face in the back corner. Before you think about a path to escape, the crowd follows his attention, taking their eyes from the billionaire to the nobody fiddling with tinsel alone.

“I want to celebrate the love I have for this woman, and take this opportunity to share it with everyone.”

What the hell is he doing?, you think. He can't be doing this here, like this.

“The truth is,” he pauses, feeling his phone buzz off the hook (most certainly Natasha telling him to stop), “I’m getting married, and Stark Industries will be welcoming a new partner in its operations.”

The room erupts in a chorus of oos and awes, all to the tune of your racing heart. It takes you a second to process. He means getting married to you. You never even talked about marriage, the future, anything like that. Yeah, maybe in passing the idea came up, but at no point did you accept a marriage proposal.

Everything feels nauseatingly blurry after. Random individuals come over with their congratulations, while half the crowd stares and the other half still bothers to listen to the rest of Tony’s speech. It’s a bunch of nonsense about restructuring and profits, and you’re too confused, pissed, and too fed up with fake smiles to bother standing around to listen.

You suffer through two more superficial conversations about the marriage you were only made privy a few minutes ago. Finally, you escape to the restroom. You find an empty stall to hide in, trying to process what was going through Tony’s mind.

He couldn’t be serious, could he? This wasn’t real–it was some ploy or tactic. He didn’t genuinely intend to marry you. You didn’t like to think of the long-term for the same reasons you didn’t think about the short-term. This was unpredictable, you learned that. You learned to be okay with that. You could soak in the pleasures indefinitely without ever worrying about how it might all end. This, this brought it into a sharp focus you weren’t ready for.

You’re not even certain he’s fully divorced yet.

Once your palms finally dry, and the threat of a panic attack fades, you step out of the restroom. You don’t even know what to think, and the sterile walls weren’t helping. Glancing back toward the gala, you spot Tony scanning the room—until his eyes find yours. You don't hold his gaze long; instead, you turn sharply toward the elevator. You hear your name faintly called from somewhere behind, but you keep moving down the hall, ignoring it.

He breaks into an awkward jog to catch you. You keep your eyes forward.

“[Y/N], look I know this wasn’t what you were expecting, and I can explain I just need–” he starts,

“You’ve lost your fucking mind, Stark,” Natasha heels stomp angrily down the hall, stepping in front you to point her finger in Tony’s face, “what the hell are you doing?”

“Alright, alright, not you right now–cut it out!” He smacks her hand away flippantly, “I’m not entirely sure you and Matt haven’t been drinking the kool-aid either.”

Tony huffs and straightens his bowtie and you step back from Natasha’s heat. Behind the three of you, someone gets their hands on a karaoke machine and a terrible rendition of Santa Baby follows.

“The whole point of this bullshit was to go public and get out of this shit so explain to me how this gets us anywhere closer to that?” She grits.

Tony throws his hands in the air, “Maybe it doesn’t, but your dumbass plan wasn’t any better.”

“You think marrying her is going to help you? You know I was joking when I said that, right?”

Suddenly, a spotlight seems to beam over you. Neither party stops their death glare to fully acknowledge you. That wasn’t a proposal–you were just some pawn in their game.

You don’t even know what the hell they’re playing for.

“This is a great time to remind you who signs your checks.”

Only then do her eyes bother to glance at you.

“This isn’t gonna end well, and you know it.” She concedes, still stern. After that, she stomps back off into the crowd.

Tony turns towards you, but you're already back at the elevator, watching the buttons finally reach L.

“[Y/N], please–”

The doors ding open and you don’t stop to hear anymore. Despite your feverous attempt to close the doors, Tony makes his way inside. The door just barely misses his coattail, to your annoyance.

Even worse, and completely on par for the evening, the jingle bells elevator music plays the moment the doors shut.

A hard, awkward beat passes. You’re pinching the bridge of your nose, sparsely emptied of any more energy for this night (mentally or otherwise).

“You look fucking stellar, by the way, love that dress–”

“Tony.”

“Right, you’re right, sorry.”

Neither of you spare another word from the elevator to the bedroom. Tony follows behind, closing the door softly as you toss your earring onto the dresser. You’re waiting for him to speak again. Explain, deflect–hopefully just explain, but he doesn’t. He sits at the end of the bed, eyes trained to you in the mirror.

“Why didn’t you ask me? Alone? Before today?” you sigh, “

“I wanted to, I was going to, the other night on the balcony I just–” he answers quickly, but trails off in a way that has you turning to face him instantly.

You don’t doubt that for a second. Truthfully, the level of effort and random heartfeltness of the night gave you some clue. But, when it never came you just chalked it up to Tony being Tony. Painfully romantic in most conditions.

“You just what, didn’t want to?” There’s anger, though you know it's hypocritical.

“No I just,” he exhales, dragging his fingers through slicked back hair, “I knew you’d say yes.”

“You knew I’d say yes? What the hell does that mean?” Your necklace joins the rest of your jewelry with a loud clink.

“This is coming out all wrong–”

“You think?” The six inch heels are the next thing to go, throwing haphazardly in the closet. Tony rises to cut you off in front of the door, eyes pleading for understanding you’re not sure you have.

“I saw the look in your eye, I’d done so much to make sure you’d say yes in that moment because I needed you to–not because I wanted it and that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

“You don’t know that I’d say yes.”

“You would,” he says with that practiced charm, all sunny but hollow. A trademark Stark move—confidence teetering on arrogance. When you hesitate, he’s ready with another word, a gaze intense enough to hypnotize. “You know you would.”

You laugh, looking away as if it’s absurd. “Are you really so sure?”

His hand slips into yours, gentle but firm, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that makes it seem like he’s talking to you, only you, and not the thousand voices in his head screaming at him to get this done.

“I know you’re scared, but” he says, leaning into your warmth. “Don’t leave me hanging here, please.”

“You sound so desperate, it’s kind of sad.”

But there’s a softness to your voice now, a hint that he might be getting through. For a moment he was worried he wouldn’t be able to get away with this again, that you’d learned all his tricks since the boutique.

It’s enough of a crack in your resolve for him to keep pushing. He slips closer, voice low.

“Look, I know I keep asking a lot of you, but, There’s a pause, just long enough to let the ache in his voice sit, before he adds, “this could fix everything, everything can be okay.”

There’s a sliver of doubt in your eyes, and that’s what he clings to.

“And when was the last time everything was okay, Tony?” You watch him in the bureau’s mirror.

“It could be. All I need for you to do is say yes, so I can fix this,” He squeezes your hand, the hint of desperation all but veiled now.

And when you finally exhale, when that flicker of sympathy slips in, he knows he’s won.

It’s good enough. Better than he hoped, honestly. The relief slides into him like a tonic, loosening the tight lines in his jaw. He keeps his hand on yours, knowing the warmth of it will serve to distract from the creeping dread, from the hollow pit that’s been widening ever since the stakes got so high he couldn't see the top of them.

For Tony, this is all still just a means to an end. One step closer to true liberty and the life he was supposed to have. If he had to lie and disappoint–cheat and charm, then he’d do it. It would be worth it. In the end, the sum of his achievements would outweigh his sins.

He reminded himself of that a month ago, the night before he decided to have the gala. When the bedroom door closes, a sigh of relief escapes. He was lucky that you didn’t catch the conversation with Matt and Natasha in full. What he had in the works was sensitive, and he couldn’t have that ruined by anyone knowing the details in advance. He couldn’t lose you again, not when he needed you most.

There is a shred of guilt as the elevator whirs down to the garage. You’re probably thinking the worst, understandably, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Only to pray his love was enough to placate you for now.

Especially when he doesn’t even want to fucking do this. Each day seems to come at the loss of his autonomy, another suit on his payroll telling him what’s best for his life. It’s more deplorable when the people closest to him come up with the shittiest ideas to fix this. He can truly thank Pepper for his recent migraines (and a bunch of old ones). Filing for divorce was quite a move to try to get what she wanted, and throw him to the mercy of the Securities and Exchange Commission at the same time. If you listen to Matt, Tony’s mere minutes away from a cold cell. If you listen to Nat, Tony’s plummeting stock will be the sealer of his fate. And as of right now, two of the smartest people he knows can’t come up with anything that doesn’t come at the cost of you or his company. And he can’t live with either.

Since, both their solutions arguably suck, he tells a lie or lack thereof to find a third opinion. Or a hail mary. However it’s called, it’s a long shot that he can’t be certain won't jeopardize him even more.

The drive to Hudson Valley is peaceful, to the point he forgets his world is on fire. It’s late, or early, depending on who you ask. Few cars grace the road and he finds solace in the solitude. The radio is ignored for the repetitive rumble of the tires, until paved tar turns into rough gravel.

When Pepper sent over the address, he wasn’t too surprised. She always rambled about moving out of the city, dreaming of cabins in the woods and sprawling hills. Tony could never wrap his head around living anywhere else. In retrospect, that was another early omen. They never even shared the same dream.

He can’t say it doesn’t look impressive. A dark a-frame that strikes beautifully against the earthen spruce. Maybe that is why she had him drive all the way out here and not somewhere in the city. Part of masterplan to show him what she presumes he’s missing out on.

The porch lights flicker on once he parks, and he makes his way up the stone path to find Pepper sitting just outside the door. She’s preoccupied with a thick novel, acknowledging Tony with the raise of a finger.

It’s strange, being alone with her for the first time in years. She’s not dressed in Valentino but tattered college sweats he had forgotten about. Seeing her at the penthouse all those months ago was troubling, but this was different. Here, it’s too quiet. Even though he’s a few paces away from the table, he can hear the tension of her nails against the pages–the swirl of wind through her hair. Sure, she can’t control the environment but he knows this is a calculated move too. To make him wait, make him uncomfortable. Every other sense sharpens in the absence of constant noise. Norway spruce and duplicity.

He’s losing his nerve and he needs this over.

“Why the hell’d you make me drive this far out anyway?” He tries to keep a level voice, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to use his irritation against him.

“It’s the one place I’m certain your little spy hasn’t found yet.” she murmurs.

Okay, fine, so he’d used his son to spy on his ex-wife. Big deal, he couldn’t be certain she wasn’t doing the same. Plus, Harley had offered to keep an eye on her. It was a matter of security, not personal (mostly).

“Can we get on with this?”

“I suppose,” she sighs, tossing the book onto the table. The thud reverberates, stark against the stillness of the valley. “But I’m not sure what it is you want from me–you did call me after all.”

“I did.” And he’s regretting it every second.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by accepting the deal Murdock sent, and let this be over.”

Pepper chuckled, crossing her legs. “What are you playing at, Tony?”

“I’m not playing at anything–this needs to be over, you need to move on.”

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs, “this is all very rich considering you’ve held me in litigation for months, you rejected my offers over and over, so why the sudden change of heart?”

A cold chill and burning annoyance pull him closer to the table.

“Yes, because I should just give you forty-five percent of my company–I can get it gift-wrapped too if that makes it all the better.”

“That’s right, your ego won’t let you admit I’m the only reason you have a company to speak of.”

“Can’t you find an ounce of compassion in that gaping pit you call a soul, for me?”

“Such harsh words from someone who needs something from me.” Pepper smirks and stands once the heat recedes from Tony’s face.

“Take the twenty percent, finalize the papers, and end this, or else there won’t be anything for either of us.”

She circles the table to stop in his view. Tony wishes he had a time machine.

“Let me guess, someone’s under a little heat.” she muses, voice high and dripping in sugary venom.

“Little is an understatement.” He steps back, hands tight in her pockets.

“And why would I give up my shares to help you?”

“This entire thing started with you, and the second it wasn’t convenient you ran. The least you could fucking do is help me out of it.” Tony snapped.

“Right, and if I don’t?”

She still laughs, because it’s all a good game to her. Entertaining to see him against the ropes–desperate enough to reach out to her. For once though, it’s calming. It soothes his anger and reminds him why he agreed to this at all. This time, he had an ace up his sleeve.

“Then I’ll tell just that to whoever needs to know–you know I have the evidence. You’ll go down right alongside me.”

In the quiet solace, for a moment, she’s outplayed. Her smile falters and brows crinkle. Truthfully, as much as he’d love to, he could never sell her out. But she had a terrible tendency of assuming the worst of him, and he was banking on that.

“Please do, I’m sure they’d love to hear what I know about Obadiah.”

Oh, so that was her ace.

A soft buzz vibrates his back pocket. He doesn’t need omniscience to know it’s you. He can picture it clearly–you, traipsing around the penthouse looking for signs of life. He knows you hate that feeling, and he hates to cause it.

There’s a more pressing issue; not giving Pepper the emotional reaction she wants.

“You wouldn’t do that.” Spare words from some forgotten bin.

“Not if you don’t force my hand.”

A painful pause ensues. The valley’s fauna recognize the tension, silencing out of respect for the sound of Tony’s plan shattering. A true stalemate. Not what he came for, but his throat swells thinking about the aftermath from a war of attrition.

He can’t let that get out, above all else. That’d be his dissolution. Stark Industries, everything he worked for would vanish. You, without question. You never see him the same again. The crafted image he sought, the life he was creating with you for you, it’d be wasted effort.

“What’s it gonna take for you to help me?”

After another migraine-causing conversation, Tony slumps into the driver seat, shoulders heavy and eyelids even heavier. Fifteen minutes have passed since your text, and he wonders if it's better not to answer at all.

[ everything okay? ]

[ be home soon ]

Ignore. Deflect. Move on.

The drive back to the city is less pleasant. Actually, it’s a nightmare that he disassociated through the moment he entered the garage. He was, tragically, fucked. There was no telling if he had the capital to replace whatever Pepper took, and he certainly couldn’t risk everything by going public. And if he didn't give Pepper what she wanted, he might be looking at a depressing future behind bars. And that was not an option.

So he’s at the mercy of the ginger Judas who put him on the path in the first place. Go figure. There’s self-blame for entertaining this option at all. For not guessing she’d snake her way into the upperhand like always. This wasn’t a beast he could defeat with regular tactician and planning. No, he needed to surprise her–usurp her. Piss her off the way she pissed him off. Go against the grain and act in a way that she couldn't predict. Something she couldn’t maneuver around.

So, when the mic graced his hands, and the coached words on his marriage, the marriage he never asked you about. The marriage he couldn’t ask you about because he wasn’t ready either.

He said fuck it, and did it anyway.

He knew you would’ve said yes then, so you obviously would answer the same afterwards. Even if you were predictably, and understandably pissed, you loved him, and he intended to use that. Grand gestures were his thing after all. A huge public soiree was more on brand than some private dinner. And, he was Tony Stark. The man who got everything he wanted. Why would your hand be any different? Certainly it fell under the same bracket (and really, an argument could be made that he had your loyalty regardless–this was just a title).

It was justified in his mind the moment the words hit the mic. It just sounds right– Y/N Stark. Like he should have made it that way a long time ago. For a second, the ceaseless pit of vengeance is taken over by something more.

It;s even easier to justify when he gets a wave of childlike excitement over it. Imagining the ring on your finger, the life he could have with you. Palm trees and salt waves on a remote coast. No more Stark Industries, no more nightmares about cold federal prisons, just you and him.

Then, in the crowd, he spots what must be Pepper’s lookout. A short, brayish man stays still while dozen roar in congratulatory apologize. Pepper should’ve coached him better, a clear sore loser in a room full of winners.

The real reason he’s doing this comes back. Tony makes a quick signal to the guard behind him, and moments later the man is escorted upstairs. He used to hate doing this. But he soon learned that humanity gets you nowhere in this business. Still, he almost tells his team to go easy. Then he remembers the cold look on Pepper’s face at the valley while he plead for mercy like a sad dog.

Fuck that. The man knew the risks. It’s not Tony’s fault they didn’t play in his favor.

Out of whatever kindness was left, he makes a note to have his body dumped somewhere nice.

PART SIX SOON

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #seikkoiwrites #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #avengers fanfiction #tony stark x f!reader

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thevegandarkelf · 1 day ago

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QOTU: Something Good

My first official installment in the 'Quarters of the Undead' AU created with @dixons-sunshine is here! We get to watch Vec and Scud's first meeting play out. Be prepared to become obsessed with them because I certainly am. Lydia Vector (Vec) belongs to me, Georgie Hawkins (Ginny, as Vec calls her) belongs to Krys. Banner and divider were also both made by her.

You can get to know Vec a little bit better here and Georgie here

This is my first time writing for Scud as well as my first time writing in third person in a long time, so please go easy on me.

CW for swearing, mention of medical procedures (she is a doctor, after all), a teeny tiny bit of sexual content if you squint really hard

Word count: 3.8k

@gothic-pumpkin you asked to be tagged in this <3

I'm not joking when I say I screamed into my pillow the other night because I love them so much these two make me absolutely feral I need to be put down or sedated or something

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Vec sighed, running a hand through her hair as she rested her elbows on the counter.

First, there was spilling hot coffee all over her fresh scrubs. Then, there was cutting her finger on a can of Monster, followed by dropping her keys in the toilet and burning her toast to a blackened crisp.

And that was all before even setting foot out the door.

While pulling up to a stoplight on her way to the hospital, her 2007 Toyota Corolla came to a halt, the dreaded sound of repeated clicks filling the car as she tried to start it again. A kind stranger stopped to give her a jump start, allowing her to make it to the auto shop just down the street, but not before she took a moment to white-knuckle the steering wheel and scream at the top of her lungs.

When it rains, it pours.

“Just what I thought. Dead battery,” a man behind the counter called out as he approached from the back. His name badge branded ‘manager’ swayed around his neck as he walked, creating a soft tapping sound as it clacked against the buttons of his shirt. “We can do it today, but it’s gonna be a while. We’re a bit backed up.” He reached under the counter into a drawer and pulled out an intake form. “You gonna wait around?”

“No, I’m heading to work,” Vec corrected, flipping her phone open to send a quick text to her best friend.

Vec: Car broke down on the road. Having the worst day :( Ginny: Oh no :( Ginny: Hoping something good comes out of this shitty day <3

That was Georgie, always whipping out her relentless optimism whenever the moment called for it.

“Your name?” the man asked.

“Lydia Vector. V-e-c-t-o-r.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket, grabbing a scrunchie and pulling her long black hair into a ponytail. “I prefer to go by Vec, though.”

“I’ll put both,” he said.

As she flattened and tied up her hair, a movement out of the corner of her peripheral caught her attention, and her eyes trailed over to one of the mechanics. He was tinkering with something, a welding gun in his hand and a bandana tied around his head to keep his soft brown hair from falling in his eyes.

And she was practically drooling after just one look at him.

“Hey,” she asked, nodding her head in the mechanic’s direction, “the cutie with the bandana. What’s his name?”

The man’s gaze followed her nod to his employee in the corner of the room. “That’s Josh,” he explained, the sound emanating from the depth of his chest a hybrid between a scoff and a chuckle, “he’s uh…he’s a bit of a wildcard.”

A small smile crept across Vec’s lips. She, too, had been granted the title of “wildcard,” both by her best friend & her family. She was already looking forward to meeting her match.

“We close at eight,” the manager interjected, clearing his throat before he continued, “if you can get here before then, you’ll have it back today.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. I’m supposed to be off at six. Might be a bit late, but I should be here before you close,” Vec assured, slipping her keys back into the pocket of her scrubs, “that’s the life of an ER doctor for you.” She gave the manager a grateful smile as she scooped a fresh can of Monster from her bag. “Thank you again. Today has been a nightmare.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” he reassured, returning the grin, “we’ll call you when it’s done. I hope your day gets better.”

“Thank you. Me too.”

Before heading out the door, Vec looked back over her shoulder to steal one last glance at the handsome mechanic. Torn between wanting to give him her number on the spot and not wanting to be disrespectful and corner him at his workplace, she opted for the latter, hoping he would be there when she returned. Plus, she was already running behind. “Cutie with the bandana” Josh would have to wait.

Little did she know, she hadn’t been the only one stealing glances.

He’d taken notice of her the second she walked in the door. A little frazzled, hair disheveled from forgetting to brush it during the chaos of her morning, eyes tinged red from the stress cry she had in her car before coming inside. But he saw right past all of that.

It was almost angelic the way she ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it into a high ponytail. Her hair was so long that even then, it still reached far down her back. Though her eyes were tinted red, the ocean blue of her irises were the most stunning color he’d ever seen. The smile she gave the manager as she left, the way her scrubs hugged her body…the light thumping in his chest was beginning to pick up speed.

“Josh!” another mechanic called out, smacking him in the chest with the back of his hand. Though it stung, even that was barely able to pull him out of the clouds and back down to reality. “C’mon man, help me with this!”

“S-sorry,” Josh stuttered, subtly shaking his head and blinking rapidly a few times to further pull himself from his trance.

Over the course of her shift, Vec had forgotten all about her car and the shitty start she’d had to her day. She didn’t forget, though, about the cutie with the bandana. He’d been nestled in the back of her mind all day, creeping his way to the front at every few-and-far-between free moment she had. All Vec could do is hope he’d be there when she returned.

A nasty bout of gangrene and a couple of motorcycle accidents later, she was back in the staff locker room, eager to be home and in bed after being on her feet all day. Stepping out the bathroom stall, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and it was only in that moment that it occurred to her what time it was and that it was, in fact, past closing time at the auto shop. She answered the phone with a sigh, repeatedly mentally kicking herself for letting time slip away from her like that.

“I’m so sorry, my shift ran over,” she apologized as she opened her locker, scrambling to grab her jacket and her bag.

“My wife’s an ER nurse, I get it. Don’t worry about it,” the manager said, “one of my guys offered to stay late so you could pick it up.”

Vec set her bag on the bench behind her, holding her phone between her shoulder and her cheek as she slipped her arms into her jacket sleeves. “I can’t ask any of you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. He offered,” the man corrected. The jingling of keys filled her ear, followed by the ‘click’ of a door lock. “If you’re gonna be later than nine, try to call if you can and let him know.”

“Oh my God, thank you.” Her shoulders relaxed as she breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

The clock on her phone read 8:45pm. The auto shop was only about a mile up the road, she thought, she could easily make it. As she reached the front doors of the hospital, she sent another series of texts to Georgie.

Vec: Picking up my car Vec: If I don’t text you by 9:30, call me until I answer Ginny: Be safe <3

It had only just gotten dark, the streetlights coming on as she stepped out the automatic hospital doors. The road was still busy, as the streets of Atlanta often were, flooded with cars late into the night. Despite all the lights and amount of people outside, she still kept her wits about her as she walked.

She stood at only 5 foot 7, yet despite her average size, she had surprising combat skills, her Navy SEAL brothers having taught her everything they knew. She’d handled men bigger than her before, once breaking one’s nose, and other bones, after she caught him trying to spike her drink at a bar. Still, she found comfort in toying with her small blue canister of pepper spray and clenching her keys between her fingers.

The walk to the auto shop was brief, only around 15 minutes or so, nothing noteworthy aside from a group of college students stumbling their way toward downtown. A car drove past with their windows down, blasting a song that was one of Vec’s favorites from her high school years, and she caught herself softly singing along to the tune long after the car passed by, all the way to the front door of the tiny auto shop.

Removing her cap and scrunchie, she shook her hair out, fluffing it with her fingers and adjusting her glasses on her nose. Cupping a hand around her eyes and peering through the glass of the front door, she saw him propped on a stool behind the counter, flipping through some sort of book she couldn’t quite make out, that soft brown hair tied up out of his eyes.

The cutie with the bandana.

Josh had kept himself occupied by flipping through old comic books his boss kept in his office and crafting little sketches on a notepad as he eagerly awaited for her to return. The sketches were small but chaotic, the random words scribbled alongside them acting as triggers for him to remember important details later.

This cutie with the bandana was an auto mechanic by day and inventor by night.

She knocked softly on the glass, tapping it gently with her knuckle as to not spook him. Peeling his peepers away from his half-completed drawing, he nearly lit up when he saw it was her standing there on the sidewalk, giving him a small wave and a smile. He quickly shoved the notepad into his pocket and hopped off the stool, doing his best to keep his cool as he walked as to not appear too eager.

During those few seconds as he approached and opened the door, he was finally close enough for her to get a good look at his facial features. He had the cutest button nose, high cheekbones, and piercing eyes that were the most breathtaking shade of blue she’d ever seen. Vec had to clench her jaw and repeatedly swallow to keep herself from drooling.

Blue was her favorite color, it always had been. Now, she had yet another reason for it to be.

“Cutie with the bandana at your service,” he greeted with a smirk as he held the door open for her.

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she stepped inside, the chill of the evening Georgia air being cut off as he closed the door and the dread setting in at the realization that someone had told him about her earlier comments. “Oh God,” she groaned, rubbing between her eyebrows as embarrassment flooded her system at an overwhelming rate, “Jesus, I’m…God, I’m so sorry.” She sheepishly trailed behind him to the counter, keeping her gaze on her feet, practically stumbling over her words. “I, uh…I have a tendency to be very…forward. Christ, this is humiliating, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You know what you want, and you go for it. I like that.” Biting the inside of her bottom lip, an anxious habit of hers, she peeled her cerulean eyes from the floor, this time locking them with his. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was more than just butterflies. “My name’s Josh. Friends call me Scud.”

“Like ‘stud’?” Vec asked, and he nodded, “interesting. How’d you get that?”

“Could ask the same about—“ he paused to glance down at the form, as if he didn’t study her name on that paper over and over again before she arrived— “‘Vec.”

“I believe I asked you first.” Her tone was playful, oozing with flirtation, and that sweet pink flush returned to her cheeks yet again. Scud was never particularly drawn to pink, but now, it was quickly becoming his favorite color.

“And I asked you second,” he teased. He pulled a pen from his pocket and removed the cap with his teeth, spitting it onto the counter next to him. “How’s that saying go? ‘Second is the best, first is the worst?’”

Scud was immediately kicking himself for his choice of words. In his attempt to flirt back, he’d just sounded like an asshole.

“Wow,” she scoffed with a smirk, slightly wide-eyed and drawing the sounds of her words for dramatic effect.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” He was nearly stumbling over his words to apologize, desperate to correct himself. “Probably should’ve went with ‘ladies first’.”

“It’s a nickname I got in high school. Too many Lydias in my class. What about yours?”

“Mine too.”

“Too many Lydias in your class as well?” If he wanted to tease, she could too.

“Cute and funny. You’re quite a combo,” Scud complimented as he worked at filling in the blank spaces on her form.

Vec ran a hand over her cheeks, attempting to hide that she was already turning red again. She could dish the flirtation on all day. Taking it, though, was a different story.

“So how come you didn’t just go by Stud?” Her eyes widened and immediately dropped to the counter, practically bugging out of her skull, and her jaw was on the floor. It was as if the words left her mouth on their own accord.

He was clearly reciprocating the flirting, but there was still something that felt wrong about it. He was still working, after all. She’d often fallen victim to being flirted with at her workplace, so she was well acquainted with the discomfort that came with that. Fearing she was crossing boundaries, she apologized once again. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

He found it endearing, flattering, and downright adorable, the way she couldn’t seem to stop herself from from being flirtatious, and Scud would’ve been lying if he said it didn’t help to boost his ego. A young woman comes in, and not only is she drop-dead gorgeous, but she was flirting with him? He was on cloud nine.

“Told you you don’t have to be sorry.” A sweet, boyish smile crossed his lips as their eyes locked again. He wanted to dive right into those crystal blue pools and never find his way back out. “So you like working as a nurse?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Your scrubs.” Scud gestured up and down her body with a nod, his gaze lingering on her curves for just a moment too long. Thankfully, not a moment long enough for her to notice.

A soft, amused chuckle trickled out from her half-smile, her eyes falling to the floor for half a second before meeting his again. Scud swallowed hard, his hand trailing to and holding his abdomen. The fluttering in his stomach was an unfamiliar sensation.

Was she making him nervous? He was a confident guy, albeit maybe a bit too confident at times. He wasn’t new to the world of women by any means and could often be a bit forward himself. He too knew what he wanted and would go for it. So what was with the butterflies?

“Oh no, not RN,” Vec replied, reaching into her pocket to pull out her badge, flexing her credentials, “MD.”

“Shit.” Scud’s stomach dropped, fearing his asinine assumption just ruined any chance he had with the beautiful doctor before him. “Fucking this up, aren’t I?”

She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes, that sweet giggle traveling to his ears again. There was a glow radiating off of her. It was almost ethereal. “Now when did I say that?”

“So what kind of doctor are you?” Scud asked as he rotated the paper around to face her, tapping on the ‘signature’ line on the bottom with the tip of his pen.

“Trauma surgeon,” Vec explained as she dug around in her bag for her wallet, “emergency room. Bullet wounds, amputations, skin grafts, all that jazz.” Successfully finding her wallet, she handed over her card, their fingers barely grazing past each other.

Though their touch was small, the electricity that sparked between them could’ve lit the entire city of Atlanta.

“Damn,” Scud replied, swallowing hard once again and using his hand that wasn’t tapping keys on the register to steady himself on the counter. That brief moment when their fingers touched turned his knees to jelly. “You’ve probably seen some stuff, huh?”

“You could say that.” Her knees had also turned to jelly, and the butterflies in her stomach amped up, having made a home in her stomach from the moment she walked in the door. She was just a little better at maintaining her composure.

Taking the pen off the counter and twirling it in her fingers, a phenomenal idea crossed her mind. She nodded to the empty space behind him as she signed off on the form. “You got a sticky note back there, Josh?”

His name sounded so sweet when it dripped off her lips like that.

Hoping this was going in the direction he thought, he pulled his notepad from his pocket, tearing one of the small pages out and sliding it across the counter to her. “Thank you.”

As he ran her card and printed the receipt, she etched out a series of numbers and some words before folding the sheet in half and holding it out to him. “What’s that?”

“My number. For if you’d like to…continue this conversation. And you’re not off the market.” She let her fingers linger on his for just a second before pulling away, taking her sweet time in doing so. The thumping in Scud’s chest was now ringing in his ears.

“Been on the market a while. Surprised someone like yourself is too.” Slipping the note into his jacket pocket, he slid the receipt across the counter to her. “Just need your John Hancock and you’re good to go.”

As she signed off on the paper, blood continued to flow to her cheeks despite her best efforts to prevent it. However, the embarrassment of turning pink only made it worse, and it didn’t help that Scud was taking notice. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“Do what a lot?” She hoped feigning ignorance might deter him from inquiring further, but when he motioned to his own cheeks with his finger, she knew it was to no avail. “Oh, yeah. Unfortunately, I do.”

“Well it’s cute, so keep it up.” Naturally, that only made the baby pink of her cheeks darken into a crimson red. Scud couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander and picture her with those flushed cheeks in a more…nefarious situation.

He took her receipt off the counter and chuckled under his breath at her signature as he placed it into the register and locked it. Doctor’s handwriting. “C’mon, car’s out back. I’ll walk you.”

She slowly, cautiously stepped around the side of the counter, ensuring to keep at least a few feet of distance between them. Sure, he was cute, and yes, she absolutely loved that he was reciprocating the flirting, but he was still a stranger. She kept one hand in her pocket, fiddling with her canister of pepper spray, the other free and at her side.

“I’m not gonna bite,” he promised, “don’t even have a bark you gotta worry about.” As she took a couple of small steps closer, he put his hands in the air, interlocking his fingers around the back of his neck. “Can keep them like this if it makes you feel better.”

She nodded, and keeping a hand on her pepper spray, she followed him down a tiny hallway, still making sure to keep a couple of feet between them. She had a good judge of character, it was one of her strongest skills, and her gut only had good things to say about this guy. Even then, especially as a woman, one could never be too cautious.

The bitter evening air greeted them as Scud opened the back door to the building, holding it open for her with his body. He kept his hands locked behind his head, only removing them once they were at her car to reach into his pocket and hand her her key. Their fingers brushed again, and this time, he kept his in place for a few moments, letting the electricity dance between them. She kept her eyes on them, watching him toy with the key resting in her hand, and the same soft, amused giggle from earlier emerged from her chest once more. His baby blues were locked on her, watching strands of her black-as-night hair fall into her eyes and using every fiber of his being to restrain himself from reaching out to brush them away.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Josh,” Vec practically cooed, her lashes fluttering softly as her eyes flicked back to meet his, “thank you for staying. And I, uh, hope to hear from you. Sooner rather than later.”

That adorable, boyish smile returned to his face. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself and folded his arms across his chest. “The pleasure was all mine. Now get home safe.”

“You too,” she replied.

Waltzing back toward the shop with a newfound pep in his step, Scud was far too eager to wait until he was back inside before tearing open the note she’d written for him. Her doctor handwriting was more legible here, and she’d clearly taken time to make sure it came out nice and pretty.

Vec 555-555-5555 Thanks for being my something good today :)

She tossed her bag in the passenger seat, removing her glasses for a moment and running her hands over her face. Exhaustion was beginning to set in, the weight of sleep heavy in her under-eyes, and her attempts to hold back her yawns were to no avail. As she buckled herself in and started her car, her phone vibrated in the cupholder. Normally, she wasn’t one to answer calls from unknown numbers, but her gut feeling told her exactly who to expect on the other end. And it was correct.

“You said soon. This soon enough?”

“I’d say so,” she chuckled as she slipped her glasses back onto her nose and adjusted them. She covered her mouth to stifle yet another yawn. “How about I text you in the morning? I gotta be up at 5.”

“I expect no later than 5:15,” he joked. The beaming smile on his face was evident in the tone of his voice.

“You have my word,” she promised. Vec always kept her word. It was worth more than gold to her.

After hanging up, she flipped to her messages to send one last text to Georgie before heading home, her cheeks already beginning to ache as her big, goofy grin somehow continued to grow larger.

Vec: So something good came out of this shitty day :)

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