#to work so hard on something and then have it all disappear just so corporations save money

[seikkoi]

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

[skekheck]

I am so grateful that the Dark Crystal is, while niche, an established franchise with years worth of lore and stories.

Could you imagine if the movie never existed and all we had was Age of Resistance? Netflix canceled it and JHC wouldn't be allowed to make more stories with its characters and world because of copyright bullshit? I'd be heartbroken.

[i2ycat]

two wrongs don’t make one right

pairing lee heeseung x fem!reader synopsis mistakes always happen, whether you mean to make them or not. but it’s not a question of ‘do you like heeseung?’ anymore, it’s more so: ‘why do you like heeseung?’. or in which, two wrongs just don’t make one right genre college!au, slight fluff, angst, established relationship word count 3k+ warnings cursing, crying, toxic relationship between heeseung and reader, implications of a professor x student relationship, heeseung is implied to have possibly cheated, reader cheats w sunghoon, everyone is of age, bitchy & manipulative characters, reader is insecure, small mention of smoking weed, lmk if i missed anything else lyn speaking it’s been 2 months since i last posted anything oh my…. erm! here’s a little fic before i disappear again lol <//3 i don’t condone anything that happens in this fic or any of their decisions!!!! main masterlist

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

The weekend had rolled by faster than you could blink. One second, you’re rotting away in your room and the next, you’re hopping on one foot in front of your mirror, hastily getting ready for the day because you’re running 30 minutes late to your 10am coding class. You’re usually the type to wake up earlier than your alarm, but you were staying up way later than you usually would’ve the night before— staying up late to talk to your boyfriend of 7 months, Lee Heeseung.

Known to be the academy’s most influential guy, Lee Heeseung was, and still is, quite the character. Simply calling him influential would be a grave understatement though, because he descended from a family of powerful politicians and businessmen, even having the biggest corporation in all of South Korea— Lee Tech— as part of his familial pedigree.

It’s no secret that he has the entire world at his fingertips, and at any given moment, he could burn it if he wanted to.

But like how everything else in this world is unfair, Lee Heeseung wasn’t just disgustingly rich, he also inherited his mother’s celebrity looks— evident in his sharp features and overly charming personality. He has girls constantly eyeing him left and right, up and down, even when you’re around.

You went into this relationship knowing full well the certain costs it had to your own happiness and well-being. In the 7 months you’ve been seeing each other, you’ve never felt so insecure in your entire life. And despite his constant reassurances, you know that he couldn’t even begin to imagine half of the battlefield you were facing.

No matter how much you try to deny it, you were subconsciously fighting for his attention against people who were born to be at the same status as he is— in terms of wealth, power, and looks. You always hated being born into a grassroots-level family, but you knew that being salty about your birth-given circumstances would change absolutely nothing. So you worked hard as fuck to be able to get into such a prestigious university. You threw the entirety of your youth away to be able to be the first in your family to go to college, and here you are, barely hanging onto your scholarship because of some boy you met at a party almost half a year earlier. 

They’re only admirers, he said. It was just you and him, he said. You just needed to trust him, he said, but that’s something easier said than done, especially for you.

“Running late again?” The security guard monotonously inquires. He’s seen this exact scene about a thousand times and more with other students before you, so he’s chopping the late slip and handing it back to you like clockwork, but this time with a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. It was as if he had a good day but not good enough to warrant the toiling of doing such a challenging task.

Not that it mattered to you anyways.

You ducked your head in an informal ‘thank you’ before hurriedly leaving the stale office and into the hallways.

The hallways always seemed unending whenever you were running late, the rows of windows you ran past would multiply tenfold and the clock’s hands would run faster than it usually would— it felt as if time was warping everything within its reach.

Finally, the running reached its stop. You bent on your knees to catch your breath, the late slip crumpling in between your fingers in the process.

One.

Two.

You counted.

There was no reason to panic. Just walk in, hand the slip and sit your ass down. The visual in your head was clear and it somewhat helped to calm down your nerves. So with one last deep breath, you turn the brass handle and walk in.

You’re so damn dramatic.

The doors creaking reverberates in the small auditorium, easily catching everyone’s attention. You gulp down the lump in your throat as you watch your professor pass you a look of disapproval. It made your heart drop, because you were his best student and you hate disappointing people who expect great things from you. Your let your gaze angle towards the carpeted floors, making your way to the seat closest to the door.

When you feel as if you’ve disappeared into your seat, it was as if you could breathe again. You were finally away from the spotlight and people’s unnervingly curious eyes ceased trailing your every move. You should really start sleeping earlier or you’d have to get used to this.

“Hey,” Erin, your seatmate, whispers. Her voice tried to be as discreet as it could in a whisper… it didn’t really work. The professor gave her a stern stare as a form of warning, though you could tell it had an entirely different undertone, even from a mile away. It left a bad taste in your mouth, having to bear witness to such unprofessional exchanges of looks in an academic setting of all places. Erin, who bites her lip, scribbles whatever she was going to say to you on a torn piece of paper.

“Wanna know a secret?” It read with two boxes just right underneath it: yes or no. You look at her with a dumbfounded look plastered all over your face. You knew she was childish to a certain extent, but was she really that childish? Nevertheless, you tick the box on the left and send it back to her.

Cause you know, curiosity killed the cat.

You should’ve seen the conniving smirk plastered on her lips but you were too focused on your thoughts to notice anything else around you. She scribbles once more then folds it, dropping it into your hands with the hastily written warning facing you: “read it when you get home. preferably alone lol ;)”.

Then, class is dismissed.

You watch her get up from her seat and blend in with everybody else rushing out of the room, not missing the heavy glance she passes at the professor. You didn’t even want to stay any longer to see what happened next, so you started haphazardly shoving things into your bag instead, remembering to pocket the small note into the depths of your jacket.

When you leave the room, Lee Heeseung is already standing there, in all his lazy-fitted glory— messy bed hair hiding under a hood, donning the black hoodie you both bought as a couple’s set for valentines last week and the black sweatpants you bought for him to match.

“Hello, beautiful.” He coos, engulfing you in a tight one-armed hug. It gave you the opportunity to take in his woody yet elegant-smelling perfume, the same Jo Malone one he wore everyday.

Your heart swelled in its place, appreciating how, without fail, Heeseung would wait for you outside your classes whenever he could, even if they ended really late— late enough that he should be at home resting, but instead, he would spend that time waiting for you like the good boyfriend he is.

“Hey,” you smile into his chest. “Ugh, I woke up late again today thanks to a certain someone.”

“Wonder who that is? Maybe I should give them a word or two about keeping my princess up so late.” He pulls you from his chest to cup your face, coaxing you to fall deeper with that sweet smile of his. It never fails to make you feel like you’re the only girl in his world, like he’s got your back no matter what.

It was dangerous for such a smile to have the ability to make you forget about all your problems, even ones pertaining to him.

“You’re such a dork,” you roll your eyes at him as you push him away.

“At least I’m your dork, so naturally… it cancels out.” A boyish grin spreads across his face so innocently that you can’t help but press a kiss on his nose, immediately prompting him to blush a crimson red at your sudden display of affection. “What was that for?”

“You looked cute,” you shrug.

At this, Heeseung turns an impossibly darker shade of red. “You can’t just say things like that so casually and expect me to be okay.” The way he attempts to cover the blush in his face behind his hands makes you laugh, completely and utterly endeared by him.

“I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll give you a heads up, yeah?”

“You’re so mean.” He pouts.

When you got yourself entangled with the Lee Heeseung all those months ago, you didn’t think that he would have such a boyish and cute side to him. His public persona had always been this untouchable, charismatic guy who could get anything he wanted with a snap of his finger, so you could imagine the whiplash you experienced when the first time you ever kissed him, he blushed so deeply you thought he was drunk.

It made you feel special, being the only one to have ever brought out this side of him, like you had him wrapped around your finger.

“Yeah, but you can’t ever bring yourself to hate me.”

“That… is very true, I’m afraid.” Heeseung sighs, catching your hand in his. “I’m kinda hungry, right now. Sushi?”

“Sure.”

—

Over the course of your entire life, there’ve only been a handful of times where you’ve been betrayed by people you trusted: first when you were twelve, being wrongly accused of having cheated on a test by your then best friend; second when you were the only one to have been thrown under the bus by people you thought were your close group of friends for smoking weed in your highschool’s bathroom cubicle; and third when you found out that Heeseung had been with Erin during the one-week break in your relationship.

The note passed to you by Erin from earlier in the month stays ripped into pieces in the palm of your hand. You’d forgotten all about it until a few hours ago, and you wished it had stayed that way. But you know by now that things never go your way.

You and Heeseung were on break for about a week, citing that you were not in the mental headspace to be dealing with a relationship at that moment in time because of your slipping grades, and he understandably obliged, even kissing your forehead goodbye as you left his apartment.

Erin’s written confession, if you could even call it that, echoes in your mind like a blaring alarm.

from girlie to girlie, your boyfriend came onto me while you guys were on your little break. must say, your boyfriend is talented at making people cry ;).

All you needed was a week to heal and sort your shit out before you went back into his arms, and he couldn’t even wait that long?

You felt sick to your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to scream your aching heart away, to be left with nothing more than a void. At least then, you would no longer feel the hurt and betrayal Heeseung inflicted upon you with his actions, and the months of torment you’d endured just to seem worthy to stay by his side.

Did he even ever truly love you like he said he did?

The more you dwell on these thoughts, the more you could feel yourself physically slipping into a state of mental numbness as you stayed motionless on your spot on the carpeted floor.

It wouldn’t be until a few more hours later that Heeseung would enter your dorm, tired as ever from his basketball practice. It was routine for him to crash at your dorm on Tuesdays and Fridays—whenever he had basketball practices— because it was more convenient for him to get to his 9am class the next day from your in-campus dorm, compared to his condo that was 20 minutes away. Adding that you gave him the energy he needed for the days ahead, but now you’re contemplating whether that part was even true or not.

“Sweetheart,” he calls out to you from the entrance. “I’ve got to tell you about what happened to Jay at practice today-” he cuts himself short as he spots your leaning figure, head tucked into your knees, surrounded by torn pieces of paper.

“Y/n?” He quickly runs to your side.

“Seungie,” you meekly whisper as you lift your head, tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes finally coming into clear view.

“Did something happen? What happened?” His hands make quick work to caress your face, tucking stray pieces of hair behind your ears and wiping tears away with his thumb.

Even after knowing what he had allegedly done behind your back, you couldn’t help but feel your heart pounding. This was the sweet, caring Heeseung you knew and loved. And so the thought that Erin could’ve been lying to you, flitters across your mind and nestles itself there.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right?” Your voice sounds hoarse and quiet, yet the silent pleading rings deafeningly in your ears. You felt so pathetic crying in your living room about a boy who might’ve technically cheated on you, then finding yourself putty in his hands the moment he shows you the version of truth you’re familiar with.

Why are making up excuses for his behaviour?

Gosh, your roommate would kill you if she knew how much of a loser you’ve become in Heeseung’s presence.

“Of course not, baby,” he pulls you into an embrace. “There’s nothing I could ever lie to you about.” Did this ease your trust issues in any way? No. But it did assure you that Erin was still nothing but a serial liar, wanting nothing more than to see other people’s relationships fall apart for her own selfish entertainment… you think.

You hum into Heeseung’s tweed pullover.

It was always like this. You don’t know how many times you’ve gone through the same thing, and you don’t know how many more times you can go through without fully losing your sanity. But you can’t seem to find it in yourself to pull away, no matter how exhausted your heart and soul becomes.

—

“Can’t believe you stayed with him, even after knowing what he did behind your back.” Erin sneers from beside you, clearly amused by your course of actions these past few weeks.

“Whatever I do is none of your business,” you bite back through your teeth. You’ve never liked Erin, but even more so after the stunt she did that almost cost you your entire relationship with Heeseung. You should’ve known that she never had good intentions to begin with, constantly lying through her teeth. “I know you lied about it.”

She raises an eyebrow at this, “You think I’m lying? Oh baby, you’re really so fucking gullible.” Erin could practically see the cogs turning in your brain, if the furrowing of your brows were anything to go by. “I’m saying that Heeseung has you completely under his thumb, and you’re dumb enough to believe anything and everything he says,” she plays with her pen, swirling it around her finger as she eyes you. “It’s whatever though, Heeseung likes good girls anyways.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, I think we both know very well.” She smirks, tapping the pen on her temple once then twice, before shifting in her seat back towards the front of the lecture hall.

Just what was her fucking deal?

It leaves you with more questions than answers, as you watch her diligently jot down notes from beside you. After today, you were for sure going to switch seats because there was just no fucking way you could survive the rest of the year this way.

—

You don’t know how you ended up here. The first minute you were being dumped by Heeseung, and the next you’re waking up with a raging hangover in his best friend's bed.

Heeseung technically didn’t dump you, telling you that he wanted a break the same you did all those months before. And you technically didn't end up in his best friend’s bed by complete choice. You were drunk out of your mind at a party last night, one that your roommate had dragged you to after seeing you in your depressed state for the past week. But no matter the excuse you try to conjure, it still doesn’t excuse the fact that you cheated on your boyfriend.

Your heart beats sporadically at the sight of Sunghoon’s bare back facing you, not because you’re flustered but because you’re instantly hit with the gravity of your own drunken choices.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With heavy feet, you stumble out of his bed and start navigating through the mess of discarded clothes, and soon after, Sunghoon eventually stirs awake from the ruckus you were unintentionally causing in his shared dorm room. “Y/n?” He groggily calls out to you.

Fuck.

It didn’t take Sunghoon very long to figure out why the fuck you were in his room half-naked, piecing together the clues that lay around the expanse of his dorm. He clearly didn’t need to be a genius like Einstein to figure out that you and him had a drunken one-night stand. You—Heeseung’s girlfriend—and him—Heeseung’s best friend—had spent the night together. Intimately.

Right around the three-second mark, the same level of anxiety sank into his stomach. 

Fuck, indeed.

“I made a mistake.” Your voice trembled, tears starting to blur your vision as hot panic courses through you.

“Hey, we were both drunk,” Sunghoon says, sitting up at the sight of you still half-dressed and starting to break down at the foot of his bed. “Heeseung doesn’t have to know about this. We both made a mistake, and don’t blame yourself because you weren’t the only one, okay?”

“But, fuck, it doesn’t change the fact that I cheated on my boyfriend. What the fuck was I thinking?” Your fingers fly to tousle with your hair, pulling at the roots to try and ease the pounding in your head.

You weren’t any better than all the people you were disgusted by, seeing as you’ve stopped as low. Memories from last night flash through your mind, as if to haunt you; the party, the flashing lights, the drinks, the kissing, the skin against skin. You felt so fucking sick to your stomach.

“We didn’t mean to sleep with each other. We were just drunk.” Sunghoon reasons, but no amount of gaslighting could change what’s already been done.

You were either going to live with this aching thorn by your side forever, or own up to your mistakes like a normal human being with a moral compass. With how deep you’ve fallen for Heeseung, you couldn’t bear losing him, yet both options entailed losing him one way or another.

It’s best not knowing what could potentially hurt, right?

Right.

© i2ycat 2024

[pupyuj]

training hung g!p yujins ass to take your strap, making her wear butt plugs during her daily idol schedule, increasing in size by the day

ghosting a hand under her skirt/shorts to tease her by pressing on the plug every now and then

hope ur doing well

bisoux

EXACTLY ANON OUH i loved this ask 👹❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

she’s definitely freaky in the sheets but i think yujin would still be surprised when you propose the idea to her on a random sunday afternoon 😭😭 she’d stare at you, trying to see if you’re joking or not and once she realizes that you’re 101% serious yujinnie’s definitely gonna be into it 😝 see, you did like to boss her around in bed but she’s still the one fucking you, yk?? so something so new as you fucking her.. well… the thought of it makes yujin’s dick spring upright! 😛😛 she definitely hasn’t done anything like this with any of her previous partners before so she appreciates you for trying to pull her out of her comfort zone, and plus.. a good puppy needs to be rewarded at all times! 🥰

helping her put in her first one was a moment, okay!? however you managed to hold back just fucking her ass while she obediently bent over your desk with her ass on full display for you, you'll never know! it was a new kind of pleasure to hear her whimper while you slowly inserted her first butt plug in her ass and ofc you almost just wanted to skip a stupid corporate party just to fuck her and get fucked by her 😫 but you did go to that corporate party! yujin wouldn't stop squirming, the poor thing :(( she did tell you it was uncomfortable for the first few minutes but she was good enough to push through it.. sitting like a good girl beside you acting like her cock wasn't trying to fuckin burst out of her compression shorts bcs with the butt plug in her ass and looking at you with your silky, skin-tight dress... well yujin was just about going insane 😣

the bigger the butt plugs get the more she gets comfortable ofc.. but she also gets rlly desperate?? 😭😭 yujin doesn't know why you're taking so long to fuck her when she was pretty sure she can take whatever you can give her by now! she'd even go as far as to try and entice you enough before leaving for a schedule! pushing you up against a wall and kissing you right before you could grab the door and leave with her, guiding your hand down to her stiff cock and moaning so cutely when you squeeze gently 🥰🥰

"mommy, please.. you didn't touch me last night..." aww the sweet puppy trying so hard to get you to pity her with those big pretty eyes 🥺 and it does work bcs you're so weak for her.. but ofc you don't let her get everything that she wants 🤭🤭 you get on your knees, suck her off, tease her ass a little bit by tugging on that plug... but you know what she wants and she wants you to fuck her.. unfortunately you feel petty so the moment you make her cum and you completely pull away from her and poor baby would whine so much :((

her looking so completely devastated the entire day that you just had to give in and give her what she has been waiting for this entire time 🥺💞 propping her ass up with her head pushed down in the pillows, her loud moans muffled while you rammed your strap in her hole,, slowing down your pace and watching the plastic dick disappearing in and out of yujin's tight ass.. even better when you lean forward and grab her cock from behind, giving her a lot more pleasure than she expected that she really really had to try hard not to cum right there!

ykw yujin would rlly love it 🥺🥺 asking for more even when she's spent and her sheets were a mess with her cum all over it... having you stretch her hole all night would easily become one of her favorite things😋💖

[ironunderstands]

Topaz appreciation post because she’s been rotating around my brain like a rotisserie chicken and I need y’all to get her like I do 

Genuinely, I believe her to be the most underrated limited 5 star in the game everything wise, because she is so damn interesting and nobody talks about it ever and it drives me nuts.

So, I’m going to make you understand why exactly I love her and what makes her so amazing in the first place.

Her lore 

Topaz’s lore is rather simple, at least compared to other characters in the game, but simple ≠ bad and her story serves her perfectly.

Long before Topaz was Topaz, she was a girl named Jelena, living in a desolate planet at the edge of the galaxy. The economy of this planet was based around mining and industry, which resulted in her home becoming more and more polluted as time went on. The wildlife almost completely disappeared, people had to wear masks to breathe, and it seemed like her planet was reaching a hopeless, dismal end.

Until the IPC came. They promised to fix everything, and heal her planet of its environment problems, in exchange for every person on the planet signing a contract of indentured servitude to the IPC. Seeing no other way out, Topaz’s home accepted, forever tying her and the rest of the planet to the IPC.

Topaz is was (and still is) incredibly talented and competent, excelling in science, economics, finances, math, etc. Her exceptional talents caused her mentor  and parental figure Dvorski, who works in the Strategic Investment Department to recommend her to Jade, one of his superiors. Presumably, this is how she started her climb up the corporate latter, eventually becoming the Topaz we know and love today. 

Throughout this, she maintained her friendly and headstrong attitude, and never abandoned her love for animals or the people in her life like Dvorski, a trait which will be important for later. 

So, I’ve established the basics, so what makes this interesting?

Topaz’s trauma and how it affects her character 

I feel like a lot of people ignore just how much trauma she really has, and how it affects the way she behaves in the present.

For starters, her love of animals. Sure, Numby is adorable and in general this is a rather fun trait for a character to have, it’s not something you would consider to be a sign of something darker. 

However, remember that Topaz’s planet almost lost all of the life on it, and she witnessed firsthand almost every creature she knew and loved either go extinct or become severely endangered. 

So, when you view her love for animals through this lense, it’s easy to see that she’s so attached to animals because Topaz almost lost them forever, and this trait manifests in a lot of the behavior she exhibits.

According to Topaz herself, her efficiency goes up 27% when Numby is with her, and it seems to be blatantly obvious that being around animals give her at the very least a peace of mind/sense of comfort. I mean in game she is Topaz and Numby for a reason, and her relationship with them is a core part of the way she behaves. When Topaz can’t ground herself, she has Numby to help her with that, which hurts even more considering she is likely going on these missions alone 90% of the time, meaning her literal only friend is a pet/animal. 

Considering Topaz’s biological parents never get mentioned, it’s not hard to assume she is orphaned or at the very least estranged from them, likely due to the disaster on her planet, leaving her only loved ones to be her pets and Dvorski. Losing one half of the only support system she has would be devastating for Topaz, which is likely why she brings Numby everywhere (also considering I don’t think she has mentioned him in the present, her pets might literally be the only things she has left). 

In her own home, Topaz collects a myriad of species from across the galaxy, as if to preserve them so at least even if they disappear on their home planets like hers did, they won’t go extinct entirely. 

Personally, I think her fixation around them cooperating and coexisting also reflects on how she feels about other people. If animals from completely different planets can get along, so can people. If she can convince creatures lacking in intellect work together, then she can do the same for ones that possess it, as ultimately Topaz is a massive people person, and believes what she’s doing is best for the galaxy. 

It’s almost like an experiment, with every little change to their ecosystems, every new organism added, every new abiotic feature taken or removed, Topaz can simulate what that might be like in reality. In a way she wants to take care of humans  like she does her pets, however instead of doing it through her own means, she uses the IPC and her power as a Stoneheart as a vector for that.

But why is she so confident? What makes Topaz wholeheartedly believe that what she’s doing really is the best for the galaxy, even if we know it isn’t perfect, even if only ~80% of the planets she works on are “saved”?

Well, like always, it’s her trauma again.

Imagine you’re living on a planet slowly dying due to its people’s greed and ignorance, in which everything you know and love is falling apart, and absolutely nothing can be done about it. But you don’t need to imagine this, I mean this is a situation we are all going through, as it’s already what’s happening to our planet right now, so perhaps instead picture what it might be like to live here in a few decades if nothing changes. How miserable that would be, how upset you would be at those in power, how disappointed you would be in humanity for doing Nothing when we had so much time and already knew the consequences almost a century in advance (seriously we have known about climate change since like the 50s). 

So you give up hope and accept your fate, accept that everything is going down in flames and the humanity, the planet you know and love is going to be snuffed out forever.

Only to get saved when an outside influence comes to your assistance. Sure, they make everyone sign a contract binding their lives to them, but you wouldn’t have a life to give had they not helped. Besides, you owe it to every other thing that shares your planet with you, every plant, every animal, every organism has been utterly wiped out by human greed, so it’s only fair to pay them back, right? 

I mean it’s your whole world at stake, so how could you say no? How could you deem their terms unreasonable if clearly your own people didn’t deserve the responsibility they had over their own lives? If their situations could only be fixed by giving it to others who could guide them? By giving it to the IPC? The Preservation ?

This is the mindset Topaz grew up on and has known for her entire life. She has seen humanity utterly fail itself and is unwilling to allow that fate to befall others. She doesn’t trust other people to make the right decisions, she doesn’t think they know what’s best for them, because the people she was closest to, her very own people couldn’t do that, so how could she ever expect strangers to do the same? 

How could she ever give the leaders of these planets the benefit of the doubt, knowing that doing that for her own almost caused it to be wiped out completely? How could she see them as anything more than the selfish bastards who ruined everything? How could her heart not ache thinking there were people on the planets she helps who would be doomed to experience the fate that almost fell upon her had Topaz not stepped in. 

How could Topaz feel guilty over the planets that don’t succeed? The ones she can’t save? As after all, she thinks they were lost from the get go? Does it eat her up at night knowing she failed them? That she couldn’t prevent the folly of humanity this time, so the next planet she must work harder, be more stubborn, push back even more, so nobody ever experiences what she did instead?

I mean being an indentured servant hasn’t been that bad for her, she’s succeeded in every endeavor she’s set her mind to after all. Sure, she’s entirely alone, and sure, if the IPC no longer deems her or her people useful, they could cast them aside once again. 

But Topaz is smart, she climbed to the top of the latter, she’s been praised to hell and back, she’s known far and wide through the department for her efficiency and drive, surely she hasn’t done anything wrong?

Sure she’s heard whispers, rumors and projects of other departments, of the deep dark secrets of the company she owes her life too. Inwardly she wonders how those who follow the Preservation would even be willing to commit such atrocities, inwardly she hopes they are just rumors. The IPC saved her planet, so how could they destroy others? 

The Preservation’s power will protect all, will save them from their miserable existences. Nothing else matters in the process, no dissenter understands this as like Topaz does. She will save them, she will protect them, even if it means she is detested by everyone she encounters, it must be done. All for the Amber Lord.

I find it very compelling how despite the fact that Topaz has become a Stoneheart, she is still dressed in the fashion of an average IPC worker. As if she is an equal part of the puzzle as them. Equally useful, equally disposable, equally biased, equally ignorant, and equally foolish. 

I mean, how could she be anyway else?

Her future

Belabog was just as important for Topaz’s development as she was to it.

She was wrong. 

As stubborn as Topaz is, she is not arrogant, and when Bronya proved to her that the people of Belabog can and would fight for their future, Topaz did everything in her power to help them.

As that’s what she really cares about, people. 

I think Topaz the determination she has in Bronya and it shook her to her core. 

Because so far, the only way Topaz has seen real progress is from the hands of the IPC.

But Bronya doesn’t give into them, and she puts everything she has into saving her people. Moreover, Jarilo-VI follows the Preservation as well, but they don’t agree with the IPC’s method of it. 

Is the IPC wrong?

That is the question Topaz is faced with, what is the thing she has to grapple with once she leaves the planet. When they demote her for not getting the debt back immediately, does Topaz wonder why they were so concerned about that in the first place? Shouldn’t they be happy that a world blessed by their very own deity managed to pick itself up without their help? Isn’t that the point?

Does she think back to her previous projects, the planets she saved and the planets she failed, and wonder how it would have worked out without the IPCs involvement? 

Did Aventurine teasing her about “failing” the Jarilo-VI project confuse her, because they were still saved like Topaz wanted them to be in the first place? How could they ever be considered a failure?

She believes debts and payback are what holds planets together, but it only ever seemed to cause Belabog to fall apart.

This is the first time Topaz really is forced to reevaluate her priorities, to question if her methods are justifiable, if she’s really doing the right thing.

Belabog didn’t break her, it didn’t topple her worldview and turn everything on its head, but it did plant some seeds of doubt in her brain, seeds of doubt that will grow into a new mindset. 

HOYOVERSE IF YOU ARE LISTENING HOYOVERSE, GIVE HER THE MENTAL BREAKDOWN + PRIORITY REEVALUATION ARC SHE DESERVES!!! DO THAT AND MY LIFE IS YOURS PLEASE.

Like you don’t get it you don’t get it what do you mean they set all this up and they might not go anywhere with it. Please hoyo please please please let her break away from the IPC’s condition and warped perspective, please let her truly follow the Preservation, please make her turn away from them, please make her an emanator of Preservation after she does this. Topaz stoneheart form, Topaz emanator form. Please please please let her save the crew let her save her subordinates let her save the people she failed previously let her save Aventurine and Ratio let her save Numby let her save herself.

Her instability 

I have already somewhat touched on this in point #3, but Topaz just cannot exist in the state she is now permanently.

Like a radioactive element she’s going to slowly decay over time until she ends up in a more stable form, and who that will hurt in the process, and how long that will take, we will have to see.

Hypocrisy is not something that can exist for long within characters, as due to its inherent contradictions, it messes with the way they are characterized until they are eventually forced to either eliminate it themselves or have the story do it for them.

Topaz is a hypocrite, desiring to do good and help people, but she ends up hurting them in the process. 

However, she has only just begun to realize this, and as more and more of the IPC’s atrocities get revealed, it gets harder and harder for both the audience and her herself to justify her behavior as we witness the extent of their crimes.

So how has she remained this stable for so long?

Well, the IPC has done everything in their power to keep her that way. From a young age she was involved with them, as they not only saved her planet, but her only known parental figure worked in the Strategic Investment Department. Soon, he recommended her to Jade due to Topaz’s exceptional talent, and presumably the other Stoneheart quickly picked her up and took her under her wing, causing Jelena to rise fast within the ranks and become one herself.

The IPC has been Topaz’s only frame of reference for how things should be done, her only perspective on write and wrong for so long. The only hints she gets of other points of view are that of the people who destroyed her planet, her own people. Unintentional or not, Topaz has been made to feel her whole life like the IPC are heroes and the common people are foolish and greedy and evil, and only now has that worldview started to crumble piece by piece.

Sure, we have always known how terrible the IPC was, a perception that has only gotten more and more true over time. However, Topaz is not the audience, and in universe the IPC presents themselves in a very positive light.

Think of the Myriad Celestia trailer and how it portrays the IPC; that’s quite literally how they want to be viewed in game, how they market themselves to other people. If Topaz has only ever known them to be that great, shining, progressive company who vows to follow the Preservation and improve the universe, how could even begin to criticize them? After all, she had never known any other perspective. Even when she did fail in the past, Topaz viewed it as a strike on her own record and an unfortunate situation in general, not as a demonstration of the IPC’s misdeeds. 

The IPC is good, the IPC saves people, the IPC follows the Preservation, Topaz is a good person, Topaz does good things, Topaz helps people, Topaz saves people, there is nothing wrong, there won’t ever be anything wrong.

Until Belabog

They don’t want to cooperate with the IPC. To roll over and let themselves be gutted for all they are worth. 

Well that’s fine, that’s happened before, at least that’s how Topaz justifies it to herself. She thinks of their massive debt, it must be paid after all, otherwise how could the galaxy remain stable?

But the weapons the IPC gave Jarilo-VI were never used in its defense. The thing they owe the IPC for never ended up being valuable. Belabog stood on its own, without the help of IPC in its defense.

They saved themselves.

As if it couldn’t get worse, they did it with the power of the Preservation.

And it didn’t come from the IPC, it came from them.

The Interastral Peace Corporation, who claim to be followers of the Preservation, standing against people who really do have their blessing and being proved wrong.

Do you know how that would feel to Topaz.

She’s wrong, and she’s proven wrong by the very deity she claims to follow, she believes she follows.

So Topaz makes her choice.

Stick with the IPC’s plan, or stand with the people of Belabog 

And she stands with them.

Topaz’s character never changes. I hate when people act like she switched up on them and changed her whole worldview, but in reality that was the most in character thing Topaz has ever done in her entire life.

Because she cares about people, so when the opportunity presents itself, she will always stand with them. 

This is the first time Topaz goes against the IPC’s wishes, and it won’t be the last.

She made her choice, she demonstrated who and what she truly cares about, and that will only drive a wedge between her and the IPC further and further until she snaps.

I find it funny how Topaz is a fire type character, when the song core to Belabog’s themes is “Wildfire” 

However, maybe it isn’t just about them. I think it’s about the Preservation, about what the game in general is trying to tell its players.

How fighting for your right to exist will hurt, but it is not impossible, and that pain will be the only way to enact change.

Well, Topaz,

you made your choice

go fight against your fate 

Thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed making this and I hope you at least understand why I think Topaz is such a compelling character. I need an arc centered on her in the future and if I don’t get one then trust me things will be dealt with. She will get her just desserts.

[gatitties]

Web of love

─Yandere!Jujutsu Kaisen x fem!reader (platonic)

─Summary: your worst night followed by a wonderful day, are you slowly going crazy? Maybe, but you'll get out of here no matter what

─Warnings: blood, self-harm, anxiety attack, hallucinations, obsession, toxic behaviors, stalking, yandere stuff

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

The blank pages: Part One / Par Two

YOU TRY to control your shaky breathing, no one would take away the poor quality of sleep you had at this point in your life, but having nightmares right now was the last straw that broke your patience.

You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, your face was slightly wet because you needed to splash yourself to clear your thoughs, the cold water didn't help much anyway, you slapped your cheeks with moderate force hoping the feeling of mental numbness would go away, but again it didn't work.

"What the hell is wrong with me…?"

You touched your right cheek, slightly red from the previous blow, focusing your gaze on the reflection of the sink mirror, you were a complete disgust, never, not even in your worst period of exams, had you seen yourself so emaciated, the dark circles and bags under your eyes, the lack of color in your face, your frizzy hair, its lack or decrease, bloodshot eyes… you could continue to despise yourself while you stare at your reflection for hours, bringing out each of your flaws.

But there was one that bothered you beyond your appearance, your lack of emotions, your lack of thoughts, you refused to show anything other than a blank expression to those people who ruined your life, you refused to have to think complex things while they took care of everything, not being able to do anything on your own you began to stop complicating your life by thinking about solutions.

Who were you? What were your goals? Your tastes? When did your memories start to become blurry? When was the last time you really smiled? Were you real? Or just a corporeal desire of psychopaths eager to have something precious to protect? Since when was everything so gray, so monotonous? Did you still consider yourself a person with rights and freedom? When did you start accepting this?

"Hey… Hey!"

Focusing your lost vision again in the mirror, you weren't very surprised that you were hallucinating after having a brain as soft as baby food, it was you, maybe a couple of years younger who was speaking to you through the reflection, your mouth opened but no words came out as if you were a fish out of water.

"What's happening? Is this the future that awaits me? You're pathetic! Look at you… Where the hell is your stupid smile? You used to smile a lot before, why…? Why have I become a puppet?"

Your words mixed with a murmur, feeling how your heart squeezed painfully in your ribcage, your mind deciding to continue the macabre game of your existential crisis, replaying memories with your family and all the warm moments that kept you sane until now. You closed your eyes hoping that the hallucinations would disappear, but you only managed that instead of visuals they were audible, reproducing words of affection from your parents in a loop like torture, the breathing exercises you did before to calm yourself stopped working now, you bit your lip so hard that you ripped off some skin, not enough for you because you started running your nails down your arms, leaving red marks from the friction and force.

"You're better than this, what's all this whining about?! Get up and stop being a coward! You will only drag me into this meaningless future!"

"Shut up…"

"Are you even worth anything? You're so boring, I don't understand how those sorcerers want to protect you."

"Shut up."

"Are you going to cry to sleep like always? You are a disgrace, you are lucky, lucky that someone can love you so much, what would you do without them? They are much better than your own parents, accept it, accept it, they love you unconditionally! Even without knowing who you are or how you feel, even without knowing what your purposes are, they will love you! Accept your desti-"

"I said shut the fuck up! Silence!"

You shook your whole body, holding your head, you hit it a couple of times against the wall, so hard that even a couple of tiles fell off, a few drops of blood fell from your head, but you didn't care, the voice, your voice, it was gone, you swallowed your own poison, locking your inner, dark thoughts deep in your brain.

Your mind continued numb for a couple more minutes where all you could hear was a faint sound of static and a constant beeping, but it was more calming than having to listen to your own voice in that twisted way. Getting up once you calmed down a little, your reflection returned to normal, you splashed your face with cold water again, cleaning the blood on your head, nails and lip, taking one last look at your pitiful person, with your head still full of unknowns.

"Why is this happening to me?"

You rub your eyes tiredly, cleaning up the mess you had made, you decide to lie down on the cold bed once more, tucking yourself in and looking at the ceiling waiting for your body to magically disintegrate into ashes, too pretty to be real, when you realize the rays of light make your eyes hurt and sting, one more sleepless night, a new day awaits.

Faking and ignoring your nighttime crisis you get up to do your morning routine, being greeted by an overly cheerful Nobara as you passes through the dining room to look for some breakfast, you couldn't say the same for Megumi, who looked much more tense than normal, you didn't know where the others were but you didn't care much either, and Nobara and Megumi didn't say anything about your appearance, whether they noticed it or not, you're just glad they decided not to ask anything.

"You look like you've experienced the worst existential crisis of your life."

You spit out what you were drinking when you heard Maki just enter, from her appearance you could tell that she had gone out for a run early in the morning, Toge and Panda followed behind her, everything fell into a silence that was too uncomfortable for you because they stared at you carefully, completely ruining your efforts to hide your bad appearance.

"Just a bad dream…?"

You mumbled, avoiding everyone's gaze, Toge approached you, patting you on the head as if that would help you, although it was the most comforting thing you felt this week, it didn't feel as forced as other interactions.

To your relief, everyone continued with their things, while you ignored what they were talking about and continued eating breakfast, their talk became louder than usual, you frowned at this, deciding to listen lightly to the conversation, you froze when you remembered what they were talking about, the Kyoto school exchange, even though you didn't sign up for that stupid ceremony, as a student you had to, at the very least, be present, but you knew that a large concentration of sorcerers would only cause you more problems than solutions.

You knew why Megumi seemed so tense when the other students showed up, they didn't seem to have a very friendly relationship, they all seemed quite focused on the rivalry between high schools, which made you happy since the focus of attention wasn't on you, but rather in Itadori since he seemed to be targeted by the Kyoto school just for being Sukuna's vessel. The bad thing was that you had to stay in the teachers' room, with Gojo and a couple of other guys, the good thing was that you fell in love, Utahime was your spirit animal, definitely someone to admire just for her hatred of Gojo.

"So, why don't you want to compete? I can tell that you have quite a bit of accumulated cursed energy."

"Aww, meeting my favorite student? Well that's a delicate topic she doesn't-"

"I'm not talking to you, shut up."

You smiled internally when you saw Gojo's kicked dog expression, who didn't even let you talk to Utahime, she looked at you again, completely ignoring the albino's presence, it was, the first time since you arrived here that you felt like you were having a normal conversation with someone outside your life, someone disinterested in your protection, it was the most real interaction you had since then and it had to be ruined, not by Gojo, not by any student… curses, a planned attack, a lot of chaos was caused that you barely understood.

"Don't fight and don't try anything weird, although I'll know anyway, stay safe!"

It was the last thing Gojo said to you before leaving with the others to see what was happening outside, you couldn't have cared less about his words, and although locking you in your room was the main idea, your wires got crossed with your little sanity, if everyone was distracted by a greater evil you could use that to your advantage.

Since both sorcerers and curses were completely absorbed in their stupid fight, you used that to go outside, first it was a couple of meters, you didn't notice anyone, the capsule didn't stop you from leaving, so you walked further away, elated by your minimal achievement, you started running as fast as you could, reaching the busy streets of the city, smart enough not to go near the places Nanami frequented.

It had been a long time since your heart had been beating like this, so wild that you thought it might come out of your throat, you coughed for air once you stopped in a park, collapsing on the ground, you lied there, you laughed like a crazy person, some tears escaping of your eyes as you looked at the sky brighter than ever. You couldn't believe it, you were alone, with no one watching, you could feel all the positive emotions hitting you, there were so many sensations that you didn't know how to feel, but definitely much more relieved.

The smile on your face was indelible, you were happy, the world at this moment was painted in much more vibrant tones, the palette stopped being a constant tone of gray, you smiled at children, the elderly, you caressed animals, you bought a few flowers and then randomly give them to some people, completely in a bubble of happiness.

Although the bubble had to burst at some point, whether due to your subconscious or the pass of time, you knew that your sudden disappearance would only cause more of a stir, you wish you were left for dead, but you know those sons of bitches wouldn't have that in mind unless they saw your death with their own eyes or found your inert body.

Using your last moments of happiness, you decided to treat yourself to some of your favorite sweets, saying goodbye to the clerk who served you with one of your best smiles, you took the long way to the jujutsu high school, hoping to delay your reunion with your "loved ones" as long as possible.

"Stop there! Aren't you the missing girl? You've given us an incredible headache, come on, I'll take you back."

Someone you hadn't bothered to meet grabbed your wrist, pulling you without even waiting for you to react, analyzing her appearance, she was quite similar to Maki, maybe a family member.

"What a pity, sorry for the headache, but can you let me go? I know the way Maki number two."

At this moment the least you wanted was a confrontation, but your mood had not completely dropped, although now you were a little more upset than happy, your emotions overflowed, causing you to be a more sarcastic and sassy version of yourself.

Mai stopped instantly when she was called Maki number two, you had definitely found her weak spot, which turned into a passive-aggressive chat between the two of you, you would have been angry, but you couldn't be angry when you enjoyed the criticism you were giving each other, honestly it improved your day and you felt more human than before.

"Oh thank goodness you're fine! I thought those dirty curses had kidnapped you!"

Nobara didn't waste a second in hugging you as soon as she saw you, Itadori following her a second later, you assured them that you were okay not wanting everyone to crowd around you as the others also wanted to ask where you had been and why you disappeared when they were under stroke.

You drowned out the emotions you poured out during the day, swallowing everything, turning your expression blank as you felt Gojo's powerful gaze on you, everything calmed down for the next few minutes, the two schools finished the meeting and the Kyoto students left, before that you decided to exchange phones with Utahime.

Once you got rid of your companions, you locked in your room, unlike many other nights, you threw yourself on the bed, grabbing a cushion and screaming as if you were one of those teenagers in love in those saccharine series, you moved your legs in the air by pressing the cushion tighter between your arms. Changing your posture, you looked up at the ceiling just like the night before, with the big difference that now you couldn't contain your emotions, you giggled, biting your lip lightly, not noticing the wound you got earlier.

You saw it, you saw light at the end of the tunnel, ─not that way of course─, you saw how a door opened before your eyes, a new opportunity to free yourself from the chains that kept you captive with all these psychopaths, experience freedom after so much time made you delirious, made you imagine that you could get rid of them, that they would leave you alone, even if it was risky, your only option was to escape, run away from everything and everyone without thinking twice, without thinking about what can happen in the future, you would give everything to re-experience what you felt today when you ran away.

You sighed dreamily as you remembered the feeling of freedom, closing your eyes, not worrying about whether you were going to be able to fall asleep today or have another boring game of chess, oblivious to the blue eyes that watched from your window.

"It seems like someone is in her rebellious stage, maybe she need some restrictions…"

He muttered, unhappy with your disobedience but excited to see you happy, he didn't think he would see it so soon, your smile was beautiful just the way it was and you decided to hide it like that for them? They were only worried about you, why did you have to keep all that to yourself? They wanted to be part of your happiness, couldn't you understand it? Well, they will make you understand it no matter what.

Once he made sure that your breathing was stable, he entered your room, kissed your forehead like every night, only this time he sat next to you, caressing your head slowly, observing how, even while asleep, your silly smile was still painted on your face, the flash of his phone made you frown slightly, but you didn't wake up.

"I hope you rest well today, I'm sorry for not helping you the night before, but if I had come in you would hate me more, wouldn't you?"

He said to himself, closing the door slowly, giving you one last look before leaving, he sent the photo to the group chat he had with his students, reviewing the last photos where any of the four were able to capture something more emotion than indifference. Just like you, the small display of emotions only opened another door for them, that small display of freedom for you and emotions for them, was simply another trigger for your problems, after all, the more you move, the more you get tangled in the web.

[bigification]

Corporate

John had coasted through his twenties like he thought everyone did. He got a quick degree in business and spent the next ten years traveling, partying, and fucking... A lot. His parents let him do whatever he wanted as long as he got a degree, they didn't say anything about using the degree.

He excused his behavior because every other rich white guy he partied with was doing the same thing. He had never even had an extended conversation with someone outside of the 1 percent, and it showed.

Hey, I mean at least he was really good at the one thing he did. To the point that he wouldn't remember most nights, only waking up with women's clothes in his bed. He would start swinging his massive dick around as soon as he got drunk and it wouldn't take long for someone to drag him to bed.

But it couldn't last forever. 30 came faster than he thought and it hit him like a truck. He couldn't drink like he used to, he couldn't party as hard as wanted to. His hairline was starting to recede and his six pack was disappearing under what would soon be a small beer belly. There were starting to be consequences for his actions. And as if it couldn't get any worse for poor John, his parents let him know what his birthday present was for this year. Every year prior had been something extravagant like a yacht or a sports car, so he was really looking forward to the big gift to make 30 not seem so bad.

Two weeks before his birthday, John received a text saying that his parents would take away his generous allowance if he didn't get a job by the time he was 30. His heart skipped a beat, he thought it was some big joke. He thought back to the times his parents had asked him to get a job before but he never thought they were serious. Though they did ask a lot now that he's thinking of it, and they didn't sound like they were joking.

John texted back, "haha, but seriously what is it?" Hoping they would back off and he could go back to being the old guy at all the yacht parties he threw. But they put their put down this time, threatening his 200k a month allowance and his present he was expecting for his birthday.

One week of the adult equivalent of kicking and screaming later, John gives in. Now he only has one week before it starts to cut into his allowance. He scrambled to make a shitty resume, assuming a business degree would get him any job he wanted.

He nervously clicked on a link his dad sent him to a company that works under his father's business. He submitted his resume and waited. It didn't take long for him to get a response and John patted himself on the back for making such a good resume. Although they obviously never even opened the resume, just going off of his father's recommendation.

He set up an interview for just before his birthday, and continued to party like he was still 20. He woke up the day of the interview, hungover and still wearing his disgusting clothes from the night before. He was nearly falling asleep at the wheel as he hadn't woken up before noon in ages, 10 am was such a ridiculous time to set an interview.

He stumbled into the expensive looking building and stood in front of reception.

"How can I help you?" The young lady behind the counter asked.

"Ugh... Yeah I could think of a few ways you could help me." John winked and gave a lazy smile.

"Sir, if you don't have any business here, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The lady raised her voice, trying to hide her discomfort.

"Whatever, I'm here for an interview."

"What's your name?"

"John Fitzgerald."

The lady looked up for a moment, recognizing the name. She shook her head in disappointment as she grabbed the phone to call that he had arrived... only thirty minutes late.

A few moments later, an older man in a tailored suit approached the front desk. He walked right past John and asked the receptionist to point him in the direction of John. The lady looked over at John and raised her eyebrows to suggest he was right there. The older man turned and put on a fake smile to hide his disapproval.

"Follow me." The man put on a cheap up beat voice.

The man walked him down to a private office and opened a closet. He grabbed a dress shirt and black dress pants and basically shoved into John's chest.

"No man that respects himself wears those clothes to an interview, put these on." He let his anger slip through a bit.

"Wait really!?" John seemed perplexed. He thought he would answer a few questions about what he liked to do and that would be it.

"Yes, go on."

John sheepishly took off his shirt, revealing the small belly that had grown over his abs. It even bounced a bit as he pulled off his shirt. He then pulled down his pants to reveal his batman boxers that did nothing hide the massive bulge between his legs.

He slipped on the dress shirt, letting it spill to his knees like a dress. Then he pulled up the dress pants and held them at his waist. They were nearly 10 inches too long around the waist, and 5 inches too short, making them ride up his calves.

"They're too big!" John complained.

The man scoffed and grabbed a belt from the closet. Though the belt was also too big, leaving John still holding up the pants.

"They're still too big!" John whined.

"Oh just shut up. How long is this supposed to take." The old man looked impatiently at his watch.

"How long is wha-" John began to ask before pausing briefly, followed by a loud burp that seemed to make the room tremble.

John tried to talk but couldn't. He felt slow and groggy, more than he had before. The only noises he could muster were grunts as a warm feeling filled his stomach. Suddenly his hips thrusted forward and he let out a grunt. John looked down in horror as a sizable beer belly was now hiding under his oversized shirt. His hips thrusted again and his belly had doubled in size, making him look pregnant. One more thrust and a loud grunt and his fat gut doubled in size once more. It bounced up and down as it filled all the room in his massive shirt, finally drooping over his waistband.

John wanted to scream, but he couldn't. The only noises that came from his mouth were moans and grunts that sounded more and more sexual the more his body changed.

His sides soon followed, growing thick love handles that widened his once skinny frame, even spreading to his lower back. His chest puffed forward as his pecs disappeared under a thick layer of fat. His soft man tits finally rested on his gut, pushing up against his shirt and making them impossible to miss.

John looked up in desperation at the older man that stood before him, but he was just staring at his watch. Though he noticed something strange. He was looking up at the man, when he could have sworn that he looked down on him when he first met him. He took pride in his height, so he would have remembered being shorter than him.

This time his body thrusted backwards, making him nearly fall with his new center of gravity. With each thrust he felt the pants get tighter and tighter until his cheeks filled out all of the room in those size 42 pants. At least he didn't have to hold them up anymore. His thighs then thickened into fat tree trunks, permanently rubbing together and squishing his dick in between. Though that last part wouldn't last long, while his ever growing fat pad swallowed inches of his dick, it began to shrink as well. He felt it recede into his soft fat pad, now only having the tip peaking out of his fat. He stuffed his hand between his meaty thighs to try and find it but it wasn't there.

John then felt pressure building up around his feet until a loud POP rang through the office. He looked down to see what happened but it was blocked by his massive gut. Though the feeling of his bare feet on the ground suggested that his feet burst out of his shoes.

His arms began to twitch fat filled them like sausages, making them drop under their own weight. His hands also doubled in size as his fingers started to look thickened. He wanted to react, but it was starting to get hard to remember what he was texting to. All he could think about was finance.

Finally his face began to change. His young and spy look got covered in soft fat and wrinkles, aging him up at least 10 years. His hairline receded as thick sideburns covered his nonexistent jawline and his stubble formed a prominent mustache and goatee combo.

John let out a loud burp as his stomach grumbled. He grunted a few more times as he desperately tried to reach his crotch, but he was unsuccessful. He noticed his boss in front of him and tilted his head back to make eye contact with the man that is now much taller than him.

"What are we doing in your office boss?" John asked.

"Oh, you just had a wardrobe malfunction that's all." The boss said as he passed John a pair of shoes and a tie. "It's on the house since you've been such a good employee the last 10 years. I certainly don't mind getting you bigger clothes when you outgrow your current ones."

John panted and grunted trying to get his shoes on, he wasn't used to the extra padding all over his body. Despite that, he knows that he has been quite fat for many years now as memories of the last 10 years of his life flood in.

"Can't forget the wedding ring." The boss said as he slipped a nice ring into John's hand. "I just love that husband of yours, he is such a great cook. No wonder you gained so much weight after your marriage. It's almost like he got you pregnant." The boss chuckled.

John's face went blank as the memories of him coming out in his thirties and marrying the man that he loves. And he remembers the positive pregnancy test he had just before his 40th birthday.

"Oh my god, you are pregnant!" The boss shouted then covered his mouth. "Your secret's safe with me. Oh and also, I'll order some massive clothes for ya so you won't have to worry about it big guy." The boss said quietly as John left his office.

[lvis44]

Freak Like That // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: SMUT 18+ (Minors DNI), Angst, Kind of Cheating? (depends on how you look at it), Unprotected Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Alcohol, Not Edited/Proofread

Word Count: 8.9k+

Summary: Seeing him again shouldn't be as hard as it is, but the universe has funny ways of making sure you end up back in his arms.

Notes: I'm aware I said this was coming like 3 weeks ago but your girl has her first corporate job that has been much more demanding week by week so I've been busy!! I toyed with turning this into more of a fic so if you're interested in a pt.2 of them LMK. Sweet Escape Epilogue is still on its way but has turned into a bit of a stand alone fic within a chapter, don't hate me, or maybe you'll love me for it. I didn't proofread this and wrote part of it while I was a tad bit drunk, oopsie! Love you all!

I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy! xxx

It had taken everything in you to move on from Lewis. You had done everything in your power to forget him, how he felt, how good he was to you, but the thought of him always lingered. You would have been a fool to ever think that anything could ever truly happen between the two of you, you were mature enough to know it was always just sex, it would always be just sex. That didn’t mean you never fantasized about how it would feel to be loved by him. It was never a relationship between the two of you, there was never any commitment from him. He had been more of a fuck buddy, a sugar daddy in many senses. He was older than you, detached, and loved to shower you with gifts. You only ever had his attention in private, and when you did he made you see stars. Lewis had always managed to unlock something within you that you didn’t know existed, bringing alive senses you’d never felt. He taught you things about your body and needs that you had been so naive to. No one had ever been able to compare to him. Parting from him had been one of the most difficult tasks you had ever been faced with, but you knew the agreement between the two of you wasn’t sustainable, you were only ever destined for heartbreak if you continued with him. You had done so well for the last year, ignoring his texts, doing your best to avoid his heavy presence online. Him being in the same room as you however, was something that you were not prepared for. He looked ethereal, his beige suit jacket showing off just a peak of his chest, enough to force the images back into your head, his tattoos glistening above you as he wears you out. He has one braid hanging perfectly in front of his face, all you can think of is how his braids felt tickling your neck when he would pant dirty words into your sticky skin.

“Y/N? You okay darling?” The voice that came from beside you startled you. When you looked to your side, your boyfriend was looking at you with concern written all over his face.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, sorry about that, just zoned out for a second.” You try to fake laugh it off, not wanting him to pry.

He continues to look suspicious but doesn’t press any further, instead seamlessly transitioning into a conversation with one of the businessmen standing with him. You find your attention returning back to where Lewis had stood, his attention now fully on you. His smirk is knowing as he drags his eyes shamelessly up and down your body. You have to use every ounce of power in yourself to pull your eyes away from him as one of your boyfriends business partners directs a question to you. You put your fake smile on, engaging in boring conversation as you do your best to ignore the strong presence that is Lewis. You had been worried that one day you would run into him, your boyfriend working in the fashion industry made it almost inevitable.

You managed to stay relatively strong throughout the night, the champagne helping immensely. Lewis had disappeared into the crowd and you had done your absolute best not to look for him. You spent your evening tailing behind your boyfriend, being introduced to random men that you assumed worked in the same circles as him. Your boyfriend kept his hand on your lower back throughout most of the night, the only acknowledgement that you were even really there. He was a fine man, he had taken his time winning you over, taken you on romantic dates, but the spark still wasn’t there, and the arguments were becoming more and more frequent. You knew he cared about you, treated you well, but he was simply the safest option, and he was getting sick of your lack of interest in his work. You were growing increasingly tired of being his arm candy, using you to show off to his business partners. The intimacy lacked passion, nothing matched the raw passion you had with Lewis once upon a time. It wasn’t fair to compare him to Lewis, he was actually there to be your partner, not just a fun time, but it was almost impossible. 

“There’s only a few more people I need to talk to and then I promise we can go.” Your boyfriend whispered into your ear. You couldn’t wait to get out of your heels and be in a quiet room, away from the people faking sincerity in hopes of investments and business opportunities.

You grab another glass of champagne as your boyfriend orders an Old Fashion before once again pulling you along through the crowd of people, evidently in search of someone.

“Ah, there he is.” You hear him exclaim, not yet able to see who he’s approaching.

When you come out from behind him you want to scream, he has approached Lewis, completely unaware of the situation he has just put you in.

“It’s so fantastic to meet you, I’m Brian, we work with a lot of the same people around here. It’s an honor, I’m a big fan.” Your boyfriend extends his hand to Lewis eagerly.

You can’t help but be confused, your boyfriend has never once mentioned racing, you can only assume he’s a fan of his work in fashion, or he’s lying.

“Nice to meet you too,” Lewis responds politely with a small chuckle, returning the handshake before turning his attention to you, “and always wonderful to see you Y/N.”

You want to melt into the earth below you. You can see the devious look in his eyes, blatantly announcing your familiarity, you thank god your boyfriend doesn’t know the depth of familiarity you have with the man in front of you, not yet at least.

“You two know each other?” Your boyfriend asks, confusion covering his face. 

“Oh yeah, we know each other well. Y/N hasn’t told you?” Lewis continues, a wide smile across his beautiful lips. To anyone else it would look kind and genuine, but you know he’s playing at something else, daring you, challenging your boyfriend in the simplest of ways.

“No she’s never-“ Your boyfriend starts before you cut him off.

“I wouldn’t say we know each other well, we’ve just met at things like this before.” You rush out, it’s not entirely a lie, that is exactly how you first met him. Your boyfriend doesn’t need to know the rest.

Lewis sends you a smirk, cocky and mischievous.

“All I can say man is you landed a very talented woman.” Lewis says to your boyfriend, the words falling off his lips in such a tone that your stomach flips.

“She is pretty incredible.” Your boyfriend smiles at you, wrapping his arm around your waist, completely oblivious to the meaning behind Lewis’ words. You can see out of the corner of your eye how Lewis glances down at the action, his jaw tightening momentarily.

Your boyfriend is on a mission, immediately transitioning into talking business with Lewis. You do your best not to undress him with your eyes, opting to look down at his feet throughout most of the conversation. You can feel Lewis glance at you every once in a while, trying so hard to ignore the way his gaze makes you feel. As you hear someone calling your boyfriends name you think you are finally free from the situation.

“So sorry, it sounds like I’m needed elsewhere, it was truly great meeting you, it was an honor.” Your boyfriend says to Lewis, shaking his hand once again before turning to you. You're ready to follow after him, happy to be dragged into yet another boring conversation, “Why don’t you stay here and catch up for a moment, I’ll find you later.”

He doesn’t give you even a moment to object as he presses a kiss to your temple and quickly makes his exit. You both watch as your boyfriend walks away, you in fear of the situation he’s left you in, Lewis in excitement of the exact same thing.

“Soooo,” Lewis draws out, finally looking directly at you, “how have you been?”

“Seriously?” You bite at him, unamused by his behavior.

He just shrugs, taking a sip of his drink, the glass barely hiding his amused smirk.

“What the hell was that? There’s no reason he needs to know anything.” You say, your tone low and harsh.

He just laughs, “There’s no way youre fucking that dude. I doubt that square can make you cum. Not the way I did.”

“Lewis,” You hiss at him, looking around hoping no one heard him, “he’s good to me, leave him alone.”

“So I’m right, he can’t make you cum can he.” His words come out as a statement not a question, so confident in himself, in his knowledge of your needs.

“Untrue, he’s perfectly fine, and he offers so much more than you ever did.” You throw back at him, not happy at his assessment of your relationship, he has no right to assume anything. Even if he’s partially correct.

“He might not break your heart baby, but I doubt he can break your back the way I did.” He’s gotten closer to you, his voice lower, seductive.

You can feel your breath hitch, the familiar smell of him engulfing your senses, his words going to your core unwillingly. He notices it too, the tip of his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. All you can think about is how that same tongue has felt in your mouth, all over your body, inside of you, so many times. He chuckles as he watches you get lost in thought, knowing exactly where your mind has wandered.

“He’s gonna be busy for a while, we could relive some old times.” Lewis says quietly, his head gesturing back toward the hall where the bathrooms are.

“Lewis, no.” You say against your will, desperately wanting to follow him mindlessly down the hall and let him have his way with you, but you can’t let yourself do it to your boyfriend.

“Offer stands, always, ya know when you finally get sick of him.” Lewis says casually.

Within moments your boyfriend has appeared at your side once again. You worry that he’s heard something but he seems unbothered, unaware of what you were just offered.

“Vance and I are going to go grab drinks down the street, talk about the contract somewhere a little quieter.” He says to you, ignoring Lewis entirely.

You sigh, realizing just how much longer your night had just gotten, “I really just want to head back to the hotel.”

“Really? You know these meetings always go better when you’re around. You take the focus off of me.” He half complains half laughs.

“We’ve been here forever babe, I really just want to get out of my dress.” You say softly, trying to get out of the boring boys club meeting.

“You’ll be fine, besides how would you even get back to the hotel? I need to have the car take Vance and I and you’re never going to find a cab with all of this going on.” He gestures back towards that large party, his voice starting to sound annoyed.

“I’ll figure something out, I really just want to go back to the hotel, the day has been long enough as is.” You sigh, hoping he lets it go.

“C'mon babe, we’re supposed to be a team.” He continues to try to convince you. 

Never have you been part of his business ventures, only the arm candy that he  brings to meetings when he is trying to show off to someone.

“And we are, I’m just not up to staying out so late tonight.” You say, growing agitated, embarrassed that this conversation is happening in front of Lewis.

“We won’t be out late.” Your boyfriend continues to argue, “And how are you even going to get to the hotel?”

“I’ve got a car coming in just a little bit, I’ll get her back.” Lewis pipes up before you can respond, not looking at you but directing his attention to your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend lets out a frustrated huff before conceding.

“That would be great, I appreciate it man.” Your boyfriend agrees without asking you, shaking Lewis’ hand.

“Anytime, don’t worry, she’ll be well taken care of.” The smile on Lewis’ face is so sweet you could almost believe he is just being polite.

Your boyfriend doesn’t even say another word to you, walking away toward his business partners after patting you on the shoulder.

“He evidently trusts you.” Lewis says, raising his eyebrow at you.

“He has absolutely no reason not to.” You fire back at him, feeling defensive.

“Come on, let’s go get a drink.” Lewis ignores you, wiggling his now empty drink in the air. 

“I thought your car was going to be here in a second.” You say, raising an accusatory brow at him as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I said it would be here in a little bit,” Lewis starts, taking note of your eye roll at his words, “It will be fine, I’ll have you back before Prince Charming gets his drunk ass back to your room.”

“He’s not drunk.” You defend him unnecessarily, making Lewis laugh.

“If he’s getting drinks with Vance, he definitely will be by the time he’s back. Come have a drink with me, I’ve missed you.” Lewis shakes his head, evidently familiar with the man your boyfriend is getting drinks with.

“You’ve missed me?” The words come out of your mouth without meaning to, you’re genuinely surprised he’s even thought of you since you parted ways.

“Yes, of course I have,” He laughs, directing you toward the bar, “I always enjoyed myself with you. I still don’t get why you left.” His voice sounds vulnerable as he lets the last bit slip.

“You know exactly why I left.” You say, mindlessly following him to the bar against your better judgment.

“No I really don’t, you never really gave me an explanation. You just disappeared.” Lewis argues with you, keeping his voice low as he directs you onto a bar stool.

“Lewis, we both know nothing about what we were doing was sustainable. There’s no way you could have ever given me what I need.” You sigh, not wanting to have this conversation, especially not in public.

“And what is it that you need? Some guy that can’t satisfy you? You’re really trying to tell me that you’re happier with him than you were with me?” Lewis continues to push you, waving down the bartender.

“Lewis, I was never with you, and besides that, you have no idea what our relationship is like.” You defend yourself, not directly answering him.

“I think I saw enough to know that you’re not having fun.” Lewis shoots back at you, waiting for the bartender to make his way over to the two of you.

“It’s not about fun, it’s about stability.” You say, trying to stand your ground.

“You deserve both.” Lewis mumbles as the bartender appears in front of you.

Lewis orders for you, not needing to ask what you want, confident in his prior experience with you.

Your mind wanders back to the rare times that you would go out in public with him, hidden in the back corner of dive bars. The two of you getting tipsy off of shitty drinks before falling into bed together. It was rare times like those that made you fantasize about actually being in a relationship with him, dream about what your life would be like with him giggling through kisses as a permanent fixture.

“What have you been up to?” Lewis pulls you out of your thoughts, thankfully changing the subject.

“Just the usual, not much has changed.” You shrug, taking a sip of the drink in front of you.

“Descriptive,” Lewis teases you, “nothing new? How’d you meet your square?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “You really want to talk about my boyfriend?”

“I need to know what I’m up against.” Lewis shrugs as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re not up against anything because it’s not a competition.” You deadpan, annoyed with his confidence.

“Everything’s a competition babe, that’s life.” Lewis laughs, taking a sip of his drink,

You can’t help the way your stomach flips at the familiar pet name, it’s been so long since you’ve heard it fall off his lips, it came so naturally to him.

Somehow you find yourself engaged in a normal conversation with Lewis eventually, discussing his race season and other projects he’s been working on. You’ve always loved to hear him talk about the things he’s passionate about, easily getting lost in his words. You stay with him, enjoying the shockingly easy conversation, indulging in more drinks than you should. It’s not until you see him check his watch do you think about how much time has probably passed.

“So is your car here yet, or are you planning on holding me hostage?” You ask him, filling the momentary silence.

“Not used to many hostage situations that include free drinks,” Lewis laughs, “but we should probably head out front, car will be here soon.”

“Thank you for the drinks by the way.” You say quietly, sliding off your stool to follow him out of the venue.

He just smiles, no words leaving his mouth as he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you out with him. It doesn’t take long before his car is at the curb, his hand not having left your back as he urges you into the car. Despite the multiple seats available, he settles into the seat directly next to you, his thigh touching yours sending electricity through your whole body. You curse yourself for how simple it is for him to draw a reaction from you. 

“So where’s the square got you staying?” Lewis asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Shut up.” You mumble before giving him directions that he relays to his driver.

There’s a large part of you that’s surprised he seems to actually be taking you back to your hotel, expecting him to try so much more before actually granting you your freedom. You can’t help but be slightly annoyed with your boyfriend for putting you in this position, even if he doesn’t know your history with Lewis, the rumors surrounding him should be enough to keep your girlfriend from being alone with him. Even if your boyfriend trusts you, why does he trust Lewis so much?

The drive is mostly silent. Lewis has his arm up over the back of your seat and as much as you want to fight him on it, push him away, you can’t bring yourself to do so, you enjoy the feeling of being so close to him. His body heat is intoxicating in the worst way, you can’t help but relish in the familiar feeling, so used to being cocooned in his arms. You can tell that you’re getting close to your hotel by the familiar streets, Lewis still scrolling on his phone as if he could care less that you’re sat next to him for the first time in nearly a year. Maybe he’s given up, you think. Maybe he’s finally respecting your boundaries. All of that is thrown to the wind when the car begins to slow down. He scooches even closer to you, his head dropping to your neck.

“My offer always stands, I meant it when I said I miss you.” He whispers in your ear before placing a kiss to your throat.

A small whimper leaves you involuntarily, secretly missing the way that his lips feel on your skin. You can feel a slight smirk on your skin as he pulls away, not far. His face comes up, directly in front of yours, his nose just grazing your own. Everything inside of you is screaming at you to get out of the car and not turn back, but your body is drawn toward him, he can feel it too. One large hand finds your thigh, running up the outside of it, just under the hem of your dress. You relish in the feeling of his calloused fingers on your skin for the first time in far too long. His eyes are heavy as he stares at you, hooded and darkened with lust. He leans forward just the slightest bit, ghosting his lips over yours. When you don’t pull back or fight him, he takes it as a good sign. His grip on your thigh tightens as he leans forward and properly connects your lips. The second his mouth is on yours he lets out a deep groan, one that seems to have been locked inside him for a long time. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, his tongue finding yours mindlessly. His tongue swirls against yours as his other hand comes to find the back of your head, pressing you harder against him. Your hands have a mind of their own, coming up to find the sides of his strong neck, not even thinking, you’ve been in another world since the second his lips found yours. When he finally departs you find yourself chasing his lips, making him peck yours once again.

“Come back to mine, babygirl.” He whispers, out of breath.

You let out a small whimper, your brain clouded by all of the ways you could explore him tonight, let him explore you.

“Yeah?” He coaxes, his head dropping back to your neck, “We can have so much fun babe. Everything you’ve been missing this last year, I promise.”

“Lewis, I can’t,” You just about groan, frustrated but sticking to your guns, “we’ve already crossed too many lines. I can’t do that to him.”

You try to push Lewis away but it’s worthless, his light assault on your neck is welcomed despite your words.

“Yeah, maybe we crossed a line. Why not cross some more? Hmm?” His words are spoken through kisses trailing up your neck and across your jaw, slowly making his way back towards your lips.

“Lew,” You breathe out, pushing at his chest once again, finally he disconnects from you, just barely, “I shouldn’t. I can’t, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s really not fair is it.” Lewis shakes his head, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, a whole different meaning to his words.

“I need to go.” You whisper, moving to get out of the car.

“Hey,” Lewis stops you, a hand on your wrist, “you still have my number, let me know if you change your mind. I’m only a few blocks down.”

You offer him a small smile, not sure how to respond and not able to be in his presence any longer. You slip out of his grasp, closing the door on him as you do. You can feel the heat from where his fingers gripped you, a burning sensation on your skin. You try to shake the sensation from your body as you make your way up to your room. You can hear his car drive away in the background, having to stop yourself from turning around and going back to him. When you arrive back to your room, its empty, your boyfriend nowhere to be found, evidently still out at drinks. You sigh, flopping down onto the mattress. You want to scream. It’s so unbelievably unfair that someone can still have such a hold over you, despite having not seen him in a year. Lewis is addictive, and reintroducing an addictive substance to someone who has just barely become clean is always dangerous.

It’s a few hours before your boyfriend finally returns to the hotel. You’ve long since changed into comfier clothes and are lounging on the bed watching a random show, grateful to finally be out of your heels. When he finally arrives you can tell he’s beyond wasted, just like Lewis had predicted.

“Hey hun.” He slurs, swaying in the hallway as he tries and fails to steady himself.

“Hi,” You giggle, “have a good time with Vance?”

“Yeah,” He laughs back, “woulda had a better time if you had came along though.”

“You look like you had plenty of fun,” You raise a brow at him, “go change and come to bed.”

“I just don’t get why you didn’t want to come, honestly I would have closed that deal so much quicker” He says as he goes into the bathroom 

“I told you I wanted to get back to the hotel, I was tired.” You sigh

“Not too tired to hang out with Lewis Hamilton.” You can hear the anger in his voice and it makes you want to laugh.

“Really? You’re the one who told me to stay and hang out with him, not only that but you trusted him to take me home. How is that my fault?” You’re already annoyed as the words leave your mouth, already frustrated beyond belief in so many ways.

“Jesus Y/N, if I knew getting drinks would put you in such a mood maybe I would have come home sooner.” Your boyfriend says from the bathroom.

You have no idea where his sudden attitude has come from, you refusing going to drinks should not have put him in such a mood.

“I’m not in a mood, I just don’t appreciate you implying that I turned you down just to hang out with Lewis.” You argue as he exits the bathroom, his shirt now off, just in his suit pants.

“I know you didn’t leave that gala for quite some fucking time.” He spits at you drunkenly.

“What are you even talking about?” You ask him, confused how he even knows, not that it should even be an issue.

“You were too tired to come get drinks with me to help me with an important investor but you can stay and have drinks with Lewis Hamilton for another hour?” He accuses you, not taking into account that it’s partially his fault.

“We were waiting for his car so we got a drink,” You defend, “and how do you even know how long we were there?”

“People know you're my girl Y/N. Apparently people find it a bit strange when they see my girlfriend drinking at the bar with one of the most notorious playboys in the game.” His voice is slowly getting louder, putting you even more on edge.

“Oh so you have people keeping tabs on me now?” You question him.

“I don’t need to ask, they just do it. It’s embarrassing Y/N. I don’t need people thinking that my girlfriend is out fucking athletes.” He throws at you, rolling your eyes.

“All that should matter is that you know!” You yell at him.

“Do I?” His voice is laced with venom, a sudden distrust that you’ve never seen from him before.

“Well you certainly fucking should.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“How do you know him?” He ignores your argument, taking a step closer to you.

“I told you.” 

“Yeah you told me how you met him, sure. How do you actually know him, because you seemed to be pretty fucking close.” He fires at you.

Your anger has reached a peak, not wanting to deal with your boyfriends drunken anger, you let the walls down.

“You really want to know how familiar I am with him? Hmm?” You challenge him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He scoffs.

“Yeah, he fucked me for a year straight. Best I ever had.” You shrug, your voice venomous. You have let all of your cares slip away.

“Excuse me?” Your boyfriend is seething, your last comment sticking with him.

“You heard me.” You say, your voice eerily calm. 

“You say that and then expect me to believe you didn’t fuck him tonight? How stupid do you think I am?” He sounds almost amused as he asks the question.

“I could have, oh god I could have, I was this close,” You hold up your fingers to emphasize your point, “but I didn’t. Ya know why? Because I’m in a relationship, I fucking you! I couldn’t do that to you. Yet here you are accusing me of going behind your back. You left me alone with him, you let him take me back to the hotel. Why? So you could prove a point about what you think of me?”

“If you were so close to fucking him, why don’t you go do exactly that?” Your boyfriend just about screams at you.

You’ve never had a fight of this magnitude, especially over something like this. Hearing his distrust and anger makes you rethink everything about him. Your mother always told you that drunk words are sober thoughts and you can’t help but feel that in this moment. In that moment you give up, why even try to convince him to trust you, if he thinks you’re going to cheat on him now why would he ever think differently.

“Fine.” You shrug, your voice calm.

“Seriously?” He’s taken aback, clearly not thinking you would act on it.

“You obviously don’t trust me so why not.” You say, not looking at him as you gather your things. You have no real plan about where you’re going to go, sure you are leaving things behind but not caring, just needing to get out of the room and away from his vile behavior.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re literally proving my point right now, you’ll fuck anyone who gives you attention. I thought I had managed to tame that shit in you.” He spits, watching you pack your things.

“Tame me?” You whip around at his words, “First of all, I’m not a fucking zoo animal. Second of all, if you’ve never trusted me why the fuck are you even here?”

“Jesus, I thought you could be better, you had so much fucking potential.” He sounds remorseful and it makes you want to scream. How dare he think you needed fixing.

“Fuck you, I’m done.” You say, your things finally zipped in your bag as you put on your shoes. 

He’s still yelling things at you as you make your way out of the room, not caring to stick around to hear what other awful things he has to say to you. You don’t properly breathe until you’re in the elevator, finally sure he’s not following you. That’s when you realize you don’t have anywhere to go, a lump forming in your throat as you think of everything that was said. Mindlessly you take out your phone, hesitating for a moment as you look at Lewis’ number, blocked for so long. You unblock him as you step out of the elevator and into the lobby, walking out to the street as you call his number, praying he’s not asleep. Going to him is probably the last thing you should be realistically doing, but he’s the only person you want to see right now.

“Hey stranger, I knew you’d end up calling.” His voice is cocky through the phone, you can hear his smirk.

“Lew.” You croak out, your tears finally coming to the front.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, his tone changing drastically, immediately aware that something isn’t right. 

“You said you were staying nearby, can I come over?” You almost want to laugh at how desperate you sound.

“Of course, I’ll send you a car. Are you still at the hotel?” His voice is laced with concern and care and it makes your tears fall harder. It’s ridiculous that someone who had never been emotionally available could care for you more than your boyfriend.

“I’ll walk, just tell me where you are.” You shake your head as if he can see you.

“Y/N, it’s too late for you to be out walking alone, I’d be worried the whole time. Let me send you a car.” He argues.

“I need the fresh air honestly, just tell me where to go. Please.” Your voice breaks at the end of your plea, convincing him not to argue with you more, he can tell he won’t win.

Against his better judgment he finally tells you where he is, offering to stay on the phone with you while you walk. You’re tempted to take him up on it but you need the time to yourself. You’re still not sure why you feel such a desperate need to see him but it’s all you can think of at the moment.

The walk helps your head immensely, your agony switching to anger. Part of you wishes you had just gone back with Lewis when he offered, you would have proved your boyfriend right and still had a good night. If he doesn’t trust you, why be good for him?

When you arrive at Lewis’ hotel, he’s waiting in the door to his suite for you, his suit from earlier still on. He immediately takes note of your scowl and bag, his eyebrows raising. He doesn’t say a word as he steps aside to let you enter the room.

“That fucking asshole.” You say, dropping your bag as you finally turn to face a very concerned Lewis.

“What happened?” He asks you, cautiously approaching you.

“He doesn’t trust me! I could have come here and fucked you hours ago, but no, I stayed in his room and waited for his drunk ass to get back like a good little housewife. What do I get when he gets back? Accused of fucking you.” You let out in one big breath.

Lewis’ eyes widen, a slightly amused look on his face underneath the concern.

“So he accused you of cheating on him?” He questions, still trying to fully figure out what he’s dealing with.

“Oh not only that, he said he thought that he had tamed me, told me I embarrassed him.” You let out a bitter laugh.

“So he’s a square and a dumbass.” Lewis states with a cock of his head, frowning.

“Oh fuck you.” You spit at him.

“I’m just saying, no man in his right mind would ever be embarrassed by you.” He says softly, approaching you to put his hands on your arms gently, rubbing up and down softly in hopes of calming you somehow.

The gentle action makes you want to cry again, fall into him and never let him go. As if he can tell, he pulls you into his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his neck. You let yourself revel in the feeling of being in his arms, holding you so tight you almost can’t breathe, but you welcome it, you’ve missed it for so long.

“So why are you here baby, to piss him off?” Lewis asks quietly, loosening his grip on you slightly to get you to look at him.

“I don’t even know, I think I just wanted you.” You sigh, embarrassed by how needy you sound.

He smirks, pleased in the knowledge that you may want him in any way shape or form.

“Why the hell are you still dressed up?” You suddenly ask him, confused by how much time has passed since he left the event.

“Had an after party I had to go to, just got back a little while ago.” He shrugs, his arms still wrapped around you.

“So why the hell were you trying to get me to come back with you if you had things you had to do?” You question him.

“If there was any chance in hell you would come back with me I was blowing that party off in a heartbeat, don’t care if I pissed anyone off. Haven’t seen you in ages, couldn’t let the chance slip.” He explains, looking you dead in the eye.

The thought that he would have rather spent his night with you than going out and networking makes your heart clench, it’s something your own boyfriend never would have done, evidently. His admission makes you throw caution to the wind, missing the feeling of being wanted, you pull the back of his neck so you can connect your lips to his. He seems almost surprised for a moment, not expecting anything to happen due to the state you had arrived in. He only hesitates for a moment before responding with full force, his lips fully claiming yours like they’ll never touch another set.

He groans into the kiss, the sound going to your core immediately, its always been one of your favorite sounds. You take your hands from around his neck, pawing at the button of his jacket, desperate to feel the smooth skin and hard muscle he has hidden underneath. The second his jacket is open, running your hands up his torso, reveling in the strength, your lips never parting from his. He pulls back slightly, a cocky smirk spread across his swollen lips, his hands firmly on your backside.

“What do you want, baby?” He questions, his tone knowing.

You whimper in response, trying to catch his lips again as you work to push the jacket off his shoulders.

“Words Y/N, you know that.” He reprimands you even though he is reaching behind himself to pull his jacket off, throwing it over the nearby chair.

“Fuck, I want you, please.” You whine out, annoyed you even have to ask. 

His hands come back to your ass, taking greedy handfuls as his lips drop to your neck, brushing over the skin as he speaks, “You want me to show you what you’ve been missing out on? Remind you how good I can make you feel?”

All you can do is nod as you brace yourself on his large biceps, a panted ‘yes’ falling from your lips. Within seconds his hands have fallen to your thighs, scooping you up to walk you towards the bed in the large suite. He drops you down on the bed, letting you bounce as he stares down at you with hungry eyes. The mood has shifted so drastically since you arrived, the whiplash is making your brain spin. Within moments he’s on you again, his lips hungry against yours as his large hand trails up under your sweatshirt. You wished you were wearing something cuter but the feeling of his hands on you threw every thought out the window. As his lips trailed down your neck you explored every inch of his muscular back under your palms, feeling the way the muscles flexed every time he adjusted his position. Wordlessly your sweatshirt was thrown up and over your head before his lips attached to your bare breast. The moan you let out was something you didn’t recognize from yourself anymore, a sound you hadn’t made since the last time you had him.

Over the course of your relationship with your boyfriend, sex had become more of a chore, something you knew you needed to do to keep the relationship working, it obviously didn't work. Your boyfriend tended to rush through things, chasing his own high with yours as more of an afterthought. Lewis however, he took his time with you, he always had, he would never be done until you were absolutely wrecked beneath him.

Lewis’s lips were trailing down your body, his tongue tracing every inch of skin it could reach. Hot, wet, sloppy kisses being left against every dip and curve of your figure. When he reached the waistline of your sweatpants, his eyes flicked up for a moment, locking with yours. There was a faint question in them and all you could do was nod, bucking your hips up towards him, urging him to take them off. 

“So eager.” Lewis just about chuckles, pulling down your pants and thong in one move.

You can’t help but squirm when his eyes lock onto your heat, staring at you like he’s going to destroy you. His large hand splays across your bare waist, keeping you in place as his other holds one of your thighs out to the side.

“Patience babe, don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you.” His voice is teasing but you can hear the tension behind his words, he’s just as worked up as you are, the evidence is visible in his dress pants.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses along your hip, making his way further down slowly, much too slow for your liking.

“Lewis, please.” You whimper, hoping he will speed up the process and ease the ache between your legs.

He smirks, locking his eyes with yours as he latches his lips around your clit with no warning. You shriek, the sound turning into a guttural moan as his tongue laps over your nerves. You can feel the stubble of his beard on the inside of your thigh, his eyes still have left your face. You can feel the cocky smirk that spreads across his face as he lowers his face, lapping at your drenched entrance.

“Fuck baby, you really needed this didnt you?” He taunts you, breathless.

All you can do is whine his name as his skilled mouth returns to your core.

“God I missed you, always taste so fucking good.” He murmurs against you.

His tongue makes his way inside of you as his thumb comes to rub at your clit, making your back arch. Finally having him inside of you feels so good, but you need so much more and he knows it.

He pulls his mouth away, his thumb still tracing patterns across your nerves.

“Need you to come for me babygirl, could feel you clenching around my tongue, I know you’re close.” He’s out of breath and when you finally look at him you can see your arousal glistening on his lips.

You writhe on the bed as he presses a finger against your entrance, teasing the slightest bit of pressure before inserting the thick digit deep inside of you. His tongue comes down to replace his thumb against your clit as he slips another finger inside of you, massaging the spongy spot inside of you just right that you scream. The sound rips out of your body coming from deep in your throat as your pleasure courses through you. You can feel yourself soaking Lewis as he laps up your release, humming contentedly, like youre the best meal he’s ever had. You barely have the ability to push him away, too sensitive and he knows it, that cocky smirk plastered across his face as he finally sits back. You barely even register that he’s moved back over you until you feel his fingers on your bottom lip, your own pleasure covering them.

“Open up babygirl, need you to taste just how amazing you are.” His voice is soft yet strained as you let his fingers slip past your lips, swirling your tongue around them. He lets out a soft groan, his eyes locked on your mouth as you put on a little show for him, still half delirious. 

When he finally slips his fingers from your lips he trails them down your chin and across your chest, leaving a trail of moisture that makes you shiver.

“Think you can take more? Hmm?” His lips are near your ear, you can feel the hot air of his voice against your humid skin.

“Please, god please.” You beg him, desperate to feel him again after so long.

“Been dying to be inside of you since the second I saw you tonight.” He admits into the skin of your neck as he works on the button of his dress pants. You attempt to help but its useless, you’re a useless pile of mush at this point.

He moves himself to stand at the end of the bed, finally kicking off his pants before grasping himself in his large palm. Your lips part inadvertently at the sight in front of you. His bare chest is glistening with sweat, making his tattoos that much darker and showing off the prominent shape of his pecs, his tattooed bicep is flexing ever so slightly as he slowly strokes himself, his eyes wandering over your naked body. When you finally trail your eyes down, your breath hitches in your throat. You’ve been with him countless times, but nothing can ever prepare you for just how thick he is, just how long he is. He has a cock that most men would pay to have and he knows it. He notices your staring, one side of his mouth curving into a knowing smirk. You’re sitting up, crawling towards him mindlessly, desperately trying to get your hands on him. You don’t even have time to properly register it when all the sudden you're being picked up like a rag doll and maneuvered onto all fours in front of him. You’re not even sure how he did it, his strength and your delirium making everything happen so fast. Within moments you feel his body pressed up behind yours, his mouth coming down next to your cheek.

“Gonna make sure my girl knows that no one will ever make her come like I do, gonna have you screaming my name baby.” He whispers, his voice sounding like pure sex. Your stomach clenches when he calls you his girl.

You feel him lining himself up with your entrance and all you can do is whimper into the pillow below you. With one hand grasped around his cock and the other a bruising grip on your hip, he takes a second to tease you, giving you the slightest pressure at your aching hole before slipping out and thrusting forward to nudge your clit. He’s leaving you a whining mess before he’s even inside of you and he’s absolutely loving it. He stills momentarily, lined up with you again before thrusting into you all at once. The force makes all the air leave your lungs as you slump even further forward. You hear a loud groan leave his chest and you wish you could see him, see the ecstasy across his face. His large palm soothes down your spine before pushing down, making you arch your hips up toward him even more. He barely gives you a moment before he’s rocking his hips, your body still working to accommodate the size its gone so long without.

“Good girl, you can take it.” His voice is low, demanding yet endearing. He’s the one that taught you about your praise kink, always so vocal about how good you make him feel.

His pace slowly starts to build, his thrusts becoming harsher as he keeps pressure on your back, keeping you just how he wants you. You can feel yourself getting even wetter as you listen to the moans leaving his body, your own sounds being nothing but gasps and whines. He’s hitting the perfect spot, over and over, and you can feel your stomach start to tighten. Rarely have partners even been able to make you come with just penetration, but everything is different with Lewis, it always has been.

“Fuck, already?” Lewis asks, his voice sounding almost amazed from behind you, “Fuck babe, I can feel you clenching my cock already, you gonna come again? Gonna fucking soak me like a good girl?”

His pace picks up, determination behind each thrust as his grip on your hips becomes even tighter. His voice alone is enough to send you over the edge again, the sound of pure sex. He groans loudly as he feels you come around him, working you through it but collapsing over you. He lets your hips go and you're dropping down flat on the mattress as he continues to pound into you from above. You can hear the slick sounds of him fucking into you and it makes everything so much dirtier. You’re moaning his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever learned.

“That’s it baby, just like that.” He coaxes you through a groan.

He doesn’t let up, the new angle making your toes curl as his weight bares down on you. He has one hand on your hip once again while he leans on his forearm next to you. You feel him start to move himself up, hooking your legs over his hips, your back bending backwards for him. He slows his pace ever so slightly, adding more force behind every thrust, making you squeal and grab at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck, Lewis, I can’t, I-“ You whimper, too sensitive and too fucked out to properly string a sentence together.

“Yes you can baby, I know you can, go ahead and give me one more.” He soothes you, slapping your ass in contradiction to his kind tone.

You blindly reach your hand out behind you, wanting something to ground yourself on. He grabs your hand, giving it a squeeze before pulling out of you entirely. The sudden loss of contact leaves you confused before he’s flipping you onto your back, spreading your legs and sliding home once more. This time he grabs both of your hands, lacing your fingers with his as he braces them next to your head. His pace is still slow but unforgiving. His pupils are blown out and hooded as his eyes bore down into your own that are now teary.

“I got you, m’right here, let go, I know you can.” His voice is strained and you can tell he’s trying to hold his own release off, desperate to feel you come again.

His lips attach to yours, sloppy and wet as he sucks on your tongue. One of his hands lets go of yours as he trails down to your cores, gently flicking at your nerves to feel you clench before settling on a relentless speed that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Say my name baby, tell me who’s making you feel this good.” His tone is possessive and cocky as he pulls away to stare at you, obsessed with your face as you climax.

You scream his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling like a tidal wave that has washed away anything but him and the ecstasy youre floating in. You hear him let out a deep guttural groan as his hips falter, trying so hard to fuck you through your own climax but the feeling of you squeezing around him is too much. You feel like you're floating when you feel him twitch inside of you, coming for longer than he ever has with you. You revel in it as he collapses down onto you, a comfortable crushing feeling that makes you never want to leave the bed.

You’re not sure how long you laid there, letting him pepper your neck with sloppy kisses as you tried to stroke his sweaty back, your efforts not the most successful as you felt like jello. You could feel the comforting feeling of him softening inside of you, still so big. You still didn’t feel like you were inside your own body when he finally pulled out and cleaned you up. It wasn’t until he was turning off the light and climbing into bed next to you, still naked, that you really felt human again. As he pulled you into his chest you felt an overwhelming sense of dread, knowing there was no good way for this to end. You were silent, nuzzling into his chest, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as possible.

“For the record, I meant what I said, no man in his right mind would ever be embarrassed by you.” Lewis says, tightening his arm around your waist.

You don’t respond, just press a kiss to his chest, enjoying the scent of him.

“I should know, I fumbled you pretty fucking hard.” He continues, much to your surprise.

You lift your head to look at him, shock written across your face.

“I’ve missed you.” He says, staring into your eyes in the dark room.

“I’ve missed you too.” You admit, laying your head back down to rest on his chest.

“I’ve got some other events to go to this week, come with me.” His words sound less like a question and more of a statement.

“Excuse me?” You look at him again, once again surprised.

“Come with me and let me show you off how you should be. I fucked up once, not doing it again.” His words are confident, sure of himself in every way.

You’re not sure how to respond, elated by the fact that this is exactly what you’ve wanted for so long, and terrified by the same thing. Words don’t come to you, all you can do is stretch up to kiss him, your mouths frantic against each others. His arm tightens around your waist as he pulls you up to lay on top of him, your legs falling around his waist. You kiss him mindlessly, brain dead at the feeling of his lips.

“Like I said, my girls gotta be taken care of.” He says against your lips as he moves you to slip himself inside of you once more.

As you slide down onto him once more, feeling him fill your heart and your core, you know no one else will ever be good enough for either of you again.

[sisaloofafump]

I can’t get enough of your tiny batblobs with their funky little arms. Do they ever grow GIANT or do they remain itty bitty?

Other examples: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Details & math:

He is most corporeal at the edges and in thinner parts like the ears and fingers. The eyes don't ever disappear but they can dim significantly or glow brightly.

His voice is modulated and doesn't come from a designated source. It is pseudo-telepathic. He can do his "hn"s without that however.

The arms can be as long as he wants to a max of 10 meters (typically sticking to under 1 meter and up to 3 for dramatics). Using a grapple gun mimics the arms and can be visibly interchangeable, but it doesn't actually act as an arm or have dexterous use of fingers.

(don't verify my math I only play-tested 3 scenarios) It's not that he doesn't get any bigger or less stable, he just has to reserve that for life-or-death-of-the-universe situations.

He can take a bunch of different shapes and can stretch out like a ferret if need be. However, there are limits:

Super tall = max width:height ratio of 1:20 (ears included) Super wide = max width:height ratio of 1:5 (ears included)

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

The very important human aspect:

The change takes place when he puts the cowl on.

Originally, the cowl was part of his physical suit but after a few years of working as batman it became more metaphysical. Now he only needs to mime putting a cowl on and by the time it's over his eyes, he has already mostly transformed.

This makes emergency changing while in civilian clothes much easier, but doesn't provide the protection from harm or grapple abilities that it does when he's in his suit underneath.

It's the same process to remove it. To do so requires an innate understanding of The Bat being a mask that Bruce wears, rather than an inseparable part of his identity (note: although I do think that Batman is an integral part of Bruce, the sheer cryptid nature of the blob is partially a separate entity). Family and friends can sometimes take it off him as well, but it varies:

Diana: Can remove it easily and see through the mask due to her innate abilities with truth magic

Clark: was the first person to be able to remove it, back when it was still transitioning from a physical to metaphysical object.

Dick: Was the first batkid to be able to but only gained the ability once he was Nightwing and it's still a struggle. Despite that, he does it often when arguing with Bruce

Jason: No matter how much he wants, the more he tries, the more elusive the mask gets

Tim: Could do it all along and does it fairly regularly when needing to talk to Bruce face-to-face. It got harder as he got deeper into being Robin but has gotten easier again over time

Stephanie: Was the first person after Tim to be able to do it and she found out she could early into knowing Batman. It came off so easily but was she so panicked by that fact that she's never done it since

Cassandra: Does it easily but gravely and only reserves it for the most extreme situations

Barbara: Has been able to do it for years but it's hard and avoids any situation that would make her do it

Duke: Could do it the easiest and quickest of all, with no hesitations what so ever. As of yet, he hasn't had the chance

Damian: Has never been able to and resents that fact

(Kate only could in dire situations. Helena and Harper aren't aware that it's something anyone could do, however Helena could trigger it by accident)

That's all my immediate thoughts!

[perseidlion]

I think I've figured out WTF is going on with Netflix, MAX, D+, Amazon, etc... cancelling TONS of shows. I mean, aside from the obvious greed and corporate mismanagement.

Those of you who are old like me remember that network TV used to have this thing called pilot season. It still exists in a limited form for networks, but it used to be the way all TV worked.

Back in the day, there'd be maybe 1-5 episodes of a show that would be aired (remember this was the era of 22 episode seasons). If the show was successful, they'd air the rest of the season. If it wasn't, it would be axed and disappear. Sometimes shows would be given half a season to do well, and then would be replaced with something called a mid-season replacement - basically an understudy of that show in case it underperformed/failed.

First season orders on streaming are the new pilot season. But instead of only a couple episodes airing, they dump the whole thing on their streamer to let it sink or swim. Unlike the days of cable TV where timeslots were limited, streamers can just chuck the full thing up there for extra content.

Sometimes I think they've already decided to not renew a show before it ever gets out there. Maybe their streaming data tells them the audience profile won't give them the big dollars. But it gave them something new to talk about and put in front of people even if they never intended to support it or give it another season. And the numbers were enough to at least make the production costs back, so why not?

This is deeply cynical and very corporate. But I think that's what the streamers are now. The unbridled creativity and investment of stories from peak/early streaming has been replaced with cold hard data.

And it's killing stories. It's killing faith in streamers. At least with the old pilot season model, you'd know a show was getting axed within a few weeks. Not months after you'd invested in a whole series arc.

Not always, but often when a show made it through pilot season, it would end up with a 2 season order, sometimes 3. You'd also know when a show was getting renewed because shows only really premiered in the fall and the winter. There wouldn't be all this waiting and watching for a renewal or cancellation that could come down at any time.

I'm not saying this was overall a better system. But at least people didn't get invested in stories as much and then have them taken away. There are obvious exceptions to this, of course (Firefly being the most famous) but I think that's why we're seeing such a graveyard of shows right now.

[natelia-aldelliz]

More ghost! Roach - Accidental Necromancer Soap AU : little moments

141 in the middle of a briefing, when suddenly Soap gasps, interrupting Price. Everyone turns to look at him and he looks back like a deer in headlights, apologises with a stammered excuse, something like he saw a spider or something, and the meeting continues with dubious looks.

"You're so bad at that," Roach giggles from where he's floating around above the table. "It wasn't even that big of a news, they were flirting for months! I have way worse, you know one of the Corporals under your command, the redhead one? She's been secretely married for years to the medic lady that stitched you up last week! Stop gaping at me, where's your pokerface oh my god-"

And then Soap uses all that information to win bets against Gaz.

Or also, Roach telling jokes while there's people around Soap. "Don't laugh," he taunts him. "Don't even smile or they'll know you're crazier than they think."

And then he tells the worst joke ever and Soap can't help the snort that escapes him and again, everyone turns to look at him.

"I can't believe you're laughing in a room full of explosives tied to people," Roach gasps, knowing full well that's exactly the result he wanted.

Soap rolls his eyes at him quickly and focuses back on defusing. He'll get him back when they're alone and he doesn't look weird talking to the air.

"He knows you find him hot, he's neither blind nor stupid," Roach says, peeking above Ghost's shoulder. "If you want him to blush you need to call him 'pretty'. Worked every time..."

And he's right. When Soap tells Ghost he's a bonnie lad, explains what it means, it's very obvious how flustered he becomes, and the visible part of the bridge of his nose gets very red.

"Be ready to be grabbed at every opportunity, his love language is physical touch but he'd rather die than admit it."

Roach has a bit of a poltergeist moment when he finds out he can touch things again. Cups go flying into walls, chairs move around, shoes disappear. Roach is very overwhelmed and gets non verbal, which is a bit hard because Soap only knows the basics of BSL and has to ask Ghost to translate by copying live what Roach is saying. (Ghost, who has seen the ghost of his dead lover save his life just a day before objects started flying, recognising in the back of his mind the quirks of Roach's way of signing being reproduced by Soap, but not willing to believe yet)

It lasts a few days and the whole base is convinced they're haunted by a ghost. They're not wrong, Soap wants to say. And not only one, but the others are far more apathetic, barely there.

Then Roach calms down, all at once, when he realises that maybe... maybe he can touch people too. He's very nervous. It's been years since he touched someone, years of his hand going through Ghost's arm as he tried to make him see him. Years of not feeling the warmth of a living being.

That scares him. What if he can touch Soap, but he doesn't feel anything? What if it feels the same as the glasses he's been trying to juggle for days?

So he waits until Soap is asleep and he holds out his finger, slowly, hands trembling, and presses it softly to Soap's forehead. He's... He's warm, he realises with a gasp. He's warm!

Soap wakes up to sobbing and soft fingers on his cheeks and in his hair. He gets reassured very quickly that it's happy sobbing and Roach kisses him.

Ghost, after learning about the ghosts existence, starts having really bad nightmares every night. Has to be reassured that no, he's not actually a ghost. He hasn't actually died in that grave, he's here, he's warm and he's alive and loved.

[spectralarchers]

𝗔𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗼𝗶𝗱 𝗔𝗨 // Ghost is a human, Soap is an android and is damaged in combat. He needs a reboot and Ghost needs to make the decision: do they wipe Soap's memory or try to salvage what's left of his hard drive?

- 600 words -

___

The sound of shuffling feet precedes the door opening. Ghost stumbles into the room, wide eyed and out of breath.

"How is he?"

There's no immediate response. R.O.A.C.H.s eyes - actually cameras equipped with LED's - shift from blue to orange.

The Robotic Operations and Automated Control Hub doesn't know. Ghost doesn't blame it.

Ghost wipes his face and comes to stand behind the glass wall keeping him from Soap. One of his palms lays flat against it, and he watches as R.O.A.C.H. gets to work on Soap.

They'd hit heavy fire. Soap had been running overwatch, keeping an eye on Ghost's back until he'd stopped responding.

After the smoke had settled and the firefight had stopped, Ghost had climbed to the rooftop to find his friend.

Well.

Friend and 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

Soap was as much a robot as R.O.A.C.H. was. He was a Strategic Offensive Autonomous Platform, developed by the 141 Corporation to assist soldiers on tedious missions.

The only difference between R.O.A.C.H. and Soap was that well.

Soap was an android.

Equipped with soft silicone skin, bright blue eyes and pupils that reacted to light and his entire being seemed so realistic that it had 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 Ghost out at first to be paired with such a platform.

Until it had stopped being odd to have S.O.A.P. at his back.

Until S.O.A.P. had become 𝘚𝘰𝘢𝘱.

Soap currently laid out on a metal table with his circuitry visible and laid bare, wires poking out of his chest and the side of his head, with R.O.A.C.H.'s mechanical fingers and tongs working on adjusting everything back into place.

There's a beep and the screen on Ghost's side of the glass wall lights up with green words.

ᴍᴀɪɴ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴅᴀᴍᴀɢᴇᴅ. ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ. ꜱᴜꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛ?

"What does a reboot do?" he asks.

The screen idles as R.O.A.C.H. formulates an answer.

ɪꜰ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴠɪʀᴜꜱ, ꜱ.ᴏ.ᴀ.ᴘ. ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ʀɪꜱᴋ. ʀᴇʙᴏᴏᴛɪɴɢ ᴇʟɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪꜱᴋ.

Ghost sighs. "What about his hard drive? Will it… reboot that too?"

ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ

Wiping his palm over his face, Ghost's other hand balls into a fist as he bangs it against the glass wall.

"Fuck," he mutters.

If he doesn't let R.O.A.C.H. perform the reboot and Soap has been infected with a virus - either malware or something worse…

He's not sure he'd ever be able to put him down with the back up security protocol the 141 Corporation had given him. One single kill word which would cause Soap to self destruct.

But if he 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 let R.O.A.C.H. reboot him, then he'd lose the contents of his hard drive.

All his memories would be wiped as Soap became S.O.A.P. again. Hard factory reset. Start from scratch again.

An echo of Soap's Scottish brogue echoes in Ghost's ears as he looks at the blinking orange LEDs of R.O.A.C.H.'s eyes waiting for instructions.

"Fix him."

The LED's shift to green at the order, and the screen lights up with R.O.A.C.H.'s response.

ɪɴɪᴛɪᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴘᴀɪʀꜱ. ᴇꜱᴛɪᴍᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴅᴜʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 5 ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ 12 ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇꜱ.

Ghost clears his throat as he looks over his shoulder. "Let me know how it progresses."

ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.

He watches as sparks illuminate the repair room and Soap's lifeless body disappears behind R.O.A.C.H.'s large mechanical body, other smaller machines coming in to assist in the repairs of the android.

Was the risk worth it?

Probably not.

The 141 Corporation would produce another android if this one was faulty. Or infected with malware.

But Soap was more than just a robot to Ghost. So much so that it was worth the attempt to salvage his internal memory. Even if it put everyone on base at risk.

[hobie-enthusiast]

NO BC MORE PPL NEED TO TALK ABT PROWLER HOBIE!!! - 🕷️

— oh 🕷️ anon i completely agree and shall deliver

— cw; not comic accurate 616 hobie, a mix between him and 138 hobie, canon typical violence, mentions of making out

alright, so before a life of crime, the two of you were high school sweethearts. the talk of the school, everyone adored your relationship. voted most likely to stay together, the works. you worked like a support system; hobie having had to raise himself and needed more love than others, along with the hardships you may have faced during your upbringing. hobie originally had a really hard time letting himself be vulnerable around you, but he got used to it, letting you in to help him through what he needs to.

despite having great support, things were rough on him after high school. when he lost his job, the equipment he essentially invented for it made him turn to crime for a shot at protecting the innocent, especially you. you were essentially a victim to the terrible mistreatment of such a fascist country, being terribly poor while with hobie. with such a corrupt government, and tons of heros who defend it, it seemed to be up to him to fix it all. so, he took his inventing skills and became a villain, deeming himself 'the prowler'.

and he felt like he was protecting the people. stopping those bloody cops from hurting the innocent, or punishing officials who've done bad. he was a villain with a good cause, but not many saw it that way. they saw their beloved spider-man as the one who does the good, not some scary villain in a scary suit. essentially, the constant battle between the prowler and spider-man began.

hobie tried to keep his second life a secret from you, he really did. but the one day he was out, you managed to find his prowler suit and mask. along with that, all sorts of gadgets that seemed far too advanced for some regular civilian. upon confronting him about it, he admitted to everything. what he’s doing, who he is, and where he goes.

it’s.. tough at first. learning your high school sweetheart was a super villain isn’t the easiest piece of information to take hold of. but you stayed. you knew he was fighting for a good cause, so you kept him close to your heart. how could you not? hobie always wanted better for you, for the people, for himself. so you stuck your support, staying right by him through it all.

hobie can also find himself in a habit of stealing from large corporations. it’s his thing as the prowler. it would range from stealing food for the local shelter to stealing a nice knick-knack to gift to you. though you feel some guilt at first, it soon disappears upon remembering that these places won’t ever miss what hobie steals. they’ll just find something to replace it.

some things hobie does not do as the prowler (that normal villains tend to); hurt the innocent, steal from small businesses, cause commotion during charity events or rallies of protest, have an innocent be his “person on the inside”, kill like, anyone.

the most he would do to hurt anyone (which is government officials and fascist politicians), is beat ‘em up and give them a good talking to. he reminds them of who’s truly running this country, who’s actually the one feeding them their money, and that normal shuts them up. hobie hates the way they plead with him to not kill them, it honestly makes him laugh. he has the same reply every-time.

“you beg t’ not be offed, but kill ‘ur citizens everyday. think ‘bout it.”

even as the prowler, hobie always makes time for the things he loves. you, for one. he’s always taking you for a night in the city or to hang with his friends. dinner dates at home are a must for the week, he’ll never miss it. he eventually does propose to you, which consists of him just asking out of the blue in bed if you wanna get married. he gives you one of his rings and says, “boom, married. g’night, love.” yeah, you never got official documents. but who cares?

hobie’s other commitment lies with his band. never misses a show to play. he’s sticking with them, even as the prowler. he loves the high he gets from performing onstage for the people he fights for, listening to their enjoyment. he loves laughing with his band as they keep a high energy show going almost all night. and the best part? he sees you after his shows, warm smile on your face as you congratulate him (either verbally or with making out. your choice). he would never trade those nights for fighting as the prowler.

overall, hobie as the prowler is not like every other villain. he’s committed to doing good in the wrong way. and even when spider-man convinces him to find a different way to get his message, he never gives up. he retires his prowler costume in exchange for one that advocates loudly, leading protests and riots at the front lines. he had to admit, it was a lot more refreshing than being painted as an evil villain. plus, it help that you find this option much safer :). he’s content with life as the prowler, even after he retires the persona.

[psithurista]

approach shift pt. nine

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: Mentions of death, fingering, a quick wristy (lol)

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can’t afford distractions right now. So there’s only one thing to do.

a/n: Last full chapter but there will be an epilogue in the not-too-distant; I'll probably have more notes then. Thank you x

series masterlist

The back of your head is torturously itchy. 

You try surreptitiously to press your knuckles to the spot, just to relieve the worst of it. The nurse sitting closest to you glances up at you from over the top of her monitor and guiltily, you clasp your hands back down into your lap. 

It smells sour in here, like soft plums left to rot. Whichever industrial cleaner it is this hospital uses, it’s definitely not one anybody’s trying to market for domestic use. It’s probably cheap as fuck, you contemplate, your hand drifting back up towards your head.

“You can go in now,” a new nurse says beside you. You jerk your hand away. “He’s awake. I let him know you’ve been waiting.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, unpeeling yourself from the plastic waiting room chair. “I won’t be very long. I just wanted to say hi.”

She gives you a mild, distracted okay-that’s-nice-whatever smile and disappears. You push open the door to the room she’d just exited and duck inside. 

It smells far better in here. There’s a vase of opening lilies leaving red pollen-stains on the table in front of the window, and the lavender-powder smell of clean sheets. Doctor Brant is propped up in the bed, frowning hard at the tablet in his hands.

“I hope you aren’t working while you’re meant to be resting,” you say.

He tilts his head down to peer at you over his glasses. “Oh, no. It’s just sudoku. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor. How are you?”

He nods, and sets the tablet aside. “Well, they’ve finally taken me off the oxygen so I expect I’ll be allowed to leave soon. All things considered, a little smoke inhalation injury at my…advanced age could’ve been far worse.” His eyes glint a little bit. “Were you injured?”

You shake your head. “A concussion, but I’m fine. The. He. Um. You know. He got me out, before he went back for you.” 

“You shouldn’t have stayed to look for me.”

You sit gingerly on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “I thought. I didn’t think he’d made it to you in time. I thought you were both.” Your voice starts to sound weird, so you stop talking.

He folds his hands together over his chest. “It’s strange. I remember the first time I saw him. I didn’t understand what was happening. I thought it must have been a stunt, or an advertisement for something. Silly, really. And yet he’s saved Oscorp from itself more times than it deserved. After Connors and Dillon and that whole terrible disaster with young Harry. It’s too much. There’s no reason for anybody to endanger themselves in that place ever again.” He takes his glasses off and sets them beside the bed. “Which is why I’ve resigned.”

You stare at him. “You. What?”

He smiles at you; the expression a little indulgent. “All those years of work, gone. And for nothing. I’m sure you’ve already heard what happened?”

You have. It’s been all over the news the entire week. First the speculation: was it an attack? Was it political? Was it another disgruntled ex-employee? A competitor? And then, later, the worse, more boring truth: regular old corporate negligence. An undertrained technician who’d tried to prematurely purge a vac test chamber with concentrated oxygen. An alarm system two years overdue for maintenance. And floor upon floor of laboratories filled with dangerous substances, improperly stored.



Nobody else in your department was seriously hurt. But others weren’t so lucky.

“When I started with Norm, it was all about changing the world for the better. And in the end, we’ve helped nobody.” He shakes his head. “If you’ll forgive my language…Fuck Oscorp. I’m ready to start over.”

You grin at him, even though it feels a little watery. “I’m…really happy for you.” And you are. In the brief time you’ve worked under him, his passion has been obvious, but he’s always seemed so bogged down by the minutiae of red tape; appeasing a board of investors with no interest in the importance of his life’s work beyond its potential profitability. 

But it also makes your already-uncertain future with the company even foggier. You’ll need to find someone else willing to offer you a similar graduate position, and you already know you won’t find anything else quite as specialised as the work he’s been doing. 

He takes a sip from the glass of water beside his bed, then sits back with a sigh. “Publicly-funded research is a far less glamorous world than that of private enterprise. We’ll be relying primarily on grant funding and academic support. There won’t be any glass fountains or vertical gardens, I’m afraid.”

You nod sympathetically. “I can imagine. It’ll be a big change.”    His eyebrows draw together at you. “I would understand if your answer is no.”

You blink. “My answer?” you say, like a genius. 

“If so, I would, of course, write you a glowing recommendation. And I have plenty of contacts I could put you in touch with, if you’d prefer that.”

Holy shit. Is he…? “Hold on. Are you offering me a position with you?”

“Well, yes.”

He grunts as you dart in and hug him. “Oh! Yes! I mean, of course! I would love to. Thank you so much. You won’t regret this.”

“Uh.”

You lean back as he smooths his blankets down. “Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish. “That was unprofessional.”

He tries to look stern, but it’s unconvincing. “Well, yes,” he says again. “But I’ll choose to ignore it just this once.”

You stop by to see Bear on your way home. The roller doors in the alley beside the grimy little theatre are propped open so you can see all the half-painted set pieces inside, and there’s a bunch of people dressed all in black gathered around smoking. 

“Are you gonna be home tonight?” you ask, watching her inhale the deli sandwich you’d brought after correctly guessing she hadn’t stopped rehearsing long enough for lunch.

“I can be if you want,” she says, her mouth full of half-chewed food. “But I was kind of planning on staying at a friend’s.”

You press your knuckles absently against the back of your head and leer at her. “Would this friend happen to be the same person who wanted you to move in after one salad date?”

“If you don’t stop scratching your stitches I’m calling the hospital and narcing to your doctor. And yes.”

You make a face. “I’m not even touching them!”

She stuffs the rest of the sandwich in her mouth and wipes her hands on her jeans. “I’m seriously cool not to go, though. It’s totally fine.”

She’s barely left you alone since you got back from the emergency room, even setting alarms and checking up on you throughout the first couple of nights. You know for a fact she’s had to cancel other plans for you—again. You shake your head. “No, go. I kind of want some alone time anyway.” 

It’s another cold, bright afternoon. You walk into the feet of your shadow and spread your fingers beside your body as your arms move, watching them elongating out on the pavement in front of you, lost in thought. You’ve been lost in thought a lot, lately.

You’re just past the end of your block when you catch sight of the figure sitting on the stairs outside your building. Long legs in faded jeans are stretched out and crossed over at the ankles, and there’s duct tape around the toe of one sneaker. You slow to a halt on the sidewalk. A woman behind you huffs with irritation, veering around you, a giant paper grocery bag clutched in her arms.

He looks up from his cracked phone screen as you draw level with your door. His hair is as chaotic as ever, stuck up in every direction, except for at the nape of his neck, where it curls gently around in little flicks. He looks tired. He’s always looked tired, the whole time you’ve known him, but you notice it differently now. Like the holes in his jeans, and the bruise on his jaw, and the angry-sore-looking blisters on his knuckles. 

He smiles a little, jerking you out of your silent staring. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t wanna just show up unannounced. I’ve been trying to call, but,” he holds his phone up, and you shake your head.

“My phone was—”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The wind lifts the edge of your scarf and shivers under the neck of your coat. There’s something sweet in the air; like cinnamon sugar, maybe someone baking from one of the open windows overhead. “Do you want to come inside?”

His expression is soft as he considers you, looking up through his lashes. “Okay.”

Neither of you speak on the trip upstairs. Your hand accidentally brushes his as you reach out for the elevator buttons, and you both pull away, as awkward and over-polite as strangers. 

He stands a respectful distance back as you open your door, and you lead him inside, waving your hand vaguely toward the sofa. “Do you want a drink?”

He folds himself into the seat nearest the window, hunching over and shoving his hands between his knees. A cold drift of sun touches his jaw. “Um, no thanks, it’s cool.”

You sit down beside him, folding your hands across your lap like you’re about to get a class picture taken. 

He chews his lip, runs his thumbs over his burned hands. Outside, a car horn beeps. “It’s not because I didn’t trust you,” he starts. “If you’re wondering. I don’t want you thinking that’s the reason.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t need to explain.”

“I just want you to know—”

“I know.” You try to smile at him, and it feels a little watery. “I get it. I know why you couldn’t tell me.”

His brows bend together just enough to mark out a pained line. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Really. Don’t be.”

It falls silent in your living room. The little clay pinch pot in the centre of the coffee table Bear had brought home from the artists’ market watches you both watching one another; soft-skinned and tender as nervous newborn things.

“You might die doing this,” you finally point out. “One day. All those times you’ve been hurt. You might…not come home.”

He nods at the floor. “Which is why I couldn’t really ask you to, you know. Waste your time with—” he waves his hands vaguely back and forth between your bodies. “It’s not worth it. And, like, trust me, I would never, ever want to drag you into any of the shit I’m involved with. I didn’t mean to fuck you around so long, knowing you wouldn’t...” He looks back at you, his dark eyes soft. “It was just. The happiest I’ve been in a really long time. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry. It was shitty of me. Selfish.”

You stare at him for a few seconds in stunned disbelief. Then you laugh. You don’t mean to, and his head jerks back, startled. “Are you serious?” you manage.

His eyes are huge. “Uh. Yeah?”

You laugh again. It sounds a little manic. “You’re unbelievable.”

He flushes. “Could you maybe quit laughing at me when I’m trying to—”

“Peter. You saved my fucking life. Twice. Even after I was a total asshole to you. You saved me.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, look, I don’t want you to feel weird about that. Like, it’s totally, one-hundred-percent not a big deal and I never want anybody to feel like—”

“You help people. Strangers. Every day. For nothing. And they aren’t even grateful. The things people write about you.” He hasn’t moved, and you realise you’re talking louder than you need to, considering he’s right in front of you. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met,” you tell him, emphatic, needing him to get it. “You’re a good person, Peter. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that before.” Your voice breaks a little and it’s embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as the fact that your vision has gone blurry and your cheeks feel suddenly too hot.

You stop and breathe for a few moments, willing yourself not to cry. He doesn’t say anything, just studies the edge of the rug as though he’s pretending not to notice, and you’re grateful. 

Then, quietly, he takes a breath. “I was going to tell you. Before the fire. I saw May, and she told me she saw you, and that you’d talked, and. I wanted to explain everything.”

You remember the way May had looked that day in the park; her small, sad mouth, and the way she’d spoken slowly like she was choosing each word carefully. “Does she know?”

Peter half-shrugs. “We’ve never talked about it. But, like, I know she knows. And she knows I know she does.” He gives you a little smile. “It’s easier if we both keep pretending we don’t, though.”

“Does anyone else?”

His smile turns tight. “I guess not. Not really.”

“So you’ve been doing this all on your own? The whole time? How?”

He runs his hand back through his hair. “Yeah. Well, I guess I’m pretty good with DIY now, you know? I wasn’t always. I had to learn. Shit went wrong a lot in the beginning. Shit still goes wrong a lot.”

You lean in a little, curling into the cushions. “What’s the hardest part?”

You’re expecting him to say the fear of discovery, or the isolation, or the sheer physical exhaustion. But he wrinkles his nose. “God. The sewing. It’s so hard. And it’s constant. I swear I pop a different seam every day.” His face goes blank for a moment and he looks at you as though a brand new thought has just occurred to him for the first time. “It’s actually really nice. Getting to talk about this.”

“Am I allowed to ask about the outfit?”

He slaps his hands over his face. “You are absolutely fucking not allowed to ask about the outfit.”

Your mouth drops open in outrage. “I wasn’t gonna laugh! I just want to know why—”

“Look, I was going for, like, a velodrome thing. Like for speed and better flexibility and less wind-resistance and then like, anonymity as well, obviously, and originally—”

“What about the, uh, pattern?”

“Yeah, okay, okay, it seemed cool at the time! I was fifteen!”

The thought of Peter as a child, alone, in danger, no doubt even ganglier and nerdier than he is now, sends a fresh pang of sadness through you. You try not to let it show. “Do you eat the webs?”

He stares like you’ve just asked if he’d like to swap heads with you. “What?”

“Certain types of spiders go back and eat their webs after they’re done with them. Like, to replenish the protein they expended making them. Do you ever eat yours?”

The expression on his face is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen. “Uh, no. It’s inorganic. Like, it’s a, like essentially a nylon polymer composite. It’s not edible. I mean, I’ve never tried, but it’s designed to dissolve after a few hours, so I guess if you did really want to eat it, it wouldn’t hurt you…” He trails off, sheepish, looking at you sideways. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah,” you say, unable to stifle your smile any longer. 

He grins and ducks his head. He hasn’t shaved today, you note; there’s a little bit of stubble along his jawline. 

Your chest hurts. Seeing him, being close to him, just like before. It pulls open the ache of missing him, turning it from a bruise into a wound. You know you shouldn’t. You tell yourself not to. But you do it anyway.

“I miss you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper. 

He looks so fucking sad. His eyes are huge and pained and so close, and then they dart down to your lips, and you see it; the precise split-second the urge hits him, then the one after as he fights it, and your heart sinks and you’re about to lean back but then his mouth is on yours and it’s soft and it’s warm and unbearably gentle as his hands sweep up to the base of your neck.

It’s not the best kiss you’ve ever had. 

You’re twisted uncomfortably to face him. Your hands lay shocked in your lap, and you’re pretty sure he can hear you attempting not to sniffle too much with your breathing, and you’re so busy worrying about it that you forget to open up to him; his tongue touching the edge of your lips. His fingertips brush the stitches at the back of your head and you flinch, pulling away.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, visibly mortified. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Didn’t hurt. It’s just sensitive.”

“For kissing you,” he clarifies. “I know we’re not, like…you know. Anymore.”

That hurts. You shake your head. “We could be. We could try.”

“I can’t ask you—"

“No. Don’t do that. What do you want?”

He exhales through his nose and a tiny, pained sound escapes with it. “It’s not that easy—“

“It is. It is that easy. What do you want?”

“You have no idea,” he says, suddenly. “God. You have no fucking idea how bad I want you. I want this. You’re the only thing I. Fuck.” He knuckles at his eyes, frustrated. “You just have no idea how bad this could go.”

“I do,” you tell him, gently. “I know exactly how bad it could go. And I’m sorry, Peter. I’m so sorry that happened. It’s so, so fucked up that that happened and I’m so sorry, and I know nothing I can say will ever make any of it any less fucked up, but fucked up things happen. They happen all the time for normal people, too. And fucked up things are going to keep happening and it’s inevitable and it’s part of being alive and that’s why we just need to take that risk every day, and choose to—to try to just be happy in as many stupid fucking hopeless ways as we can anyway, because we deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy.”

He’s staring at you like he wants to believe you. Like he wants to cry. “You need to know,” he says, reaching his hand out, pulling it back. “I can’t promise you this’ll be okay. If you still wanted…I would try. I would try so, so hard for you. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything. But I—I still just have no way of knowing that it’ll be okay.“

You smile at him, shaky and sure. “That’s any relationship, Parker.”

This time when he kisses you, you’re ready. Your mouth opens eagerly under his, catching the faint metal-salt of his skin, the dryness where his lips are ever-so-slightly windburnt. 

All the breath leaves your body in a rush. You shove your hands up through his hair, lifting up onto your knees and sliding across his lap until you’re straddling him on the couch. 

He tilts his head back to work his tongue into your mouth, one of his hands sliding up underneath your shirt to find the edges of your bra, and it’s awkward and clumsy and you’re both breathing hard by the time he manages to get your jeans unzipped and his hand cramped into your underwear. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, half-dizzy from kissing without pause. You almost bite him when his fingers find your clit. “Can you—yeah, like that, oh, my God—"

“Hold on, it’d be better if, let me…” he murmurs, frustrated, and you let out what could only be described as a yelp as he lifts your entire weight up to easily shove your jeans and underwear the rest of the way off your legs before settling you back down over his lap. 

You’re stuck between trying to grind down against the front of his jeans and trying to give him enough space to work his hand back between your legs, ultimately deciding on the latter as he finds your clit again, this time his attentions unhampered by clothing. 

His body hasn’t forgotten yours. It only takes a few moments of searching before he has you melting into the palm of his hand; your bones soft and hot inside you as you roll your eyes closed. It’s easy with him, just like before, but better.

You’re almost close when he eases two fingers inside you, and that’s easy too, so easy, the way you give for him. Your forehead rests against his as your lips come apart; too focused for kissing anymore.

“I missed you,” he breathes, working his wrist. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

You flex your thighs as you rock with the movement of his hand, and that’s when you need to touch him, urgently. It takes a little repositioning before you manage to open his jeans and ease his cock out, wrapping your fingers loosely around him. 

You feel him tense and shudder as you stroke him, too slow to really get him anywhere, too lost in the way his long, firm fingers curl inside you. 

He noses along your jaw, mouthing lazily at your damp skin, his eyes closed, and then he’s there, right where you need him, and you’re clenching and biting down on the sounds trying to escape as you come apart sudden and hard around him.

You’re still loose-limbed and shaky when he pulls his slick fingers free, gently moving your hand out of the way to grasp himself instead. You feel a little guilty; you’d almost forgotten about him straining in front of you, but he doesn’t seem to care as he jerks himself quick and short in his fist. His other hand cups the swell of your ass as he huffs hot breath into your hair, your neck, coming sudden across the inside of your thigh.

You slump your weight against him. 

Neither of you speak for a while. Your hand is curled between your bodies, trapped where it’s warm and you can feel his heart slowing in his chest. He runs his hand absently from your hip to your thigh, then back again.

“Peter,” you murmur.

“Mmm.”

“You do need to promise me one thing, though.”

He moves, just enough that he can look up at you. His cheeks are flushed. “What?”

“We can never. And I mean never. Tell Bear we fucked on her couch.”

His eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. She already hates me.”

“I know. But it’s okay, because we’re not gonna tell her.”

“I just don’t know if I can keep that secret; I’m not good at subterfuge, y’know, I’m just not that kinda guy—"

“Yeah, yeah, okay—"

“—and you should see me under pressure; I fold like origami—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up, and feel his lips curling up against yours. 

Your thighs feel sticky and gross, and you’re starting to get cold, and when you get up you nearly fall over from the cramp in your leg from sitting so awkwardly, but you’re too happy to care in the slightest. 

You stand together in the bathroom, cleaning each other up. Every time his eyes meet yours in the mirror you both smile again, giggling and getting in each other’s way, like idiots.

It takes twice as long as it should to get back out to the couch, and you’re hoping he’ll curl up with you again but then you catch him glancing toward the window. “You need to go,” you say. It’s not really a question.

He hedges. “I kind of do, but…”

You offer him a little smile. “It’s okay. Go.”

He nods. You walk him to the door, where he pauses. He chews at his thumbnail, looking at you sideways again from under his eyelashes.

You watch him for a few seconds, waiting. “What?” you finally say.

He presses his lips together, runs his hand through his hair. “So. It’s probably, like, kind of weird. To ask. At this…uh, juncture.”

He’s nervous, you realise. It’s excruciatingly endearing. You nudge him. “I feel like weird’s kind of our thing.”

He grins. “Yeah. I guess. So. I was gonna ask if you’d like to go out. For dinner. Friday night.”

There’s absolutely no way to prevent the smile slowly pulling at your mouth. “Peter. Are you asking me on a date?”

He laughs, a little self-conscious huff. “Uh, yeah. Like. I mean, I wanted to way sooner. But. I guess I wanna try doing things properly this time. If you want.”

You can think of a thousand different things to say, but most of them are embarrassing, so you settle for keeping it simple. “Yes. Fuck yes. Obviously.”

He blinks. “Oh, okay, awesome, holy shit. Okay. Should we…? I don’t have your new number.”

“Oh, yeah, I need to get yours again too.” You pull your phone out and make a new contact before handing it to him.

He stares at your screen for a second, then he snorts. “You have me in your phone as ‘p.p.’?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Why? What do you have me as?”

He laughs again, quiet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He hands your phone back. He takes a few steps out the door, then he sticks his hands in his pockets. “So. I’ll see you?”

“You will,” you tell him, watching the way his jaw juts crookedly when he smiles. 

He’s halfway to the elevator, walking backwards, his hands still in his pockets when he calls back to you. “Friday, Miss Jersey.”

You laugh. “Quit disturbing my neighbours.”

You stay there long after he’s gone, leaning against your doorframe, smiling to yourself, aching with stupid, giddy affection.

[z-socks]

He Soars

*banging my fists, chanting: winged Clones winged Clones winged Clones Crosshair-centric, some mild body horror when discussing Echo because Techno Union. Also the Empire being assholes. Season 2 spoilers (The Outpost).

Crosshair had always hated his wings. They were large, dark, laborious things, with rough feathers that had cut him more than once until he learned to keep them away from his body. The copious, smothering down choked him in the night, suffocating him with heat and irritating fuzz down the back of his throat. 

The Regs all had the same wings: something akin to the shriek hawks of their Template’s home. They were shiny, patterned in golden hues like the Clones’ eyes and shaped and sized to be useful in battle. 

Clone Force 99 did not have the wings of the Regs. Hunter's were slim and cut, rounded with specialized feathers that made his approaches from the air lethally silent. Tech's were scooped and agile, designed for soaring and diving sharply while in flight. Wrecker’s were the only wings comparable to Crosshair's in size. But they were pure white with imposing flight feathers and capable of being beat with deadly force. 

Crosshair's wings were useless. 

A sniper with wings impossible to hide was not a very useful asset. So he learned early on how to make them work for him. He learned to stick to shadows and use them to hide, to lash out a wing and cut down a droid, to let his brothers crush his suffocating down by curling against him when the endless stretches of space got cold. 

And then came Kaller and the order and the girl. 

His brothers left. 

The Empire deemed the Clones’ wings an annoyance. Their size was hard and expensive to accommodate for in their standardized barracks. Their down clogged the life support filters. And their feathers’ rustling impeded on the other troopers’ sleep. 

A suggestion to have them removed was met with a counterpoint. Why spend the money on surgery? Just remove the Clones. 

Cross watched Regs disappear from the ranks. His eyes catching the way their wings sagged, unstretched and unflown, atrophying in the grip of the new Empire. His own wings felt heavier these days, causing him to haunch over from their weight. 

He was one of six Clones sent to Barton-IV to retrieve a shipment that had been held there. His squad ran into his wings on purpose, complaining under their breath about having no room on the transport and how he should be with the other beasts. 

Cross shrugged it off. 

It was far from the first time he’d been likened to a monster. 

Clone Commander Mayday’s wings were the second worst pair Crosshair had ever seen, only beat out by Echo’s when they’d rescued him from Anaxes: nearly bald, half blown off, and bent wrong from being stuffed into a stasis chamber with no room for them. The smell of decaying feathers had emanated from the corporal. And Mayday and his brothers had the same stench. 

Their feathers were molting, ragged as they clung on by sickly quills. Strips of fabric like that on their armor were looped and tied to fill in the bare spots. Even their color looked faded but Cross wasn’t sure if that had more to do with the dim light provided by the coilheater. 

“What’s your name?” he asked Crosshair, the first person in too many cycles to do so. Cross hesitated. But this was a dead man walking, giving him a name that would likely die on his tongue within a tenday was harmless enough. 

“Crosshair.” 

The Reg nodded. “Follow me.” 

They inspected their meager equipment. Mayday showed him all that was broken. 

A large shadow passed overhead. The call of a monstrous bird. 

“Ice vulture,” Mayday informed, eyeing Crosshair. “Vicious creatures. But you have to admire them. They find a way to survive.” 

Then came the raid. Their hunt. The ice cave. 

“No sense carrying dead weight.” 

Mayday hummed. “'Less you need to to survive.” 

Crosshair shot him a puzzled look. 

“Them vultures carry dead weight all the time.” He shrugged. "Gotta eat."

The mine. The raiders. The avalanche. 

“Mayday.” His voice nearly broke as he dug the commander out of the snow. He’d lost more feathers in the onslaught, fresh skin exposed and bleeding on the patches left behind. 

The climb was excruciating. The wind sliced through them. 

When they finally found enough of an outcropping to shelter behind, Cross folded his wings around them, for once, grateful for the excessive down. The rough feathers kept the snow and ice from building up. Their size big enough to protect them both from the blistering winds. 

“I remember you, you know,” Mayday whispered against his neck. “The clone with the big black wings.” He huffed a choked off laugh. “Mean little thing. But I knew better. I’d seen you fly.”

A memory came forward, fuzzy, hazy in the whiteout snow. The training room on Kamino had been tall enough to allow them to practice aerial maneuvers. Crosshair’s monstrous wings had never fit in the crowded space with the Regs. But late at night, he’d sneak out to fly.

“The command cadet.” 

He remembered now, getting caught one night by an older cadet in red. But the cadet had let him off easy, saying lightly that it was past bedtime. Cross had waited to be punished for sneaking out. But the CC cadet had merely left the training room to continue his assigned patrols. 

“Bet you’d never dream this be how you found out ya belong here,” Mayday murmured, huddled in close to Crosshair, buried deep into the soft down of his wings. 

Cross quietly inquired what he meant but Mayday had lost consciousness once more. 

The storm stopped with the sunrise. An Ice Vulture circled overhead.

The climb was no less difficult. And Mayday’s exhaustion meant Cross was walking for them both. He used his wings, flapping them to help propel their steps. 

It felt… good. Like he was made for this.

His wings had room, could stretch fully. The wind ran through his down and along his sharp flight feathers. It caught them occasionally, beckoned them to fly. 

They reached the outpost. They collapsed and Crosshair begged for help. 

The Lieutenant refused. 

Mayday was going to die. 

The shot. The chaos that followed. 

But he was made for this. 

He took out some of the troopers and command first, single shots. He was a sniper after all, even from the ground instead of in his nest. The Clones charged him and he switched it to stun. 

Good soldiers follow orders. He had. Mayday had. They had. And they were still considered dead weight. 

A stolen shuttle, Mayday hastily loaded in the back, the rest of the scattered imperials on their tail. 

But he was made for this. 

A sharp dive like that of scooped agile wings. A silent approach from behind like that of specialized feathers. A shot to their flank, percussive like beating pure white wings. 

They fell from the sky. 

He soared. 

[commsroom]

how would the characters do working in a public service job, such as retail? I'm particularly curious about hilbert, kepler, and minkowski.

you know, you can really tell that nobody in wolf 359 other than eiffel has ever worked retail. it explains a lot about them.

it's impossible to imagine hilbert working retail in any context that isn't just. a joke for how out of place he would be. everything hilbert does is for his research, and he considers anything else a pointless distraction. he thinks that "bedside manner is like anesthetic: it just gets in the way of what needs to be done." honestly, i wish i could make hilbert work customer service. it would be torture for him, and he would say the kinds of things to customers that most people can only fantasize about. if you put him in a retail job, somehow, he would still just disappear into a dark storage room to do god knows what. i think hilbert would let people shoplift. he doesn't care.

kepler... could thrive in retail, actually. that's really scary. not that he would like it, but that he's got that kind of personality type and work ethic. the version of kepler who hollowed himself to become the manager of a dick's sporting goods might be worse than regular kepler, for the limited power it would offer him. but stagnation would drive him crazy. kepler really values progress - always working harder, doing more. he doesn't mind being a cog in the corporate machine, but that would be a much less. complex machine, compared to his real ambitions. he would still tell the exact same stories.

minkowski would be very, very frustrated by a job like that, but she would take it very seriously. she would enforce every nonsensical, nit-picky little policy to the letter. she would want to run that place like the navy, for sure, but people wouldn't be scared of her the way they'd be scared of someone like kepler. she's a tryhard people pleaser, and she tries to come across as strict and no-nonsense, but i think minkowski really takes people at their word and it wouldn't be hard for both customers & her employees to walk all over her once they figured out how she operates, and which of her threats are empty. that's what eiffel did. if she wasn't in a management position, it would be even worse for her. she would grit her teeth, and try very, very hard, and she would hate every moment of it.

characters you didn't ask about, but i have to talk about anyway:

i think lovelace would be a relatively cool manager who would take your side if a customer was a jerk to you, and she wouldn't really care about the rules as long as things got done. but it would be difficult for her to hold a lower-level position, unless she had a cool manager.

eiffel is the only one of them who's canonically worked food service (and a whole assortment of dead-end jobs he got fired from within a few months) and he approaches his current job pretty much the same as i imagine he approached his job at pizza hut. he complains about his boss, zones out, maybe even falls asleep. if he could wander outside and smoke, he would. eiffel and hera are really the only two people here who don't have career ambitions. almost everyone else wants something more, in their own ways, but eiffel just wants to clock out, go home, and relax. doesn't really matter what the job is, he just doesn't want to be at work. respectable.

and hera is already doing the equivalent of putting on a customer service voice, seething with contempt, and then going to cry in the bathroom, like, every day of her life. so...