#and if you want to see any of them in particular i have copious art of all of them

[hopelesscalico]

Summuruay and i might ask more in depth from there 👍

ok!! o7 my preface is that i am a big ttrpg player so quite a few of these stories are owed in part to my friends + my boyfriends!! but i have plenty of original projects too :)

first up: WHOREVILLE! whoreville is a ttrpg campaign dmed by my wonderful boyfriend @rin0a! it was poorly named as a joke a little over three years ago when we started playing it and now we are all (unfortunately) much too attached to the name to try and change it. whoreville is set in a modern fantasy setting, where elves and magic and other similarly fantastical things exist alongside iphones. we follow a party of 5 characters (zoey, aurelia, twig, celeste, and minseo) as they are tormented by tempus, the god of both war and being extremely gay-coded! the party is basically played with like little dolls, being forced into problem after problem because tempus loves to make a certain dryad man (and company) suffer for his own amusement. they spend most of their time solving various other peoples problems as well as uncovering their own pasts bc their secrets are often exposed against their will. (the party is full of little mentally ill little liars) the question continues to arise: WHY US???? AHHH!!!

my most important character in whoreville (and also of all time) is AURELIA CERVANTES!!!! she’s a 19 year old half-elf girl who is as dumb as she is kind! she loves to talk, loves meeting new people, and is intensely emotional at all times. her very favorite things are her friends, dogs, fashion and romance! she is extremely silly, bisexual, and full of LIES!!! while aurelia initially appears to be a fairly well-adjusted girl, her happy-go-lucky demeanor masks an extremely turbulent past (and present!) of struggling with incredibly severe mental illness. she has a methodical system in place to make herself seem as “normal” as possible at all times. she is also in head over heels love with her fellow party member and best friend zoey (the aforementioned dryad man) but he has yet to catch her drift being that he is so dense you could probably smash a brick on his head and he wouldn’t notice.

i am also in possession of a retired pc named EDEN LIETO! eden is a 25 year old faun woman who is extremely and unequivocally lame and could be accurately described as Constantly having a stick up her ass. she’s extremely quick to anger, and she’s incredibly blunt at best and outright mean at worst. buuuut… internally, eden is a very kind lady who has had to harden up throughout the course of a very difficult life. she has devoted her life to the selfless goal of helping as many children in need as she possibly can. she just… struggles a lot with feelings. she is not currently in play in whoreville being that her character arc is pretty much over and she has moved back in to live with her family in her hometown (after leaving home as a teenager) but! she does still exist.

secondly: SENTENCE REPOSE! sentence repose is a… i guess you could say part collaborative writing project part roleplay part?? ttrpg campaign, sort of, hypothetically? again, the world was thought up by my boyfriend rinoa! the plot follows lil homie gay ass (a campy little 13 year old named isaac) and his quest to get vengeance on the corrupt government responsible for the deaths of them and their entire town (after being brought back to life by the son of the man who killed him). isaac doesn’t work completely alone, though! he travels with a group of people from various backgrounds, initially recruited by isaac as temporary assistance but the 8 of them end up working together as a longer term arrangement. the story follows each of them over the span of many years as they slowly work to tackle the monolith that is SENTENCE MOTION…. (the miserable government/corporation/monarchy hybrid that runs their country)

JOAN GAYE-WAZOWSKI is one of 2 characters i own who travel the party! she’s a 16-year old elf girl who was turned into a robot by isaac’s estranged father in order to optimize her own quest for vengeance. she is seeking to avenge the deaths of her long-deceased parents, who she believes to have been murdered by the government. (they weren’t.) she prides herself on her bizarre nature, deliberately utilizing words that haven’t been used since 1930 mid-conversation to disarm anyone foolish enough to converse with her. basically, she talks like she’s playing 4d chess. her hobbies include making dangerous chemical concoctions with no safety gear, publishing shitty yaoi-artstyle art on deviantart, and being annoying on purpose.

LUCIEN SHIROSAWA is my other main sentence repose character! he’s an incredibly gentle and kind 14 year old human boy who loves babies, dad rock, and bad y/a romance. lucien is a boy on a quest to prove their worth as an adventurer, after being largely ignored by their neglectful parents their entire life. (parents who just so happen to be employed by the very corrupt government the party is seeking to dismantle! would you look at that!) largely, lucien is much too nice for his own good, and struggles with extreme gender dysphoria as well seeing his disabled body as valuable.

next would be my own ttrpg campaign, SIGNPOST! iiiiiim the dm of signpost! it’s about working together to stop the end of the world, friendship-is-magic bullshit, and a whole lot of dyke drama. there are 8 main characters in signpost, 5 of those being npcs belonging to me and 3 of them belonging to various friends of mine.

my first npc is C1C4D4 VON CARINON!! c1c4d4 is a 26 year old wild elf + tgirl computer scientist who works heavily in robotics and is an aspiring SUPERVILLAIN!!!! NYAHAHAHAHA!!!! c1c4d4 is a weirdgirl, first and foremost. she is a self described “evil genius” who loves to make fun of people and get up to mischief for her own amusement. she’s mean, she’s a loser, and she thinks she’s much, much, cooler than she is. but it’s ok!! she’s funny about it!! >:3c

c1c4d4 works alongside famed assassin LILY VON CARINON. lily is an uptight 28 year old human woman who is in incredible homodenial and has been for a period of many years. she’s unbelievably cagey about her life, emotions, and interests, and she dedicates nearly all of her free time to doing work. she is obsessed with coming off as cool, calm, collected, and incapable of having human feelings. her and her coworker/roommate/best friend c1c4d4, though, are unbelievably in love with each other. both of them are so out of touch with their emotions, though, that they basically just live the lifestyle of a married couple without being formally in a relationship. (notice they have the same last name? yeah.)

JIMMY OF THE SEAS is a 38 year old demigod of the ocean! he is the epitome of a claire’s girl except grown up and gone transgender. he’s loud, eccentric, talkative, and constantly frantically jumping from task to conversation to task again. he has a bit of difficulty keeping on track, and usually just tends to go with the flow and listen to his impulses. ae’s the son of the ocean goddess, maraniah, who is… not the most thoughtful of parents. ae has spent a lot of aer life dealing with the societal pressure of being related to a major deity. not fun!

JUSTIN TOLINOV is earths most miserable guy!! :( he is a 37 year old human man who is unbelievably catatonically depressed. because of this, he tends to be just a little bit… boring. he’s a sweet guy, though! he’s incredibly overworked and constantly stressed due to his inability to say no to other people in any circumstance. his hobbies include crying when his friends argue, prematurely wrinkling, and doing exactly what everyone else wants him to do all the time.

and finally there is DANELA!!!! danela is the silliest pinkest tiefling girl of all time who the party found wandering alone in the woods with total amnesia. she doesn’t remember anything but her own first name! (including how old she is.) she is upbeat, naive, and is slowly relearning everything about the world one step at a time. it’s hard to stay mad at her, considering that she kind of acts like an overgrown child. she likes to bite people and try putting new things into her mouth (whether that be pop-tarts or human blood) she loves baking (even if she is terrible at it) and her friends! yippee!!!!!!!

MICHISINO is a ttrpg campaign dmed by my friend @crashed-on-mars !! it’s set on our normal planet earth, but with the bonus addition of monsters! monsters are largely discriminated against by humankind and are forced to try and exist under the radar of humans. our main adventuring party is made up of 4 different monsters + 1 human girl. mostly, the party is trying very hard to live their little domestic family lifestyle and being interrupted by The Horrors 😱

MYLEEN “MJ” KALASHNIK is a 26 year old ukrainian woman! she was born human but was cursed as a teenager and is now a freaky three-winged three-horned creature lady! she struggles socially and tends to be kind of awkward and emotionally distant because of it. but she’s just a silly really. she just has severe mental issues. she used to have an insatiable need to eat human brains but don’t worry she got better. 😁 also she is fully and genuinely obsessed with her…. Platonic Coparent miriam aka blackjack who belongs to bobby grasslandbutch. she has severe autistic girl swagger. and also female absent father swagger. hobbies include playing the google snake game and killing herself

TETYANA “ANA” KALASHNIK is mj’s 12 year old younger sister/child that she adopted! ana is obsessed with mj and thinks she is the coolest person ever to be born. mj is her number one role model of all time, which mj hates deeply because she insists she is not a good person to look up to (and. she’s right) ana is just generally super chipper and friendly and goofy and she loves soccer and sonic the hedgehog. she has the need to like Prove Herself which is not really going well being that she is 12

OK PSA. IM GOING TO TRY AND MAKE THE REST OF THESE SHORTER BECAUSE IM REALIZING HOW LONG THESE ARE

i have a couple of other miscellaneous player characters including LIZZIE WELLS a semiverbal and deeply stoic swordfighter girl who loves reddit and nature documentaries EHNOS VALJAS a 12 year old chosen one with a lot of rage boiling inside them who is on a quest to save the world and ALPHIE SOUP a nasty little werecat girlboy who loves making bad music and being a shithead

i have a hypothetical video game bouncing around my head called DERANGED, OUR SAVIOR that follows a self-aware protagonist named MENCHIE DESDEPOT who loves when they’re right and everyone else is wrong. since they know they are the protagonist they are usually very very very annoying about it. they travel alongside ALLEY OOPS, their best friend and freakish jestergirl extraordinaire, as well as ANZAVEL ECKRY, a magical fantastical little creature who is deeply kind but dumb as a rock.

the next 2 projects are currently unnamed! the first is a short story i want to write someday that takes place in a kind of campy goofy sci-fi setting years in the distant future after time and space fucked up real bad and earth kind of gets merged w/ this other planet. the mainest characters are GOOSE LUNDQVIST and ANDY PRASERITSANG a pair of middle school weirdgirls who do lesbians together. goose is incredibly curious and loud and eclectic and quirkygirl and andy is quiet (only because he finds most other people insufferable) and kind of standoffish. but also CILREA (whose full name i won’t even bother typing out because it’s so long) is there and she’s an alien girl who is kind of a well-meaning little know it all . and CUPID!!!! who is an ai robot who stumbles upon godlike capabilities on accident but she stays silly. she loves old technology and glitter and big bows.

this other project i am working on is like a medievalish fantasy type setting? it takes place on a big continent called the starlet that is mostly populated by HUMANS but is also lived in by ANGELS and DEVILS and sometimes also WEREWOLVES and VAMPIRES and such. my goal with this one was to create a world big enough that i could tell multiple stories completely unrelatedly in the same setting! since there are multiple stories being told there are kind of a lot of players in the ring so let me rapid fire. IRE is a 247 year old undead man who got killed and brought back to life wrong but then got killed again and brought back to life normal so now he’s kind of chilling. MERRYMAKING JOY is ire’s dead angel (literal!) wife and the love of his life 4ever and ever. she haunts the narrative or whatever. also there’s SPROUT BELLWHISTLE ire’s silly little girl friend/semidaughter. and also TAXI VISCERA a 16 year old who wants ire to blow up and die so bad because ire like wronged his family a longass time ago and also LARK MALARKEY (neurotic) and KATZIN DOGS (insane) some old friends of ire’s. AND THEN, UNRELATEDLY! there’s DUSTY WHIMSY an ex-princess turned paladin of the wastelands on an honorable quest to defend the peace. a certain guy named THE WORLD ENDER or twe for short is her dedicated rival and a political revolutionary seeking to incite chaos on a massive scale. there is also dusty’s girlslay sister SUNNY WHIMSY who is next in line 4 the crown and her loyal knight/bff of many years DOVE RADIANCE!

^_^ ok i have a couple other minor projects too but those are the big ones !!

#ok. i am SO FUCKING SORRY THIS IS SO LONG #ToT #i am sooooooo incapable of summarizing things shortly and i have soooo many projects #if u read all of these u r literally my favorite person ever #nonsense.txt #my little mailbox #thanks again for the ask this was so fun to write :3 #and if you want to see any of them in particular i have copious art of all of them #i just didnt attach images 4 the sake of keeping this behemoth as short as possible #cjocs

[cerastes]

Hello mr.Dreamer sir, I've defeated Mouthpiece and now I'm going after Playwright. I was wodering if you had any suggestions before I start bashing my head against this particular wall. Regardless I hope you're having a good day!

Hey, congrats on the Mouthpiece clear!

Alright, so, The Playwright:

Playwright needs two distinct Encounters to unlock in a run, and his fight takes place in the Sixth Floor. This means that, in addition to preparing for Playwright, you must also gear up to fight either Phantom or the Big Sad Lock. When it comes to Mouthpiece, the Phantom -> Mouthpiece routing is the most obvious one since Big Sad Lock requires burning through Encounters to trigger, and is diametrically the opposite fight to Mouthpiece's (fully static vs. the single most dynamic boss in Arknights). For Playwright, you'll still want Phantom -> Playwright, simply because burning through Encounters is wasteful when those could be Battle picks, BUT the thing is, set-ups for BSL actually work very well against Playwright, so BSL -> Playwright is actually pretty viable, if such a routing suits your fancy.

Now, let's go over what Playwright and his map, New Chapter, demands of you:

As you can see, this map is quite large and 'honest': What I mean by honest is that it makes no secret as to what the boss' route will be, if you simply look at where the arrows lead: Playwright will spawn from the upper left, reappear on the upper right after taking the staircase, and finally, he will appear on the lower left, where he will then start walking towards the Objective. Otherwise, we have no paratroopers, and all units come from where you expect them to come from, based on enemy spawns.

Now, let's talk about the fight itself: New Chapter is very heavy on incoming damage. This is in start contrast with the other IS2 bosses, which pace themselves into "enemy burst" phases that only occur if you don't manage the enemies before they become an issue, such as the Scarlet Singer carousel to the right of the Phantom fight. New Chapter continuously sends copious amounts of Arts Damage your way the whole way through: Winterwisp Blood Shamans, Winterwisp Blood Magisters, Originiutant Alphas, and Playwright himself all are heavy Arts enemies. So, a good bulk-to-dps ratio is essential, because if you only have bulk, you'll not be able to actually kill in time, and you'll leak enemies because you'll simply not have enough Block to contain the continuous stream of enemies, and if you only have damage, you will buckle sooner rather than later due to Playwright's constant bombardments and enemies that explode into sizable Arts damage when they die. The lower right spawn only produces Theater Golems (four of them) so don't fall for it: Just one or two units can handle the Golems (remember, Theater Golems are actually pretty fragile!), the rest of your team should focus on the main lane.

So, with the context laid bare on the table, let's talk about the guest of honor: The Playwright.

The Playwright has global range and will attack with a Cross AoE once every four seconds. Meaning, his regular attack hits the main target and all adjacent (not diagonal) allies. His Skills include:

A map-wide attack that hits every single unit in the map, creating a Cross AoE Arts explosion on them after a short delay. This hits with 80% of The Playwright's ATK. Playwright uses this 10 second after spawning, and will use it every 20 seconds after the first cast.

The Playwright will target the latest deployed Operator with a debuff that permanently halves their Attack Speed and that also deals Damage Over Time equals to 4% of their Max HP as Arts damage. Operators with this effect that are retreated will have their redeployment time increased by 50% and the tile they were using will become unavailable for the rest of the fight (think of FrostNova's black ice). He will use this every 20 seconds, and if the latest unit is already afflicted by this, he will instead target the one deployed before that one, and so on. He cannot use this on Summons like Mon3tr, Thunderers, etc.

And arguably his strongest ability: Enrage. When Playwright's HP falls under 50%, Playwright enters Enrage, engulfing himself in blue fires and getting the following effects: All of his damage +50%. Double DEF (total: baseline 2000 DEF). RES increased by 80% (total: 90 RES), and he will combo his skills shortly after entering enrage, with the map-wide attack shortly followed by his debuff. His cooldown for both abilities becomes 15 seconds instead of 20 seconds as well.

He is also unblockable and like the other end bosses, will take 30 Lives if he makes it to the Objective.

His baseline stats, before any IS modifiers, are: 80000 HP, 800 ATK, 1000 DEF and 50 RES.

Between his global range, map-wide skills, and immense bulk, Playwright is an ever present threat for as long as he's alive.

Now with all of this in mind, let's talk about solutions:

Arts mitigation, such as Nightingale, are immensely powerful in this map, since all relevant damage is Arts.

AoE Healers, like AoE Medics and Bards, help a lot with the constant damage and global attacks as well.

You want tough laneholders with DPS capability to hold lanes and also kill in time before you start leaking enemies. Centuriors, Dollkeepers, Juggernauts, the works. You also want heavy duty Ranged damage to help them, ideally, damage type doesn't matter.

If you can, you want to kill Playwright as soon as possible. With good DP generation, like a Flagbearer or two, you can actually set up a spawncamp burst on the upper left, where Playwright spawns. Pozyomka and Schwarz are popular choices, having hefty Physical damage and being specialized ranged Physical assassins. Moreover, Playwright is vulnerable to Hand of Choker! Meaning, the moment they get get him to 30% HP, they will instantly kill him. Regardless of the method you go with, you want to kill Playwright as soon as possible.

You have to save your Skills/burst for Enrage. Playwright becomes immensely bulky during Enrage, with a baseline of 2000 DEF and 90 RES. Arts damage, thus, is not good against him, and you'll want to rely on Physical or True instead. For Nearl the Radiant Knight users specifically: You can't True Damage Playwright with her, because he is unblockable, and blocking is her True Damage conditional! Bring S2!

And the most important thing: Do diagonal set-ups. Don't put units next to each other, or your formation WILL explode, due to Playwright's entire kit relying on Cross AoEs. Mind your deployment order as well, because you will need to have a sturdy unit take his autoattacks, and you don't want your important units to be afflicted with half Attack Speed. For this reason, Vanguards help a lot with this fight, giving you the freedom to set-up fast and however you want.

The main thing with Playwright is that he's makes you juggle a lot of plates, but once you understand what each plate entails, he's not too hard, assuming you prepared accordingly. If you kill him very fast, then the map just becomes a heavy-damage but otherwise very manageable map. If you neglect him, he'll really make your life hell by whittling you down little by little, initially, and then, whittling you down REALLY fast. Don't let him do that. Obliterate that catboy immediately. No mercy for the French and their Arts damage.

#ghiou alter #arknights #integrated strategies #playwright arknights #dreamknights

[itsbeenliketenyearsitsprettywild]

What if... Kazui’s victim WASN’T his wife?

So, I just connected some dots about Kazui’s videos and various points of symbolism in it, and If I’m right.. Kazui might’ve been pulling the wool over our eyes way further than we thought, guys. That is to say: What if his wife’s death was in reaction to his original murder?

(rest under readmore!)

Part 1: Kazui, René Magritte, and the Art of Misdirection

One of the things Cat made sure to make clear to the audience was that we have to take everything Kazui gives us with a major grain of salt. This is shown multiple ways; the illusionist persona he takes on for most of the video, the fast-paced sequences meant to obscure important details, the fact that it involves multiple René Magritte references, etc.

Though, speaking of René Magritte... anyone remember another of his famous works?

That’s right: Kazui’s mind might be feeding us a narrative more deceptive and treacherous than we think. And this will all unfortunately be ignoring the fact that ‘une pipe’ is French slang for ‘a blowjob’.  don’t blame me, blame Kazui’s subconscious

Just to be clear: I still think the visuals Kazui gives us and the clues he sets up for us are very important to consider. It’s just that the obvious picture they paint isn’t entirely accurate.

After all, while he may be one of the prisoners that the narrative has been clear about being an intentional liar/deceiver, the way his mind portrays these deceptions is very different from how MILGRAM’s other liar, Shidou, goes out of his way to deceive us:

Shidou’s method of deception is more obvious while at the same time being more obtuse: he makes copious use of visual symbolism and metaphor. The building blocks he uses are, by their nature revealing to us his subjective feelings and personal truth with regards to a subject, while the objective reality of what happened takes a back seat. In doing so, he’s still honestly revealing that everything we’re seeing at a given moment is important. It’s just that, what anything we’re being shown is actually supposed to convey, that’s for us to work out.

In comparison, the way Kazui sets up his lies?  Well, like any true illusionist, it’s all in the presentation and setup.

Part 2: The Man(’s Wife) Behind the Curtain

So, given that Prisoner 007’s main tactic for lying to us is misdirection, this means one big foundational aspect of truth is immediately doubtful: Anything Kazui directly tries to tell/convey to us is immediately questionable and likely not entirely accurate.

You see, one of the best ways a stage magician can misdirect an audience is through an misleading framing of events. They do this multiple ways - by stating what kind of trick they’re going to be pulling, letting the audience see what props they’re holding as the trick begins, and noting where the conceit of the trick isn’t (ie; the classic  “Nothing up my sleeve!” line).

In doing so, the audience is primed to see everything they notice from a particular perspective. That way, even if they DO glance at the trick the magician is pulling, they’ll still be unlikely to understand exactly what they’re seeing and have ‘the magic ruined’ for them.

So, any big conceits and large framing devices Kazui draws our attention to probably aren’t being utilized the way they seem to be at face value. If we want to the truth, it’s gonna be in the slower moments where Kazui isn’t talking to us. Or, in the moments that he is, the most important parts are the little things that go by too fast for up to keep up with.

As an example, look back up at the most recent screenshot I posted. Notice anything that’s a bit harder to immediately parse compared to everything else?

Yep, that little French blurb tucked between all this bigger, flashier stuff. Just based on the captions, it’s easy to pin them as the lyrics translated to French, right?

Wrong. 

While the lyrics and visuals seem to be painting a picture of Kazui eventually coming into conflict with his innocent wife, the second line in French... could almost be taken as a... statement of solidarity? It’s written in past tense (as compared to ‘we will be better’), but is still much more equal and affectionate on both sides than the simple ‘victim-criminal’ dynamic would lead one to infer.

Not to mention... wasn’t it implied they talked about all this and largely resolved it back in half?

And indeed, it was! Starting from 2:18 going to 2:36, we get the green apple (which seems to represent Kazui’s hidden nature) sitting on a table onstage with the spotlight shining directly on it. The truth about Kazui has been put front and center where it can readily be seen. And what do we see as we pull into the foreground?

Not a fight, or a clash, but Hinako reaching out and comforting Kazui.

For all he’s told us that confessing the truth is what lead to ‘her’ death, the actual (notably subdued and understated) moment we see where it seems like he’s finally admitted what he’s been hiding his entire life, she responds to his truth with a very small smile.

A hand on his cheek. More than anything else, it’s this moment that resonates with that ‘we would do better’ that Kazui tried to slide past our radar.

But if that’s the case, it raises a very important question: If it wasn’t actually the truth itself that caused everything come crashing down, what did? If this was still everything being fine... 

Then, what moment was represented by all of this?

What, exactly, was this ‘dove’ Kazui tore apart with his teeth that drove his wife to react with horror and despair?

Part 3: Green, the color of hidden truths

For all that Kazui’s intentional deception of the viewer is near exclusively done through misdirecting the audience’s attention or misleading our perspective, there’s still a lot he’s only willing to tell us through symbolism. The most obvious case of this, of course, is Kazui’s green apple, reflecting his true nature he’s hidden away for most of his life.

But did you notice the color coding he also uses throughout most of Cat?

On the most basic level, we can see this utilized as a way to differentiate relevance to characters: Kazui represents himself with blue, and Hinako with pink.

See? 

As such, the colors Kazui uses in backgrounds, in drawing characters, and to write out text can be very important in deciphering what everything is supposed to mean. The problem is that he uses a lot more colors besides just pink and blue, with us currently not knowing what any of the other colors mean.

...Well, besides green, at least. He’s already made it pretty obvious that green represents hidden things that Kazui (on some level) doesn’t want discovered.

...But, wait. 

If so....

...Why is this one woman in the wedding audience wearing a green dress?

Most of y’all probably already know this, but I recently made a post where I drew the conclusion that she’s actually the wife of Kazui’s childhood friend, the bartender, with the bar scene in half being their introductory meeting so they could get to know each other better.

One of the things I didn’t bring up in that post was the fact that we seem to watch her get absolutely sloshed during it.

Which. Certainly is a choice? Going out all dressed up to where your hubby works, to meet the guy he’s been best friends with since childhood, and you decide the best way to make a first impression is to get hammered and start having to lean against this relative stranger just so you don’t fall off the stool? 

Don’t worry, my theory isn’t going the roofie route, so no need to fret over that.

Instead, the question I started considering was, “Why would she feel the need to start drinking so much?” And, in general, there’s a few different reasons why someone might decide to get seriously inebriated; to blow off steam, to forget your problems, to fuel a budding alcohol addiction, etc. 

But the reason that made the most sense to me in this context was drinking to settle the nerves. 

Sometimes, when people feel tense or awkward when socializing, they’ll start drinking alcohol as a way to calm themselves down and make things less tense. Booze is a well-known social lubricant, after all; knock enough back and suddenly you’re everybody’s friend! 

But, to feel the need to go that far just to keep up a conversation with the guy your husband is closest to... She must have felt REALLY uncomfortable, for some reason.

Which brings me back to her wearing the color of intentionally hidden secrets at Kazui’s wedding.

I think she had a feeling about Kazui’s true nature from when they first met. While the thought of it made her uncomfortable, largely as to what might mean for Kazui’s dynamic with her husband. However, she didn’t want to come out and confront him about it in such a public place (and where her spouse works, no less!), so instead she just kept drinking. The wedding... to be honest, I think the wedding reassured and assuaged her doubts for at least a little while. 

After all, he and Hinako seemed to be seriously happy and in love! It wouldn’t feel anywhere near as sincere if the groom was secretly ‘like that’, right?

And at some point during that time (don’t remember if we’ve been given an official marriage length for them or not; please let me know if we have) Kazui confessed the truth to Hinako, who largely just took it in stride and stayed by his side through thick and thin. 

‘It’ only occurred after all that had already happened.

What’s ‘it’, you ask?

Well... the truth is, I have no way of knowing precisely what ‘it’ was; it’s the biggest truth Kazui is hiding from us, after all, and a magician would never reveal his secrets so easily. What I do know is that it likely involved the bartender’s wife directly confronting Kazui, with Kazui doing something drastic in return, likely to better keep his secret hidden.

And, for all I can’t tell you precisely what ‘it’ was, whether ‘it’ was threatening someone or the actual murder Kazui was put in Milgram for, I CAN readily point you to how Kazui viewed ‘it’:

And it was only after discovering whatever the above represents that we see Hinako react like this: 

But, with all this in mind, I think Hinako’s potential... murder? suicide? whatever it was? ... is far less about whatever ‘green apple’ Kazui was hiding, and far more about how far he was willing to go to keep it hidden. 

TL;DR: In keeping audience misdirection in mind, Hinako finding out about Kazui’s true nature more than likely isn’t what lead to the ‘murder’ Kazui is in Milgram for. If anything, it was likely the wife of his childhood friend confronting Kazui about his secret that lead to where things ended up; from what we can tell, Kazui had already told his wife his secret, and that hadn’t pushed her away.

#MILGRAM #MILGRAM project #Kazui mukuhara #kazui milgram #man it sure would be nice if my weird sense of intuition turned out to be correct for like the 3rd time in my entire life

[fluffyhare]

((Oh shoot I was mid-ask and pushed the wrong thing and I’m not sure it sent so starting over 😅))

Anywho hello hi there I really hope you don’t mind the like spamming (and interactions in general from nsfw blogs); I just really couldn’t help myself bc I’m resonating so much with your content and tags and you seem like a genuinely lovely human with absolutely adorable artwork so I wanted to show you some appreciation 🥺💗 It immediately comes across how much you love and care for your OCs via the lore you’ve created and the utmost tender way you talk about them and the way they interact with each other ?? 😭 it’s impossible not to fall in love with them too. I also hope you’ve heard copious amount of feedback about how brilliant your writing is - so detailed, so warm, so intimate…it’s extremely flustering and endlessly endearing and I’m so grateful you share your gift with all of us on here! In particular, I’m positively fascinated with Avery’s backstory and anatomy and am loving discovering the depth of the layers of thought that you put into composing him. Excited to learn more 🥰

((((I’m also approaching my third decade of life next year and it’s always nice seeing rep for folks my age in the community who are still enjoying and exploring their relationship with this “kink”(using this term lightly bc I know everyone may not consider themselves to fall under that umbrella). I too met my partner on here, and it’s beautiful to hear that things can work out in the long run so thank you for that tidbit of reassurance 💗 sending wishes of happiness for you both!!))))

Sorry again for this long winded ramble I was just inspired and wanted to send the warm vibes I received while perusing your awesome blog back your way!!! Hope you have a lovely day 💕

-🐰

Anon... my god! 😭💙 /very positive

Crying into my tea on a Sunday morning... god, I am so touched by this, I'm just falling apart...

Let me respond to this sequentially, so I don't just get flooded with emotion (and if you've been watching how I post, you already know this is going to be long as fuck... Sorry! 🥲)

1. I am absolutely okay with NSFW blogs interacting with me, and spam interactions don't bother me at all! The only interactions I don't want are from minors and dickheads, haha. No worries on this, peach.

2. Fewer people interact with my fic than with my art, but when I tell you I treasure every single thing people say about my fic... god, there's just nothing like it. My fic is so, so close to my heart. I've been a writer much longer than I've been an artist, so I feel like I can really express myself through writing in a way I can't with art... I'm trying, but I'm not quite there yet! God, thank you so much for your kind words... I am so grateful that the warmth and love I feel when I'm writing is felt by others, too. I really try to capture the very essence of how these characters and their emotions feel in my mind and heart.

And you like the lore, too? 🥺 My long-winded rambling? My wordy expositions? God, my heart! 😭💙

3. I am so happy to know you met your partner in this community, too! I am really wishing the best for you, and yes, it absolutely can work out! My spouse and I are very different from each other, but we are still best friends after six years, and I don't see that changing any time soon.

4. I feel like this community tends to be younger, especially here on Tumblr, so it's kind of refreshing to hear from someone in the same phase of life as me. If there's anything I didn't expect, it's that I would still be exploring my feelings about tickling (and, well, intimacy as a whole) well into adulthood. It's funny how things come back around, though... I was making tickling doodles in my diary when I was just a kid, but I stopped (and, stopped drawing altogether, really) after high school. Had to work through a ton of shame, religious trauma, and just a metric fuckton of other shit, all to come right back around to doing tickling doodles again, haha! I was delighted to find that, at 30 (and with a whole lot of new experiences and context), it still makes me just as giddy now as it did then.

All of this is to say... There may be common threads throughout one's life, but we aren't really set in stone the way people think. You can absolutely discover, and rediscover, yourself and what brings you joy over and over again as you grow and have new experiences. If I can give any advice on this, it's this: Don't close yourself off. You only have this one life, so use it to experience all you can. Even if you're shy, like me... do your best to lend a kind word, an ear, or a hand as often as possible. You never know who, or what, is gonna set your soul on fire.

Anon, thank you so much for this ask... And if you ever want to chat, I'd be more than delighted. 💙

#just the sweetest fucking ask #favs #my heart #ask #🐰

[hrokkall]

Saw the little nightmares 3 trailer got released and wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Is there anything in particular that you're excited for or just generally hyped about?

Also sorry if this question comes across weird I have no clue about the series but remembered you enjoyed it and drew some stuff for it so I thought it'd be fun to talk about it if that makes sense?

- 🥊

Oh I have so many thoughts on it. So many that I'm going to put them below the cut so this post doesn't take up anyone's entire dash.

First of all, damn my copious amounts of coursework for the fact that I couldn't sit down and start drawing fanart immediately the moment I finished watching the trailer once… or twice… maybe three times. Mark my words though these kids WILL be getting some day 2 (actual) art, even if it's just a little sketch.

…Point being, I was pretty excited right out of the gate. Admittedly, I was a little nervous that the studio changeover would mean that any (potential) future Little Nightmares content would mean a massive tonal shift, but based on the trailer alone + the additional guides related to the game, it nails the atmosphere of the previous games pretty damn well. Hell, the giant baby enemy even resembles some of the concept art from the flesh walls!

Already, Nowhere is combining some of my favorite things (notably locations that seem/are "alive", steampunk motifs, and copious amounts of birds… also reminds me a little bit of Zone 3 from OFF, but that's probably just me), but most notably is the fact that it actually seems to resemble some of the locations seen in the (tragically cancelled) 2017 comics. This is particularly notable in the first issue, which features two children taking shelter in a barn from a monster known as the North Wind (who is made of/"sees through" the eyes of black birds, presumably crows), but the second issue is about a monster that lives within mirrors, which are shown a lot in the trailer as well. Either way, I'm cautiously hoping for some references to the comics, especially because we never got to learn what happened to the rest of the Maw kids there (the answer is probably "they died horribly" but I mean hey. You never know).

The designs of the two protagonists are, of course, adorable. I love the plague doctor/gas mask duo (especially because having face coverings makes sense in such a dusty place) and the bit where they both glide down using feather umbrellas is genuinely so fun—absolutely no complaints there.

…Actually, one complaint: I have no idea which one is Low and which one is Alone. None of the official sources have clarified that. Please LN3… I need to know the names of my new kids before they get put into the meat grinder like every other protagonist in these games. (Given the series' track record, I'm not too optimistic about their fates—sorry little guys! I'll be rooting for you anyway). EDIT: It seems like Low is the bird mask kid and Alone is the hazard suit kid

Mechanically… I don't think we've seen enough of the game for me to make any hasty judgements. I know everyone wanted LN2 to be multiplayer (and LN3 appears to have a singleplayer option), but I'm unsure of how that will work. Will it be Spiritfarer style multiplayer where only one player has to own LN3? Will it be online? Will it be splitscreen? Will me inevitably ditching the main campaign to screw around with my friend ruin the atmosphere? No idea. The way I see it, it's too soon to tell.

While we're on the topic though, I did also listen to the first episode of the audio drama! Without spoiling anything… yeah I can definitely recommend it. It's very reminiscent of The Magnus Archives and/or The Bright Sessions, so if you like either of those podcasts you'll probably like The Sounds of Nightmares. Even if you know absolutely nothing about Little Nightmares, I'd honestly recommend it. Voice mixing is a little off in places (though there's a decent chance it was just my headphones being fucky), but the podcast MORE than makes up for it in terms of imagery and phenomenal sound design. No word on the lore implications though; I'll listen to episode 2 when I get the time and THEN deliver the verdict there. I also hope they release an official transcript for it—there isn't one right now afaik, but that would be really helpful for a multitude of reasons.

But yeah, that's about it! TL;DR hell yeah I'm excited for this game, but I'm trying not to fill in the blanks with too much supposition while there's still so little info available

#Also I can promise this isn't a weird question at all; I was freaking out over it on main #And I've drawn/talked about loving the LN series here too! Point being no worries :] #Re: Inbox #🥊 anon #Little Nightmares 3 #<- For indexing. Apologies to the maintag

[lesbiansanemi]

for the writers asks 3, 4, 10, 28??? :3

Omg hi Lee!!! :D <3

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

Tbh anytime I'm not Out doing something, I'm probably writing, so if it's a day I don't have to go to work immediately upon waking up, I generally roll out of bed, tramp downstairs, and sit in the rocking chair and just immediately start writing lol The most cursed thing about it is probably just that my cat Dimaria likes to come stand on my chest/in my lap so I'm just trying to see around her lol I also tend to have some type of reality TV on in the background cuz reality TV is the best background TV

4. What's a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Any time I get to type out "necessary" or "necessarily" makes my brain happy. Idk, it's just satisfying for some reason. But also I get super excited anytime I'm writing gore and I get to describe the noises that come with broken bones, ripping flesh, etc. Squelch and crunch are particular favorites :3 Free brain scritches

10. Has a piece of writing ever "haunted" you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

There are definitely a couple of things! It's not necessarily exact lines or passages most of the time, but just particular scenes that have so clearly stuck with me since I read/watched them for the first time, because of super strong emotions they evoked, or just the all the planning and meaning that went into them beforehand. Tbh the first one like this that I can really remember was when I read Warriors for the first time when I was like eight and Firestar had the prophetic dream of the mountain of bones and it started oozing blood and he drowned in it. And then in the same book when Scourge ripped Tigerstar open "from throat to tail" and then he died in absolute agony nine times over 'cause he'd just gotten his nine lives but the wound was so awful not even the gods could heal it, so he'd come back to life just to die of the same wound over and over again. Profound. That shit is seared into my brain lol. Um... a more recent one is the bit from Demon Slayer when Tanjiro is fighting Rui and his sword is broken, and Rui decides he's taking Nezuko to be his sister because he's jealous of her relationship with Tanjiro, and she's hanging in the spiderwebs and bleeding down on top of Tanjiro as he fights. The scene itself is beautiful visually, but then Tanjiro remembering his father's dance and using Hinokami Kagura the first time, coupled with their mother telling Nezuko to wake up and save Tanjiro or "he'll die too" and she uses her Blood Demon Art for the first time, so they both use their "signature moves" not only for the first time but together against a single opponent who just wanted to understand sibling love? God all the parallels rolled up in that scene and also what it signified for all the characters involved? Amazing, beautiful, 10/10. Tbh I could keep going, I have so many examples lol

As far as my own writing goes, years ago, I wrote this one scene for my steampunk dark fantasy pirate novel where the main character, Louisa (who was also the villain), tortured someone for information by cutting off her tattoos, which the person believed protected her and connected her to her gods, and if they were ever marred or ruined in anyway it meant the gods would abandon her when she died and she would be left to wander the afterlife alone until she succumbed to the nothingness and became a Hringatha (essentially a demon, so I don't have to explain copious amounts of worldbuilding here lol). But yeah, idk, could probably analyze that, something to do with religious trauma, yada yada lol, but that scene has always stuck with me, and even though I'm overhauling a lot of that novel, that's one that'll definitely be staying

And idk, as far as haunting me, like I said, I think it's just something that really sticks. That I think about, something that I haven't forgotten since the first time reading/watching/writing it. It's echoing in me, and will always be inside my head, so yeah, haunting me constantly. Artist tortured by art or something like that, idk lmao

28. Who is the most delightful character you've ever written? Why?

Dark Warrior my beloved.... my very first OC, and the main character of my most worked on high fantasy novel.... She started out as a super edgy self insert character (tbh I think she can given Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way a run for her money lmao), and you know? She stayed that, but just became fleshed out and rounded enough that she Actually Works. I just love her a lot 'cause I've put so much work into her, and I've had her for over eight years now, and it's just neat 'cause she's grown with me. She's very important to me, and writing for her is always such a joy :D

#wow this turned into an essay omg but ily thank you for giving me the opportunity to ramble <3 #asks #kaz rambles

[soundsof71]

FIVE ALBUMS YOU NEED IN YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW!!!

aka, My Top 5 of 2020, but I didn’t want to seem too retro!

Yep, I have a classic rock blog. Yep, I think that the best rock and roll in history is being made RIGHT NOW. And yep, ALL of it is being made by women. 

(Shown at top, Nova Twins by Ant Adams [x] and The Tissues by Michael Espleta [x]. I was planning to make a collage of all my faves in concert, but  not all of them were able to play in 2020. Both of these photos are pre-pandemic.)

There’s been quite a bit of movement on this list, and all five of these have spent some time at Number 1 as the year has done (gestures broadly) All This™. Anyone looking for rock and roll is going to dig any of these. 

Rocking out is just the start of it, though. Wrestling with my bipolarity and schizophrenia is tough on a good day, and there haven’t been too many of those lately. The plague has also taken its toll around me, with two family members dead and a third who’s doing better, but will likely never be all the way back. (Mask up, kids!)

I’ve written plenty about how deeply Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers have moved me this year (and will do so again), but in those rare stretches where I’ve had enough spare energy to listen to music at all these days, I’ve mostly been looking for more than beautiful music. Heavy times need heavy lifting, and I find that in heavy music. 

The five albums here have all helped carry me, pointing the way toward light.

1) BULLY, SUGAREGG

Alicia Bognanno is a force of nature as a guitarist, vocalist, composer, and producer/engineer. (While working on her degree in audio engineering at MTSU, she interned with Steve Albini, who remains both a fan and an admirer). A Nashville transplant from Minnesota, she’s still a natural fit in her home on Sub Pop: as heavy as Soundgarden, as hooky as Sleater-Kinney. 

I was blown away hearing her searing honesty while working through her discoveries of her bisexuality and bipolarity (double bi!), and her triumphant roar lifts me out of my seat every time I listen.

“She sings the hell out of [these songs], her voice fraying to the point of combustion every time she launches to the top of her range. This is phenomenal music for converting anger and anxiety into unbound joy.” ~Stereogum, Album of the Week

Also, check this fantastic interview with Alicia in the New York Times talking about what she’s gone through to get here. 

TURN IT UP!

2) GANSER, LOOK AT THAT SKY

Ganser syndrome is a rare dissociative disorder characterized by nonsensical or wrong answers to questions and other dissociative symptoms such as fugue, amnesia or conversion disorder, often with visual pseudohallucinations and a decreased state of consciousness. ~Wikipedia #it me

‘Just Look At That Sky’ doesn’t presume to offer solutions; it’s an honest document of what it feels like to wade through anxiety, day by day, not a survival guide or handbook of answers none of us actually have. Whether or not you pay attention to this, Ganser are simply one of the most invigorating, exciting new bands. ~Clashmusic

I saw one very positive review compare Ganser to a cross between Fugazi and Sonic Youth, but I think they hit much, much harder than either of those. And as you can surely guess, I also deeply relate to their themes of mental illness and dissociation while trying to make it through All This™. But my god, are they TIGHT. This is a BAND.

Ganser has two fantastic lead vocalists, and on “Bad Form”, bassist/vocalist Alicia Gaines wrote the song for the voice of keyboardist/vocalist Nadia Garofolo. Alicia also wrote a FANTASTIC essay on the strains that making an album during a pandemic puts on the mental health of the entire band at talkhouse: “Writing, recording, reaching out, balancing relationships outside and within the band, I found (and still find) myself under-rested and agitated to no particular end. More than not doing enough, I was not enough.” 

(If you can’t relate to that, I can’t relate to you, tbh.)

This video also does a fantastic job of showing dissociation. TURN IT UP!

3) THE TISSUES, BLUE FILM

“Blue Film” is a ten-song shot of dagger-twisting electro-(s)punk. It’s completely addictive from the very first listen. The tour de force is “Rear Window”, an art-punk masterpiece of slashing guitars and mad caterwauling. Copious doses of jaunty poetics and social commentary reward the earlooker patient enough to untangle Kristine Nevrose’s hysterical meowing about intergalactic salt shakers and hysterectomies, but I’m too emotionally invested to look under the hood.” ~ Sputnik Music

“Rear Window” is in fact my most-played 2020 track. TURN IT UP!

4) GUM COUNTRY, SOMEWHERE

It’s not all heavy! But even when I’m looking for something light and hooky, I need a bite, and Gum Country has done it with the kind of swirly, feeedback-laden wall of sound that Lush or Yo La Tengo would make if they lived in LA. (Recent transplants to SoCal from Vancouver, I do think that the sunshine has gone straight to their heads, in the very best way.)

Indie music nerds will know guitarist/composer/singer/front woman Courtney Garvin from The Courtneys, and she really does throw up a glorious wall of sound. I adore this video too! Sweet, swinging, fun -- and yes, the drummer is playing keyboard with one hand while slapping the skins with the other! 

I mentioned earlier that all five of these albums have spent part of the year at #1 on my list -- I think that this one might have spent the longest stretch there. Like all shoegaze, even as hooky as this, the truth of these songs is revealed in VOLUME. TURN IT UP!

5) NOVA TWINS, WHO ARE THE GIRLS?

Now, THIS is heavy! Amy Lee (vocals, guitar) and Georgia South (bass) are fucking LOUD, and insanely intense. A mix of grime, hip-hop, metal, punk, and good old rock and roll, they’re a harder-hitting, more theatrical Prodigy, with a pyre of intensity that recalls the heaviest howls of Rage Against The Machine. Indeed, Nova Twins spent a good bit of 2019 playing heavy metal festivals and toured as openers for Prophets of Rage. (Tom Morello has been a fan and supporter from the beginning.)

As you may have noted in the photo at the top of this post, their musical audacity extends to visuals too: they design their own clothes, hair, and makeup, they art direct their own videos, and more. They impress the hell out of me, and I’ve been a huge fan since hearing their first singles in 2018. I’ll plant a flag and say that Georgia South in particular is the most innovative musician on any instrument in any genre right now, but they’re both absolutely monsters. 

I’m honestly not at all sure that #5 is high enough for this, but I’m absolutely certain that after this video, you’re gonna need to rest for a little. LOL

“Taxi” is the story of two gleefully and creatively violent women shaking up the local crime syndicate as they use a vintage cab for their moving murder scene. This is the movie that Robert Rodriguez wishes he was making with Sin City, if it were combined with Blade Runner and The Matrix. And gangsters. And a snake.

I’m gonna take your crown I’m gonna, I’m gonna bleed you out We demand it by the hour We devour, control, power

I’m gonna burn it down Even the, even the royals bow

So not the same kind of therapeutic work being explored on this rekkid, but you know what? Fucking shit up is therapeutic too! 

Definitely take this full screen, and for the love of fuck, TURN IT UP!

SO. Not done with the best of 2020 yet? I’m sure not! A lot of my favorite songs aren’t on albums (at least not yet), so for an unedited list of everything I’m finding, check out my Spotify list, 2020: Shuffle This List! 268 songs and counting, over 15 hours, and not finished yet. I’m still checking out everyone else’s Best of lists (including yours! Message me links to yours!!!), so will probably be adding to this for most of 2021, too. 

And for more banging tracks by women from 2020, plus a few 2019 gems that I’m still grooving to, check out my more thoroughly curated Spotify playlist Women Bangers: A Tumblr New Classics Jam. (You’ll see a couple of these tracks there!) I’m working on a YouTube playlist and an essay to properly roll that one out. I’m also still tweaking the ending, but the three dozen or so tunes there are definitely bangin’.

Tell me if you hear anything you dig here, and tell me what YOU’VE found! We’re gonna get through this together.

Yr pal, Timmy

#me #new classics #classic rock #women in rock #best of 2020 #bully #ganser #the tissues #gum country #nova twins #essay #youtube #punk rock #punk

[sweetsubharry]

hey ! sorry to bother you but could you reccomend me some fics of footballer louis?? thank you !! love your acc

Hiya!!  💖you can never bother me!! ^-^ ohmgosh I’m so glad you like my blog! I love footballer louis djskasdhjag tysm(sorry it took soooo long!)

please make sure you read the tags and stay safe everyone!💖

Also these are not in any particular order, however I will say the first two are probably my favourites ;) I have to read them again right after this!

freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this by rosesau

Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.

Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1Diamondinthesun

Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.

Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.

Definition of Beauty by zanni_scaramouche

“Your book is upside down.” Harry nods at Louis’ book, his history text now that he sees it too.

“I’d rather study you.”

They both blink, startled by the slip.

“With you. Study with you,” Louis rushes to say. “Liam says I’m shite at history, can you help?”

Louis’ caught off guard by an omega he nearly takes out with an errant footie ball. It’s not that Louis’ never seen Harry before, it’s that he can’t stop looking, and he’s desperate to figure him out.

Coffee Cups and Football Boots by kimtaedumb

Harry’s stood behind the counter again, but this time he’s painting his nails. Louis strolls up to the counter and, thanks to his no brain-to-mouth filter, blurts out, “Isn’t that a little girlish, Haz?” leaning closer to inspect.

Harry lets out a little huff as his hand slips, “Oh, damn, now I’ve messed it up,” he pouts and turns to Louis, “Why should making myself feel pretty be girly?”

Louis holds up his hands in surrender, “’M not judging, jus’ curious is all.”

(The entirely cheesy and cliché Christmas AU, in which Harry doesn’t give a damn what people think about him – mostly – and Louis may be a little bit in love.

Alternatively, the one in which Harry owns a café that’s barely scraping by and Louis is a footballer and he takes Harry away for Christmas.

Featuring Zayn as a cocky little shit that most definitely needs to be put back in his place, Niall as the loveable Irish dude who drinks too much and flirts with Zayn more than the average girl, and Liam who loves everyone but hates them all at the same time.)

Way in the World by flowsque

When Louis Tomlinson enters the waiting room, Harry can distinctly feel his heart sinking to his stomach. The man's hair is ruffled and dishevelled and his red jersey, damp with sweat from training, clings to his perfect and chiseled body. He stands there, almost unreal, against the glass door, peering inside the office. Harry knew this would’ve happened, sooner or later. That he would have bumped into him. They play for the same club after all, even if they’re in different leagues. It’s not weird. It is not. Except it totally is. - Or, the one where Harry has a knee injury and an embarrassing crush on Manchester United's pretty number ten.

I Long For You by AnotherAnonymousWriter

Thirty minutes later, he's sat on a bench in Hyde Park with a book in his lap and a travel mug with hot tea in his hand. Not far from where he's sat, a group of boys are playing football and a bunch of children are chasing each other. Life is good.

Or at least, life is good until he hears a familiar “LOOK OUT!” and sees a football flying in the direction of his face.

And then everything is black.

(Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.)

ease the quiet and talk me down by cabinbythesea

Harry's a model and Louis' a footie player.

(Louis teaches Harry some football and Harry is insanely good at giving a lapdance).

Baby, It's You by Bearandleonardwrite

"Oh, yeah. Um..” Harry lets his hands fall to his sides. His brows furrow, face full of concern, and he asks, “You’re not, like, stalking me, are you?”

Louis can’t help the loud cackle that escapes his lips and immediately slaps one of his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Oh my god, Harry, no!” Louis tells him, a little breathlessly, giggles still bubbling out of his chest. “Lottie’s one of the makeup artists here today and she somehow got me to agree to come. I had no idea you modeled for, uh.. this brand until I saw you walk.”

“Oh,” Harry says dumbly, eyebrows still pinched. He lets what Louis just said sink in before a bright grin takes over his face and he goes back to doing up the buttons on his shirt. “Well, that’s alright, then. I’m glad you could make it.

(Basically, Louis' a footie player for Man U and Harry's a YSL model. They meet at a masquerade.)

Touch by kotabear24

Harry's shy and virginal with a past, new on the football team; Louis' the (experienced) popular star of the team and Harry's new mentor.

Come In and Change My Life by lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes)

He’d had the same neighbours since he’d moved into the building, a lovely, wealthy couple in their late sixties who had always invited him around for tea on Sundays. Martha had dropped off homemade biscuits the day he’d moved in, so Harry figured he may as well repeat the sentiment. He could hear someone getting closer to the door just as a flush ran through his body; oh fuck. His heat was close, too close to be knocking on a potentially unknown alpha’s door, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Harry’s mouth dropped. He’d never been overly interested in football, couldn’t find the fascination in watching men run around after a ball for hours aside from their uniforms, but he knew who this was. Louis Tomlinson, alpha, captain of Manchester United, star in a number of Harry’s heat addled fantasies, was his new next-door neighbour.

Or, Harry and Louis become friends when Harry looks after Louis' cat during away games, until one night at a party changes everything between them. It's just a shame Louis' going to be away for the FIFA World Cup for three months.

see the truth (it's me for you) by orphan_account

If you asked Louis the first day of his French Literature class what he’d be doing on the last, he’d probably never have guessed it would involve helping a poorly Harry Styles study for the final exam. Good thing he’s not a betting man.

(Or the one where Louis and Harry spend an entire semester ignoring each other after a one-night stand, only to come face to face when Harry manages to catch the stomach flu during finals week. Sometimes fate is funny like that.)

Use Your Words by zedi

based off this prompt: collage au where jock!harry always serenades flowercrown!louis with love songs in their music class. what nobody knows is that harry actually kinda means the words he sings.

But instead it's Louis as the jock and Harry as the flowerchild because I do what I want.

Stop The World (I Wanna Get Off With You) by ilikepianos

"You like this, don't you?", he asks breathlessly.

What? Sucking cock? Being dominated? Yes, all of that. A big fat yes.

Harry nods, lips still wrapped around Louis' throbbing dick.

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "Keep going then. You're doing amazing, love."

OR: The uni-football AU where Harry may or may not have a minor crush on the captain of the team and suddenly discovers that the feeling is very much mutual.

Picture Perfect by LittleBubbleStyles

an AU where Louis Tomlinson is a misunderstood football player, and Harry Styles is a misunderstood photographer. Somehow, they're understood together.

I just think about my baby; I'm so full of love I could barely eat by mercutionotromeo

Harry and Louis are six hundred miles apart, but they have the same solutions to the same problem.

Or: a masturbation drabble featuring pillow humping, locker rooms, and copious amounts of dirty talk.

into another (another) serotonin overflow by mercutionotromeo

Harry wants this year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life.

Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.

Or: Sweet first time sex wherein Harry's adorably awkward, Louis is achingly cool, and Harry rides Louis wearing his jersey.

note: it says it in the tag but this is the edited version written in 2019, rather than the 2017 original- so there’s two put I put the link for the newest one :)

need a little sweetness in my life by mercutionotromeo

Harry's always liked feeling desperate and small when Louis touches him, but when he sucks Harry off...it’s fucking otherworldly. Desperate’s not really the word at that point - it’s helpless. Like… like the fucking world could stop spinning and Harry wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until Louis finished him off with his lips and his tongue.

Or, Harry and Louis go to university together. Harry really likes it when Louis sucks him off, and Louis really likes it when Harry calls him Daddy.

(Sequel to "into another serotonin overflow")

I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou

Harry does not have a crush on Louis Tomlinson. Yes, Louis is very pretty and funny, and Harry may have had more than a few inappropriate thoughts about him, but he certainly doesn’t like him. (Except for the fact that he totally does.) or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.

We Made These Memories for Ourselves by supernope

Breath held, Harry squints his eyes open and focuses on the first stick. A blue line. Harry breathes out an unsteady breath. He’s pretty sure he read that one blue line is a negative, but he fishes the box from the bottom of the pile just to make sure.

“Negative,” he confirms, voice echoing around the small room. “Next.”

Now that he’s feeling a little less shaky, he scans the rest of the tests at once, is met with a headache-inducing mixture of pink plus signs and blue double lines. His heart rate picks up until it’s pounding triple-time in the base of his throat and the pit of his stomach, thundering in his ears and throbbing in his temples. He flips over the rest of the boxes slowly, but he knows what they’re going to say before he even looks.

[or, Louis is a footballer, Harry owns a bakery, and they're having a baby.]

Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free by ls2k14   

Louis has his head thrown back in a laugh, his wet fringe hanging in front of his eyes, and a beautiful flush to his cheeks. From this angle, the sun hits his face just right to where the beams of light are shining in between the spaces of each individual clump of watered down eyelashes. His chest is showing through the soaked material of his white jersey and it seems that his biceps are attempting to break free from the sleeves that are clinging to his skin.

And Harry can do nothing except take it all in. He doesn’t even think he’s breathing at this point. He is literally stuck in place, admiring the true beauty of Louis Tomlinson, while being surrounded by fit footballers and generally attractive people. He doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, but if Louis let him, he’s pretty damn sure he could change that in the matter of a few nanoseconds.

#ask lots #Lottie fic rec #fic rec #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fic rec #larry fanfic rec #fanfiction #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #bottom harry #top louis #sub harry #dom louis #footballer louis au

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to  but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s  hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok  < what were you watching  > say yes to the dress  < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me 

> neither. One subject does not a genius make  > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself.  > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u  > ....  > um  > lol 

 Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now 

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

[magatsunohana]

The Girl and The Crow

Sometimes being truly kind and generous was, in itself, a curse.

On most occasions, the Headmaster would boast of his gracious magnanimity, how he was unparalleled in the art of being nice. In fact, if one were to look up these words in the dictionary, they may as well be prepared to see both his name and portrait categorized under there.

And yet...

“Cwraa, Caaaaw!” There were instances like this that tried his goodness, since he could do nothing about the situation, not by choice, but by taking into consideration the copious amounts of trouble that he didn’t want to deal with nor explain. He was the school’s principal, he didn’t need to explain himself to anyone.

“Just a moment, alright? Why do you sound so needy today? We’ve been through this yesterday. That goddamn Crowley suddenly disappeared, AGAIN, so I have to clean this place on his behalf. You think leaving a note would have been protocol for the man. He’s running a school, he can’t just disappear every time that he wants to.” Ah, the things Jiyuu does for Ramshackle.

...And yet here he was, stuck as a bird-- a crow with a pretty purple bow and a tiny bell around its neck, in order to avoid any sort of beating from his hired help, specially when she rudely talks about him like so. Hop, hop, hopping around his desk, he would have had complaints had she not been so good at what she does despite her semi-rotten attitude. His favorite part of the Headmaster’s office were the portraits of the Great Seven, to see the particular care that Kagami puts in polishing them was not unlike that of his own. Leaving no edge or corner to accumulate dust. Maybe the best part of this entire ordeal was watching her lug around a foot stool just to reach the floating frames-- some a little higher than the other-- a struggle he never had since he was a gentleman of decent and desirable height.

“There. And that’s done.” The crow would see its caretaker jump down from the stool, nodding at her handywork before heading over to him very dutifully. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Here, for not causing me any trouble again today, I have here some pecans.” To which he would take them happily when offered. And when his treats were gone, it was time to transfer over from the table onto her hand; eventually being allowed to perch upon the girl’s shoulder. “Well, let’s go off to class then.” She said, taking one more look to make sure everything was in its proper order before finally leaving for Professor Trein’s History class.

Today was Crowley’s third day as Jiyuu’s impromptu pet. And while this was problematic in itself for various reasons; he had to admit that being in someone’s care for a change was a luxury that he was beginning to enjoy. Additionally, she had not scowled this past few days as well, and has been particularly attentive to the point where she had spent time in the library just to read books on crow care, and even went to Sam’s shop to get him some treats. When all this is over, he had to remember to thank the shopkeeper for being quiet. Nothing escapes that one, you know, specially when he was quite well versed in human to animal transmogrification.

Of course there were others who were not so cooperative, like that boy, Yasujin, who outright told Jiyuu that the fowl she was carrying around was not what it seemed. A protective little brother, mindful as he was meddlesome. Thankfully, however, the older sister was having none of it; oh how his feathers were saved if only by her stubbornness. See, this charade could have ended right there, but again he didn’t want any problems. Besides, now that he thought about it, she deserved a reward for all of her hard work. And if she believed him to be a crow which had a concussion after flying into a window due to escaping from feral cats, then who was he to burst her bubble?

Yes, I surely am the most generous creature in existence.

So the day would go by as per usual, with History Class in the morning along with the rest of the academic subjects that Jiyuu didn’t seem to care for. Lunch time was when she would happily partake a nice meal which, for one, Crowley couldn’t agree too. What with her eating junk food again, there was just no nutritional value to potato chips and a bottle of soda. Didn’t even have a sandwich, but she did have a platter of berries for him which quickly appeased his incessant squawking, something she had misinterpreted for hunger, when in fact he was lecturing her about her bad food choices. After meal time was done, she excitedly goes to her Alchemy class, which she seemed to favor without question. Attentive and willing to learn, why couldn’t she be like this for every class?

Of course, Jiyuu was far from the perfect student.

And where do you think you’re going, young lady!? Your Physical Educations class is not that way! “CACAAAW! CAAAAW! TRRRRRR!” He flapped his might wings at this child that had the audacity to skip classes, literally hitting her in the face whether she enjoyed it or not.

“Hey, cut that out, and don’t be so loud!” She tried hushing and calming him down, wondering what’s gotten into her feathered friend all of a sudden. “The last thing I want or need is for Vargas to hound me. So please, just be quiet.”

But it seemed that there was a subject she hated more than the rest. This, however, was the first he’d seen her skip it. In reaching the Courtyard, Jiyuu would find herself leisurely taking to a bench to simply relax. There was a small sigh of relief that passed through her lips as she gave her lap an encouraging pat so that her pretty bird would perch there instead of her shoulder. She figured roosting on her shoulder would be very uncomfortable-- so did he.

So the crow would eventually find himself there, making himself at home after generously being invited. Fine, today I will forgive this behavior, since I am very understanding. But if this happens again, I will not stand for it.

“Wrrooa wroooaaa ccrrrrr.”

Despite his displeasure about this whole hookie incident, he had to admit that this was quite...pleasant? As much as Dire enjoyed seeing the students in their natural habitat of learning, this wasnt as bad as he thought it would be. He wanted to scold Kagami, surely, but-- “Cwwrrrrrrr” -- as he looked up and saw how easily she had slipped into a state of sleep, he couldn’t really do much other than relax with her. Like a good pet bird would. And yet, it seems like peaceful things never last because in mere seconds, Crowley would be Crowley once more, if only because a stray Magift Disk had was speeding through their way. Now, he was very dexterous, you see. At the right instance, timing, and with impeccable control in his magical ability, the Headmaster would swing his cane not unlike a bat and send the disk flying back to where it came. Which, came to the surprise of the students that had been practicing with it. Did the principal ever have that strong of an arm?

“How many times have I told you--” It was back to being his normal self, lecturing and nagging naughty children for being out of line. “--to keep Magift practices on the field, and not in the Courtyard!” But the students had already ran, leaving him to fume by himself. “Students these days just have no regard for their surroundings. What would have happened if I wasn’t here? What if one of the trees get--”

“Crowley-- did you just--”

Oh my. When he turned around, there was Jiyuu just staring at him dumbfounded, no longer seated ,and seemed like there were so many things running through her head-- but with anger being one of them as she cracked her knuckles at him. He didn’t take into account that she would wake up so easily, and guessing from that look on her face, the posture-- his jig was up. Well, it should be, at least. “Kagami-kun, it’s time for you to go back to sleep...” And all it took was for the headmaster to point the handle of his cane at the girl and Jiyuu would find herself robbed of consciousness; swiftness from his part would prevent her from falling to the ground completely; instead catching her and easing her back onto the bench.

“...keep your dreams close and think of nothing else.”

With a sigh, the exhausted man falls to a sit beside the girl, allowing the other to use his arms as a pillow for he was the very picture of generosity. Still. That was a close call. He still had no desire to explain the situation, and frankly speaking, he was rather adamant about keeping it that way. Still. Something was caught in the neck of his tie. But of course. The satin bow and the shiny little bell; it’s shimmer bringing him much glee. “This will be the last I see of this.” The murmur came in silently as he leaned back and marveled at the simplicity of the accessory. Holding it up against the light made it glimmer all the more, but when Dire felt a stirring beside him, it would be tucked quickly beneath his sequined vest. When Jiyuu showed no signs of waking up, he observed her for a little while longer. A willful, troublesome child. No... but rather, a thoroughly deprived one. And of many things, he mused to himself, clawed digits playing with the ends of those dark raven locks. A shame that sleeping forever is not an option available to you...yet. I have so many many plans for you... but Vignettes [ Drabbles ]I suppose it’s time for you to wake up.

As he came to a stand, the Headmaster would walk behind the bench while mustering the sternest tone he could. It’s time to play the part of the dutiful once more-- in three, two, one--

“KAGAMI-KUN! SKIPPING P.E. WHEN YOU SHOULD BE TAKING VARGAS-SENSEI’S CLASS AT THIS VERY MOMENT!”

The loudness of his voice was enough to startle Jiyuu awake, so much that she ended up slipping from the bench and onto the ground, but rather than worry about whatever kind of pain she felt at that moment, she was quick to sit up, only to look around frantically.

“Where--”

“What’s this, are you missing something, Kagami-kun?”

“Diablo!”

“Dia...blo?” Curiosity, there was a bit of that lacing his voice.

“My crow! He’s this big--” Jiyuu gestured to try and discribe the bird. “--with a bell and a purple satin bow around its neck! Have you seen my crow?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen--”

“It’s because you were so loud, Crowley, that he must have flown away! I didn’t even get the chance to tell him his name...” Ah, more than annoyed, she looked so sad when she stood up and dusted herself. Again, distressed, she would look around once more and sigh, dejected when there was no sign of this Diablo that she was talking about. “I guess it was only a matter of time...no matter how nice I am to anyone or anything...they always leave. Specially animals, what was I even expecting...” Scratching at the back of her head, Jiyuu just glanced over at the Headmaster apologetically. Just like everything else, she’ll just have to put this behind her. “Ah, I took it out on you, Headmaster. That wasn’t fair on you, specially since you just got back from your unannounced, unneeded, and unwarranted vacation. Anyway, I’m just going to go back to class, or what’s left of it.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so sentimental over a bird.”

“Well, yeah. Me too. Animals don’t often like me so I guess I was just really excited when it stayed for so long. Plus he reminded me of a really smart and pretty bird from a story that I’ve read when I was younger. I wouldn’t have named it that otherwise, if I didn’t like him a lot. But it doesn’t matter now, because he’s gone.” Jiyuu didn’t know why she felt compelled to explain herself, but decided to simply wave him off and drop it after saying her piece, leaving the Headmaster to his own devices.

“Kagami-kun, a moment of your time!” He jogged along to catch up to her.

“What is it? Weren’t you shouting about how I shouldnt have been skipping class?"

“Well, you seem so distraught, why don’t we get you another familiar? Surely, if we looked we will find you the perfect one.” Not that Grim wasn’t already a handful to watch over. To that suggestion, Jiyuu simply shook her head causing Crowley a mild sense of confusion.

“I told you, didn’t I? I like Diablo, so I don’t want a replacement. Why do you have to be so nosy? Just go back to work. I cleaned your office so please actually do something productive in there.” She said, this time walking faster to leave the other behind, although muttering as to how annoying he was being then. However, there was one thing that she wanted to say, so she paused and looked back.

"Thank you for you consideration, Crowley." Well, she mouthed it off anyway, seeing as how the distance wouldn't allow for them to hear each other.

“...” To be appreciated, was surely such a foreign thing. Crowley couldn’t even remember the last time when someone expressed such a thing-- Oh. But it wasn’t as if those words were addressed truly to him. They were for a beloved familiar that just happened to part ways with their owner.

How nostalgic.

Shaking his head, the Principal would turn heel and walk for a while, contemplating on many things, including returning to the work that had been left undone for the past few days.

It was fine like this, wasn’t it? He had no time to be playing pet familiar. He was, after all, a very very busy man.

===

The next day, "Diablo" came back with a bunch of shiny gems for Jiyuu. "Cwrrrrr, cwrrrr."

Truly, sometimes, being kind and generous was, in itself, a curse.

#Vignettes [ Drabbles ] #The End #Long ass post #And so I'm drawn ever deeper ; in that projection of reality where evil holds you in its arms [ Jiyuu & Crowley ] #The Kindest Man in the World [ Dire Crowley ] #Perturbed Resilience [ Jiyuu Kagami ] #I spent so much time on this. Because I wanted to give Crowley softness. #Since the other day. #Anyway. Feel free to leave reviews and stuff. But also marvel at how cute the crow icons are. XD

[libsterslobsters]

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

*************************************************

 Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

 The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

 Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

 Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

 If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

 The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

 Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

 “Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

 “Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

 Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

 It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

 “I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

 She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

 “Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

 “Oh.”

 Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

 “I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

 “I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

 “No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

 It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses  her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

 So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

 Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

 He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

 He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

 “Hey, Doll.”

 “I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

 “At what?”

 “The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

 “How-”

 “I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

 “Jesus.” 

 She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

 “So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

 “I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

 She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

 “Better than you are.”

 “What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

 “No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.”  Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

 “Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

 “I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

 “Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

 “That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

 “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

 “Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

 “See you then.”

 As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

 His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember. 

 By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

 It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

 “Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.  

 “Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

 She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

 True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

 “Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

 “Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

 “I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

 “I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

 They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

 Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

 “Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

 “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

 It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her.  He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

 “You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

 “Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

 “It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

 “I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

 “Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

 “I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

 “I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

 “I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

 As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

 “Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

 “Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

 “You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

 “Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

 “Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

 “Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

 “Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

 “Yes.”

 Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

 “May I touch you?” She nods.

 “You’d better.”

 It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

 “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

 “What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

 Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

 “Are you okay?” She nods.

 “Don’t stop.”

 The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

 “Do you still want to-”

 “If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

 “I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

 “Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

 He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

 “I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

 He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

 “Definitely.”

 There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

 “Can you wait a second? Please?”

 “Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

 “Fine. You can move now.”

 She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

 “I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

 “I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

 The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

 That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

 “Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

 His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

 She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

 She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

 “Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

 “Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

 Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better. 

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like  her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

 “I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

 “Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

 “Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

 “Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

 “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

 “I did.”

 She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

 “Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

 “Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

 Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

 “Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

 “And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

 “Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

 “That’s not the same thing.”

 “How is it not the same thing?”

 “I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

 She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

 “Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

 “Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

 “Hey!”

 “Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

 “So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

 “But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

 A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

 “Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

 He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

 “I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

 “That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

 “Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

 Smirking, he asks her,

 “You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

 “Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.”  That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

 “You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

 “I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

 “I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

 “And what’s that?”  The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

 “Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

 “So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

 “Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #pre civil war

[r6shippingdelivery]

headcannons for hobbies? Like what they do on their off time?

Hi nonnie! I actually did a Hobbies HC for “all” ops a long time ago. But seeing that was before the expanded bios, and it only reached up to Gridlock and Mozzie, I’d say it’s time for an updated version, don’t you say? 

Some of the answers are unchanged from the old post, because I already nailed it or the new info didn’t disprove my ideas. But I had to revise a lot of the answers I gave the first time around! In order to find their hobbies and/or get a glimpse of their lives beyond Rainbow and what they might like, I read all the bios, and looked up concept art, and elites, and past battlepass content, etc. And when none of that was enough, I just went with my gut instinct 😂 Thank you to @grain-crain-drain, @dagoth-menthol & @todragonsart for bouncing ideas with me when I was stuck! 💕

Hobbies Headcanons for ALL ops (up to Neon Dawn)

FBI

- Ash: According to her savta, shooting things is not a hobby, but Ash disagrees. And since according to her expanded bio she knows Hebrew, Arabic, English, French and Greek, I’m willing to bet she enjoys learning languages as well. - Thermite: He grew up on a ranch and loves riding. He’s also taken an interest in improving gadgets it seems, so my old proposal that he dabbles in forging/smithing stuff seems plausible. And based on this concept art, demolition derbies attending and maybe even competing himself too? - Pulse: He’s interested in a variety of topics and goes through phases of intense, nearly obsessive focus, until something else captures his attention. He still has a lingering fondness for building muscle cars, since it was something he used to do with his father. And like Thermite and Hibana, it seems he might enjoy demolition derbies. - Castle: He’s a language nerd, studying/reading/practicing new languages is his hobby for sure. Since the expanded bio says he rescues abused dogs, I don’t think it would be far fetched he volunteered at animal shelters too.

SAS

- Thatcher: Aside from repairing his boat, The Iron Maggie, he also enjoys fishing. He used to do that with his dad & brothers, and tried to take the rest of the SAS fishing as a bonding experience. It didn’t go very well - Sledge: He plays rugby, and has an inexplicable fondness of trying the wildest ideas that tend to end with something broken, be it one of his bones or a structure or wall (just read his extended psychological profile and you’ll see, lmao) - Smoke: Boxing, it helps him focus all his chaotic energy. And chemistry in general, it’s not just a hobby but a passion of his. - Mute: he enjoys tinkering with stuff, taking it apart and then putting it back together in a different way, just to see if he can improve it or make it work in his own way. Flying drones plays perfectly into that, with the added bonus of being able to do the flying part just for fun too.

GIGN

- Montagne: His main passion is working with people, teaching and mentoring others, and therefore when he’s not on duty, his main passtime still is mingling with people and getting to know them. I could see him making overtures with Castle, interested in the American and fascinated by his knowledge of various languages, an area Monty feels insecure about due to only knowing French and English.  - Twitch: Engineering, robotics and developing an empathic AI is her life.Twitch is a workaholic passionate about those topics. She also greatly enjoys traveling and, according to her expanded bio, people watching.  - Doc: He surely had some hobby at one point, but he can’t remember it, or the last time he had free time for it. Doc is also a workaholic, although one that loves to complain about it.  - Rook: Apparently he’s passionate about cycling, auto racing, and rock concerts. Mainly cycling though, since he dropped out of university to cycle around France.

Spetsnaz

- Tachanka: He collects and repairs old weapons. Mostly soviet, but he has some interesting pieces from other countries too. And he dances surprisingly well.  - Kapkan: Aside from a certain interest in psychology, his main hobby is hunting, of course. But he also whittles and carves wooden figurines.  - Glaz: Quite obviously, painting. He’s an artist, and quite a good one. He also likes playing cards, especially poker. - Fuze: He builds new weapon prototypes for fun. And tests them, if he can convince Six of it. He also likes to bake from time to time, a skill he learnt thanks to his grandma - and because he has a sweet tooth.

GSG9

- Jäger: Planes. Model planes, repairing old WWI & II planes, you name it. And watching copious amounts of documentaries.  - Bandit: His bike is his main hobby, both taking care of it and riding it. He also likes playing pool; and, if pranking people counts as a hobby, that’s his oldest one, dating from when he was a kid. - Blitz: He was and still is an athlete at heart, and Blitz loves running. - IQ: In order to disconnect from engineering pursuits, she indulges in rock climbing, spelunking, and writing science fiction stories.

JTF2

- Buck: He crafts mechanical puzzles, and enjoys all kinds of physical activity that can take place outdoors. - Frost: She just loves being surrounded by nature, and often goes mountain climbing or diving.

SEAL

- Valkyrie: Swimming and diving, of course! She wanted to be a professional swimmer, but now it’s just a hobby. And apparently she enrolled for a helicopter pilot license, and language classes. - Blackbeard: According to the expanded bios, he likes sailing and even participated in a championship. And since he climbed Mount Everest, it’s safe to say he also likes mountain climbing.

BOPE

- Capitao: He loves football, playing or watching it, doesn’t matter, he’s all for it. - Caveira: Spends a lot of time practicing Jiu Jitsu, in the gym and also on unofficial tournaments.

SAT

- Hibana: For her it’s traditional Japanese archery (Kyūdō). And probably demolition derbies too accounting that concept art from before with Thermite and Pulse. - Echo: According to the expanded bio, he has few interests outside work, but I always imagined he’d be into gaming and e-sports. Hacking too, and that’s a direct influence from Dokkaebi.

GEO

- Jackal: He plays the acoustic guitar/spanish guitar, and sings too. And now we also know he volunteers with at-risk youth. - Mira: Fixing cars is second nature to her, and thanks to her expanded bio we know she also does metal sculptures that incorporate used mechanical parts.

SDU

- Ying: Extreme driving, which can sometimes trigger her PTSD, and traveling. Especially exploring cities by randomly jumping in public transport and just going anywhere. - Lesion: He is also one to volunteer in underprivileged areas (like Junk Bay, where he grew up), and clearing mines and other unexploded devices. I also imagine him with a certain gusto for playing blackjack.

GROM

- Zofia: If obsessing about her father’s supposed suicide and the oddities surrounding it, and desperately trying to reconnect with her sister count as hobbies, sure, she has those. - Ela: She’s also an artist, one with a very particular vision that some have called narcissistic. Apparently she also does some “freelance” volunteer work, roaming the streets at night and offering help/comfort, or a willing ear to the people she meets.

707SMB

- Vigil: He likes to take walks around the forest, just aimless exploring and marvelling at nature and any animals he might come across. Often listens to relaxing music while doing so, and he might pick a pretty rock here and there to bring home. - Dokkaebi: Hacking is her hobby, of course. She also has several social media profiles and is an active member in a couple of hacking forums. As per a previous battlepass, I believe she enjoys mountain trekking too. And dancing to electro beat, due to her elite.

CBRN

- Lion: His rebel years left him with an appreciation for rock music and a dream to be in a group. Lion still plays the electric guitar, when he’s not off volunteering at the local church. - Finka: Pushed by her parents from a young age to try different sports, just like her siblings, she eventually discovered a strong love for fencing and ice-skating.

GIS

- Maestro: Cooking, and boxing, an interest he shares with Smoke. But mostly cooking. - Alibi: She’s also a marksman, engages Ash in friendly shooting competitions.

GSUTR

- Clash: She’s very involved in different activist causes, mostly surrounding racial issues and inequality. - Maverick: Photography, mostly nature or candid shots of his fellow operators. I also think he likes horses and riding. And Buzkashi of course, but he hasn’t played since he left Kabul.

GIGR

- Kaid: Playing chess, he’s a good strategist and it shows. And  while dozing off with a cat on his lap is not a hobby, he also loves that. - Nomad: Traveling to all sorts of remote locations, she’s an explorer with a thirst to prove herself. She also keeps a travel journal, which includes maps and some drawings of the places she’s seen.

SASR

- Mozzie: Dirt biking, of course. The more dangerous the jumps and stunts are, the more he likes it. He knows his limits and works to surpass them. - Gridlock: Robotics. She still wants to compete again in robot championships, just like she and Mozzie did so many years ago. She would consider that fixing cars and vehicles has become more part of her job than a hobby, but still loves it too.

Phantom Sight

- Nokk: Fencing, as evidenced by some of her concept art, she participated in fencing tournaments. - Warden: He knows appearances are important, and he cultivated a very specific image, so he likes to take care of that, be it by buying luxury or antique cars, or designer suits, etc.

Ember Rise

- Amaru: Archeology and exploring the Amazon jungle is her passion. It used to be her whole life and job, but since she joined Rainbow, she’s been busy with training and missions, yet she never lost her love for adventure, history and protecting her country’s cultural artifacts. - Goyo: He’s a really good chess player, and enjoys other games where he either has to think, or his usual poker face and calm demeanor can throw his opponents off.

Shifting Tides

- Kali: When she’s not writing reports about her underlings progress, or making lists about who should be ascended/rewarded, who needs to be punished or chastised, etc, she’ll be doing yoga, since it helps her focus. Or hardcore pilates when she needs to burn away some frustration first. - Wamai: Diving and being underwater in general, be it on his special immersion tanks or on the actual sea, it doesn’t matter. He finds it calming (and he’s addicted to the anoxia sensation)

Void Edge

- Iana: Space exploration fascinates her, and she’s always trying to learn everything she can about the cosmos, watching documentaries and conducting her own in-depth research. - Oryx: Wrestling helps him hone his physical prowess, and it’s also a measured outlet for his deep seated rage. He also greatly enjoys reading poetry.

Steel Wave

- Melusi: She’s committed to the conservation cause, which stems from both her love of wildlife and nature, and her protective instincts. She likes to explore too, although she’s not driven by a will to prove herself or reach certain goals, but simply for the joy of seeing natural spaces. - Ace: Social Media. He’s obsessed with his public image and popularity. While he travels quite a bit, it seems he does it more to share new and exciting selfies on Instagram than for the pleasure of visiting new places.

Shadow Legacy

- Zero: He knits and crochets, it’s an engaging hobby that helps him clear his mind, plus he enjoys making stuff too. Not many people know about this side of him though. 

Neon Dawn

- Aruni: She and Hero, her giant pouched rat, volunteer on landmine detection and removal efforts. She also likes to travel extensively, and has done so in the company of Twitch and Nomad.

#rainbow 6 siege #r6s #rainbow six siege #rainbow 6 #headcanons #Anonymous

[wonderrdies]

if love be rough with you - pt.1 (pypfc)

In which you and Harry are professors at a prestigious Art and Language university but can’t stand each other. Well, you can’t stand him. 

disclaimer: I fucked up and won’t finish the thing in time for the pick your poison fic challenge (thank you and I’m sorry to @for-fucks-sake-h​ @oh-honey-styles​ @andwhenshesays​) so I’ll split it into two parts. Once I post the second one, I’ll link it down here. 

warnings: so far, so good. there’s gonna be fucking in the next one, though. 

word-count: about 4,000 words

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.

(Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare)

Your copy of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet fell to the wooden floor of classroom 103 with a dull thud. It was not your favorite play by any means, but teachers didn’t get much of a choice when it came to the syllabus at Markham. Art and Language students there had been learning the same things for generations, walking through ancient hallways with the pretentiousness of people who know they’re special because of more than just daddy’s money. 

Daddy’s money was still a big part of it, though. The fact you didn’t have it made it very obvious that, despite your mid-20s looking face, you were staff and not a student. Which, you said to yourself back when you started teaching at Markham, was fine. You made a mantra out of it in the beginning: It’s fine. I’m fine. When older professors and students didn’t take you seriously, when you were lonely, when the stone walls made you feel claustrophobia instead of wonder, when you had to begin working with Drama students instead of sticking to your comfort-zone in the Literature department. It’s fine. I’m fine. Three years later, it was true; you fit right in. You had learned to focus solely on the bright side of the school and the role you had to play, dressing and speaking and teaching like the classy and stone-faced intellectual you always wanted to be. With all your weaknesses safely tucked away, you felt like you probably were a better actress than most of your students. 

Considering you were 20 minutes ahead of schedule and no one was ever this early for class, bending over in your pencil skirt to pick Romeo and Juliet up didn’t seem like  a big deal. Until you heard the whistling. 

“All this for me?”

You took your time standing up, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t be gross,” you laid the book back on your desk, crossing your arms as you stared at the man by the door. “Professor Styles.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he flashed you a dry smile, but his green eyes showed amusement. “Darling.”

The eye-roll couldn’t be held back any longer. “Piss off.”

No need to say you weren’t a classy and stone-faced intellectual when it came to Harry Styles. 

“Can’t piss off from my own classroom, can I?”

Seemingly not minding your frown, he walked into the room holding a worn leather case for what you could guess was an acoustic guitar. If he weren’t dressed in his usual expensive and obnoxious clothes, you’d be able to mistake him for a very handsome hobo. 

“No, but you can piss off from mine,” you pointed to the metal numbers on the door. “We’re in 103, Styles. I have it for the next three hours.”

“Funny,” he said before laying his guitar on the desk. It pushed your book away until you had to grab it so it wouldn’t, once again, fall to the ground. “Because my schedule says that I have it for the next three hours.”

“Indeed,” Romeo and Juliet falls on leather harshly, the sound pretty similar to the one it made while hitting the floor. “Hilarious.”

The rumbling of what could only be a herd of students began before Harry could come up with any clever remarks, making his head turn to the door expectantly. His pearl necklace accompanied his movement, and you tried not to stare too hard at the expanse of his neck or imagine what it would look like with a couple of bruises under those pearls. 

You snapped out of whatever that thought was before there was any need to overthink it. Over your colleague’s shoulder, you could see students, not all of them yours, entering the room. If it wasn’t clear before that there had been a mistake, it was now; Drama and Music students looked at each other suspiciously, whispering to their classmates like they were in primary school instead of university.

“Professor?” someone called. Both you and Harry turned to the desks arranged in a circle, all of them occupied. One of his students, standing on the corner, moved uncomfortably under your glare before speaking again: “Where should we seat? Is this a joint lesson or something?”

A joint lesson? You cringed at the idea. “No,” you said harshly. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his voice breezy when compared to yours. “We’ll sort it out, guys. Give us a few minutes.”

He made the two of you sound like a team, which was outrageous. The collar of your sleeveless turtleneck was, all of a sudden, way too tight. 

“You look constipated,” he muttered under his breath so only you could hear him. “Let’s go outside.”

“What for?” But you were already following him to the hallway. “Look, just get another classroom.”

“Why don’t you, if it’s that simple?” Harry asked while you closed the door behind you. 

“Because it’s a good classroom, the best in the building!”

“Is this how you plan on making me give it up?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning on the stone wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t. 

“Harry,” you sighed. Your hand went to the tiny gold cross in your neck, nervously messing with it. You knew you were about to start pacing like a madwoman. “You could play that guitar anywhere on campus. Just let me have the damn room, alright?” 

“Do you think that’s all my lessons are?” He sounded upset.

A brief moment of guilt didn’t stop you from snapping at him. “Do you think I care?”

“No, I don’t,” Even though his voice remained calm, Harry straightened up. “I would never have such high expectations for you, darling.” 

You looked at him with a blank stare. Those green eyes without a hint of malice, the soft brown curls of his hair, the delicate pearls over a pastel blue sweater that had a fucking baby chick on it; seeing him, it was hard to believe he could be mean enough to hurt you. But he had, so you went with the most mature and eloquent answer you could muster: “Whatever,” mumbled under your breath.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Let’s just go to the administration and get this shit over with.”

His tone, finally bordering on annoyed, gave you some satisfaction. Maybe you two had more in common than you thought.

— 

Things between you and Harry hadn’t always been this hard. Back in university, among mutual friends and copious amounts of alcohol, he had been nicer. So had you. But Markham made the differences that seemed meaningless at 19 years old feel like deal breakers for any sort of healthy work relationship; his laid backness, so charming all those years ago, drove you insane now. He was a brilliant musician, of course, but was that really all it took? While you searched for the perfect balance between serious faculty member, approachable but slightly intimidating mentor, cultured academic, reliable friend and well-rounded human being, Harry simply seemed to always be a little late for everything that didn’t involve robbing you of your preferred classroom. Also, he flirted way too much, dressed like a sexy grandmother and never submitted grades when he was supposed to. 

“Hey,” he said, then called your name softly. “I think that’s enough.”

For a second, you thought he meant enough reasons to dislike him. Then you looked down at your overflowing cup of water and the puddle forming on the teacher’s lounge counter.

“Fuck,” you hissed, putting the glass jar back in its place.

“That sounds familiar,” Harry sipped his coffee like he hadn’t just said that in a room filled with ancient Markham professors.

You were torn between giving him a death glare or ignoring him altogether, so you just settled for a death glare directed at no one in particular while you wiped your wet hand on the side of your black skirt. 

“Professors,” greeted one of the Plastic Arts teachers, a sweet-looking old lady. She walked up to the counter so she could pour her coffee, standing between you and Harry in the process. “I take it the 103 debacle hasn’t gone smoothly.”

“Yeah, Mrs. Thomas,” Harry said, a playful smile suddenly on his lips. “Someone here doesn’t know when to give up.”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, Professor Styles. It’s not cute.”

Mrs. Thomas laughed like the two of you were performing a stand-up comedy show. “God, you two are adorable.”

You frowned while she walked away, and even though Harry’s smile stayed plastered on his face, you could see the furrow between his brows. “Adorable?” he asked, voice low. “You?”

“Piss off,” you said for the second time that day.

The 103 debacle, as your elder colleague so eloquently put, hadn’t gone smoothly. At all. Administration admitted to making a mistake and offered, oh so kindly, to relocate one of you to an empty classroom upstairs. Both Harry and you just stood there, looking at each other as if saying “Well, there you go” and waiting for the other to eagerly take room 214. Dark, humid, cold and small 214. After a couple of minutes of painfully awkward silence, the secretary responsible for room assignment suggested a sort of alternation: since the conflicting lessons were taught twice a week, Harry could get 103 on Mondays and you could have it on Thursdays. Neither of you liked the idea, but no amount of “But Sophie…” would change her mind once she came up with a supposedly perfect solution. 

“She’s only saying that because she hasn’t seen your eye twitching while you try to refrain from having a mental breakdown over a classroom,” he said, ignoring the fact you had just told him off. Harry leaned in, annoying smirk on his lips, so only you would hear him when he said: “You can be adorable when you’re whining for more, though.”

He was too close, and you could smell the cologne on the collar of the shirt he wore under his sweater. It was vanilla, sweet and strong like he had been before he turned out to be the kind of guy who insulted you and bragged about having fucked you, all in the same breath. 

“Classy, Styles,” you drank the rest of your water in one gulp so you could get rid of the cup and put some distance between the two of you. He just smelled too good. “You shouldn’t be so quick to make fun of my eye twitch, though. I wasn’t the one using “the humidity in 214 is bad for my hair” as an argument.” 

“I hate that room,” Harry muttered as you walked away. 

Well, that made two of you. 

—

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” you announced to your students. Sunshine flooded the room, casting light on their focused expressions. “You’re going to go through act one again and select a snippet of text so that we can discuss it, and you have to make it so your point —” A determined knock on the door interrupted you. Before you could say anything at all, about a dozen people entered room 103 as if it were expected from them to do so. Strangely, it took you a second too long to realize where you knew most of those faces from: three days ago, they were among your own students as they waited for their professor. One by one, they sat in rows on the floor just like they would in actual desks. None of them made a sound. “Make it so your point about the chosen quote is character-driven,” you continued, choosing to simply not acknowledge any disturbance for a moment. 

Still, there were twelve too many sets of eyes looking up at you. It was unsettling. For the next few minutes, there was a silent agreement between you and the Drama students; the lesson proceeded as they exchanged puzzled looks while pretending to skim the first act of Romeo and Juliet and you anxiously played with your cross necklace. What kind of sick mind game was Harry trying to play here? You wish you knew what reaction he was expecting, only so you could deliver the exact opposite of it. 

“You have ten more minutes,” you said, reminding your students. A few of them nodded as they took notes, but the people sitting on the floor remained quiet and still, eyes on you. “What do you want?” you blurted out. 

“What do you mean?” a girl asked, and you could tell they were expecting you to continue pretending they weren’t there until the lesson was over. Bingo. 

“I mean, what is your goal? Did your professor send you here just to spite me? Is he wasting your time as well as mine? Or are you supposed to learn something by attending my class without my previous consent?”

By then, your own students had dropped their books and were waiting for one of the Music kids to speak up. 

“Today’s lesson is about civil disobedience and other forms of rebellion and how they relate to the cultural and/or artistic aspects of music,” the same girl said. You couldn’t help but admire the way she took the lead, just as you couldn’t help but question Harry’s methodology. 

“What’s your name?”

“Kate.”

“Kate, don’t you think this exercise fails to convey the gravity of civil disobedience? The environment seems a little low-stakes, to be honest.”

“Having low stakes is what makes it an experiment, though,” someone else muttered from behind Kate. 

“You can speak up”, you said. “And yes, it’s an experiment, but it still feels too far-fetched, not even close to a parallel. Once you’re done with the lesson, you should let me know how Professor Styles managed to turn this into a Thoreau analogy. Maybe he should have just taught you how to play Another Brick In The Wall and called it a day.” 

Some of the Drama students snickered from their desks, but Harry’s class didn’t seem to find you amusing at all. Oh, well. You couldn’t please everyone. 

“Since you’re already here, you’re going to learn something. It’s unrelated to civil disobedience but that’s not really my fault, is it? Find a partner that’s actually enrolled in the class about narrative elements in Drama; work on the passage together, from a character-focused perspective, and see if you can relate any of it to your knowledge about art and culture in general. I’m certain someone has taught you about that, even if Professor Styles couldn’t.”

There was a beat of silence, all twenty-four of them staring at you hesitantly. 

“Well? Get to work.”

And so they did. 

—

You zipped up your bag, mind already drifting to the bottle of wine and comfortable blankets waiting for you back home, when someone’s knuckles tapped the door to the classroom. It was neither 103, with its smooth stone walls onto which you could project any material necessary with perfect lighting, or 214, with its moldy smell, but a perfectly decent middle-ground. You had just taught your last lesson of the first week of the semester to a group of eager Literature first-years and even though you were much better at it now than when you first began, it wasn’t an easy job by any means. Shoulders aching with tension, you turned to the door. 

“No,” you said before Madeline could utter a single word. She was your sweetest colleague, and also technically your boss. Madeline was the head of the Literature department and the person who recommended you to the head of Drama when they needed someone to teach a couple of classes on the narrative aspects of plays the students would later perform. Even when you hesitated to take the job and said you weren’t experienced enough to do it, she wouldn’t take no for an answer; Madeline was the closest thing you had to a mother in Markham, always toeing the line between authority and encouragement. 

But she would have to take no for an answer now, because you knew that face. And contrary to her motherly status, she wanted you to go out for happy hour. “Just one drink,” she didn’t even bother denying it. “Everyone’s coming.”

“Everyone who?”

“Everyone!”

Everyone almost certainly didn’t involve faculty over 65, so that left you with less than ten people total. You decided not to bring it up since Madeline could get sensitive about age talk. She was 58 and absolutely outraged by people over 60 that started “acting like they had already dropped dead”. Her words. 

“Professor Styles will be there,” and then she wiggled her eyebrows. Oh my God.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you said, offended, grabbing your purse. You turned off the lights and closed the door, all while she played dumb.

“Nothing, really,” Madeline said with a shrug. “Thought it might be nice to hang out with a fellow young intellectual, ‘s all.”

“Oh, spare me.” 

“You could also figure your shit out before HR needs to get involved,” she paused to see your reaction. There was none. “Just a thought.”

“HR? Are you for real?”

“No,” she said, honestly. “But the two of you can’t keep this up forever, honey. It’s entertaining to watch, but it looks exhausting. You should put an end to whatever this is, if only so you can have a little more peace of mind. You’re both smart people trying to get their job done, that’s all.”

You didn’t say a word. You didn’t want to fight Madeline on this. Harry was… complicated. You hadn’t seen him at all since yesterday’s class and even though you were proud of how you handled the situation at first, you couldn’t help but second guess every move you made while his students were in your classroom. Maybe you should have just made them leave. Maybe you shouldn’t have questioned Harry’s authority so explicitly by saying it was a bad exercise.Maybe you should have just pretended they weren’t there at all. Maybe you should have walked up to Harry himself and thrown a fit because he disturbed your lesson. 

But there was no use dwelling on what should have been. In the end, the lesson was actually productive. Fun, if you might say so yourself. His students proved themselves to be very reasonable people, and the contrast between their perspectives as musicians and those of your students, as actors or future playwrights, contributed to multiple interesting discussions.

“Just one drink,” you found yourself saying to Madeline, not that it mattered. You were already walking together towards the parking lot, where her car was, instead of your usual route. 

“That’s my girl.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked by her side, your black heels making it hard for you to walk on the gravel of the parking lot. The uncomfortable shoes, unfortunately, played a big part in your whole “fake it ‘till you make it” brand of confidence. 

—

The whole table shifted as you and Madeline walked into the pub. You could see Harry from the corner of your eye, fuzzy cream sweater and lilac pants, the shadow of laughter still on his lips from whatever joke was being told before you walked in. 

Two more chairs were placed at random spots, and before you could say anything you were squeezed in between Harry and another professor from the Music department, with Madeline four seats away. This had been a terrible idea. Your thighs were pressed together, the rough fabric of his pants rubbing against your skin; there was no move you could make without somehow touching him. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, turning to you. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek. “Did you have a nice class yesterday?”

Despite all the imaginary fights you had with him on the last 30 hours, you smiled. Harry Styles had some nerve. “Which one? I teach a few classes everyday, Professor.”

He laughed under his breath even though you both knew you weren’t a particularly funny person. “You know what? You are adorable.”

You could feel your cheeks flaming instantly. He rendered you speechless for a couple seconds, each one making his smirk grow. You licked your lips and then, with less confidence than you’d like, you said: “I know. Still not as adorable as your little backfiring prank, though.”

“First of all,” he started, still with that damn smirk. “It wasn’t a prank, it was an exercise.”

You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It was! And it absolutely did not backfire. Shouldn’t you know what backfiring means? Aren’t you a book expert or whatever?” 

“Very cute, Styles.”

He murmured a ‘thank you’, choosing to ignore your dripping sarcasm. It drove you crazy. 

Someone cleared their throat, and you realized as soon as you looked up that the whole table was waiting for your order and most definitely paying attention to yours and Harry’s conversation. Your face burned even hotter while you stuttered out the name of your cocktail. 

Your first cocktail, that is. As a storm started outside, one drink turned into two, then three. 

“I should get going,” Madeline said at some point, half the table already gone. Even with all the extra space, you and Harry had shown no intention of moving. “Do you need a ride, honey?”

You thought of your empty kitchenette, a few miles south of Markham, and all the time it would take her to drive you home and back to her house, and her family, under such a downpour. A quick “No, thank you” and she was gone. You turned to the nearest window, your arm brushing Harry’s in the process, to watch the storm outside and figure out if the weather would make it impossible for you to leave, which meant you had made a terrible decision by declining the ride. Sure enough, it was pitch black and the rain was as violent as ever. Oh, well. 

“You have goosebumps.”

“Huh?”

“You have goosebumps,” Harry repeated himself, laughing a little. As opposed to you, he hadn’t had a single drink to slow his thinking. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” but you weren’t. Through your protests, he took the beige coat hanging on his chair and draped it across your shoulders. Once you shivered at the touch of his fingertips, there was no lying anymore.

 Harry raised an eyebrow, and you didn’t know what was more infuriating: his smirk, the amazing smell on his absurdly fashionable coat or your uncalled-for horniness, so you decided to ignore all of them. “There’s really no need, Styles,” you said quietly, already reaching to give him back his coat. “I need to get home.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not driving.”

“Well,” he scoffed. “Obviously.”

You furrowed your brows, suddenly very glad you couldn’t see the drunk pout that had just formed in your lips. “Bye, then.”

He grabbed your hand before you could take off his jacket. “No. Let me take you.”

“No fucking way,” you protested. Realizing the three or four remaining coworkers at the table were paying attention to your conversation, you continued much more calmly: “Thank you, though.”

“Come on, Professor,” he teased. “I owe you this one, I guess.”

The gin made him sound so reasonable. He did owe you one, for being such a jerk at all times through the don’t-give-a-shit attitude and how he often brought up that stupid fucking night. Not to mention the 103 debacle and the disruptive prank. He owed you many, actually. 

“I guess?” It sounded more aggressive in your head, but that would do.

So you both said your goodbyes and left, his expensive coat hanging off your back while you walked to his expensive car, as if whatever was his were meant to be shared with you simply because you looked good in it. 

part 2 !

#pick your poison fic challenge #for-fucks-sake-h #oh-honey-styles #andwhenshesays #pypfc #mine #harry styles #harry styles fic #enemies to lovers

[theelvenhaven]

The order of which the Gondolin and Feanorian elves would allow/enjoy make up being put on them. Pleeeeaaase!!!!

Of course I can!!! ☺️ Elves usually aren’t very big on make up as far as we know BUT if the circumstances were right or if it was widely available like it for us I’m sure they’d indulge! Let it be noted that this whole answer took on a life of its own lol

Fëanorians

Fëanor -  Fëanor, being who he is, is extremely confident in his appearance and his beauty and feels that it needs no enhancing what so ever. I think he would’ve absolutely experimented with it first though before deciding he didn’t need to wear it. Content with you applying a couple of different things, like eyeliner and mascara and even some highlighter. He understands the appeal but again he is confident he doesn’t need it. In turn Fëanor would absolutely apply make up to you instead, expect for subtle feature enhancing application until it comes to lipstick. Expect bold and rich colors as well as shiny and glossy gloss, he loves to smear your lipstick at the end of the day with a heated and passionate kiss.

Maedhros - Maedhros especially pre Angband wouldn’t bother with any, if you wore any of course he wouldn’t say anything. In fact he’d like the way mascara makes your lashes longer and giving the illusion your eyes are bigger. Post Angband that would change specifically in the name of concealer and foundation. Wanting to hide any scars that he could, he wouldn’t allow for anyone but himself to apply it. And he’d have no interest in anything else but concealer in foundation when the times could allow for it in the midst of his oath and war.

Maglor - Pre flight, Maglor would love highlighter and possibly even mascara! He’s a preformer, so anything that would enhance his beauty subtly would be accepted. Though he’d be averse to lipsticks and eyeliner and bright blushes. Concealer and foundation wouldn’t be necessary considering his skin is flawless. He loved it when you’d put highlighter on him and how gentle you worked with him. Post flight he wouldn’t worry about it, there’s too much happening and not enough time to indulge in such luxuries.

Celegorm - Celegorm’s version of make up would be extremely different as opposed to more classic wear and use. I think for him it would be more like face paint for the sake of hunting and blending in more effectively with the terrain. He’s completely opposed to wearing any make up other than that, and will allow you to apply his face paint. You wearing make up on the other hand is completely okay and encouraged, especially encouraging you to wear bright red lipstick.

Caranthir - Caranthir I feel like would possibly like eyeliner, not anything heavy of course. Just a subtle line around his lash lines, and he’s an expert at keeping it from running and smudging. Caranthir isn’t big on letting you apply it onto him considering it’s his eyes and is mildly fearful you’ll stab him on accident. He hates concealers and foundations and especially blushes. If you’re in a relationship and wear blush he’d find it somewhat endearing that you’d want your face to look similar to his. But if you’re big on wearing foundation and concealer anticipate him to be cold about you wearing it. Especially if you are constantly telling him how much you love his rosy face as is, he finds it completely and totally hypocritical that you tell him not to alter his complexion while you do it in turn.

Curufin - Curufin, like Caranthir, would like wearing eyeliner! Rather than wearing around his whole eye like Cara would, he’d wear it just on his bottom lashline. He’d not be up for you putting it on him at all, not so much because you might stab him, it’s just because he’s stubborn. I feel like Curufin would also get creative with his liner, wanting to possibly make his appearance look more regal and intimidating. Like Celegorm and Caranthir, he’d be opposed to anything else. As opposed to you putting any make up on him, Curufin I think would enjoy dolling you up instead. 

Amrod & Amras - Amrod and Amras are still considerably much younger than their brothers and I think they would be experimental in what make up they’d wear. Even allowing you to experiment on their faces, and taking your suggestions to heart. They’d also certainly follow Celegroms lead on the face paint, considering they are hunters as well. Some days they might be more partial to eyeliner, another day blush or highlighter, or just mascara.

Celebrimbor - I think he’d take after his grandfather on this one, while he sees the appeal to wearing make up he just isn’t big on it. He appreciates the art to it and how beautiful it is, but it’s just not for him. He spends too much time in the forges anyways, sweating it all off to worry about keeping it on. He does like when you wear minimal make up as well, preferring a more natural look. Though even if you prefer a less natural look, Celebrimbor will think you are gorgeous either way. He loves you regardless of what you wear and what you do. 

Gondolin

Turgon - I feel like Turgon would have mixed feelings about make up, he’d appreciate what it can do but he’d be a sucker for staying more natural. In the privacy of your chambers when it is just you two, he’d allow for subtle looks to be applied. No eyeliner or lipsticks though, and he wouldn’t wear it outside of your chambers. I think he’d have an affinity for the highlighter and heavily consider wearing it to court or doing his daily duties, but would be a little nervous about doing so. Keeping him to stay natural.

Glorfindel - He loves highlighter and blushes and maybe even some lip balm. Nothing too over the top of course, being an elf again that natural look is going to take priority. But he loves the extra sparkle it adds to his natural glow already, and he is absolutely content and relaxed to you applying the make up to him. He also loves to see you wearing make up as well, again more partial to natural looks. But he is content if you wear a little more heavier highlighter than he does. 

Salgant - I don’t think Salgant would be partial to any make up at all, not wanting to stray at all from his natural look. Unlike Turgon, he would be completely adverse to you applying anything on him at all, even just to experiment and for fun. I also think Salgant would be adverse to you wearing any make up as well, wanting you to be completely natural. 

Rog - Rog is very go with the flow and extremely laid back, but when it comes to make up it’s not something he will wear especially in public. It doesn’t help that he does spend copious amounts of time sweaty in the forges, and all of your hard work would wash away from the sweat. On nights when you both are goofing around, and if you ask Rog will let you apply make up to him. Even if you make it utterly ridiculous he will only laugh, but expect for the same to happen to you. The more outrageous you make him look, he will be sure to do the same to you in turn.

Ecthelion - He’s not very big on make up, preferring none at all for himself. Ecthelion feels that he doesn’t need to wear anything to enhance his features. Feeling that his features are beautiful enough, and he is adverse to experimentation to it because he knows he doesn’t need it. As for you, even if Ecthelion prefers no make up, he isn’t going to go out of his way to tell you that how he feels. If you like wearing make up and the extra confidence it gives you, he is content with that. 

Penlod - Penlod feels no particular way about make up at all, I think he’d try and experiment with a little bit of everything. From more subtle looks, to a little more bold (nothing ever over the top.). He’d happily let you apply anything that you wanted to his face, wanting to see what all the looks you could come up with. Depending on how bold you go he’d wear it for the day, and absolutely would he experiment make up looks on you constantly if you allow for it. 

Maeglin - Expect absolutely no room for experimentation or application on Maeglin by your own two hands for a considerable amount of time. Considering that require a great deal of trust and comfort that he would have to share with you before even letting you touch his face like that. Maeglin would probably be more partial to eyeliner and concealer. He’d like how black liner could make his eyes pop and be even brighter than they already are, probably wearing a thicker line as opposed to a thin one. He’d certainly use the concealer to hide the purple bags under his eyes from all of his lack of sleep. Maeglin would admire and enjoy when you wear make up, liking the way it makes your eyes look brighter, and the way your skin would sparkle and the way your lips would be tinted. 

Galdor - Galdor prefers the simplicity of lip balm and nothing else, in fact he produces it himself! He’s not big on anything other than that for himself, being so laid back he doesn’t mind what else you like to wear. Other than that he won’t really allow you to apply much of anything to his face, save the lipbalm. He’s a simple ellon with simple tastes!

Duílin - Duilin I think would be like Celegorm and Ambarussa in the name of face paint for hunting before Gondolin was completed. I’m sure he loved the thrill of the hunt and all that entailed with it. As for make up outside of his face paint, he prefers nothing. He does however have a preference for when you wear mascara and blush, he loves the rosy color added to your face. Thinking you’re even more beautiful with it on. 

Egalmoth - Egalmoth loves highlighter, and light tinted lip balm for himself. He loves the sparkle in highlighter and likes to look even more radiant especially when he is decked out in all of his jewelry. Egalmoth prefers pale pink lip balms to add a little more color to his face, and he prefers applying it himself. Though he will relinquish his control to let you do it if you asked. In turn Egalmoth also loves to apply make up to you as well. Adding extra highlighter and bolder colors of lip balm or lipstick to your face.

* * *

tags:

@lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandom-hoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring

#jrr tolkien #tolkien #the silm #the silmarillion #silmarillion #silm #writing #headcanon #gondolin #the fall of gondolin #feanorians #maedhros #maglor #celegorm #caranthir #curufin #ambarussa #turgon #glorfindel #rog #ecthelion #egalmoth #duilin #maeglin #makeup #celebrimbor #galdor #penlod

[goldie-claws]

6 and 11 for any f/o(s)! ^^ (@lilacslovers)

Thank u for the ask @lilacslovers ! Ngl it was tough to pick who so I’ll do Sephiroth bc I have some thoughts about my favourite catboy (also btw when I say Squeenix I mean Square Enix. It’s just my nickname for them lmao)

6) what are some tropes that fan art of your f/o tends to follow? - From what I have seen over the years and through osmosis lmao, is fanart loves making him the dark and brooding type which is arguably completely untrue lmao (even an official Advent Children poster does it! I mean look at this ghdfkg).

Plus since FFVII (his home game which I think is important to add) he was more of a guy who just kept to himself before he became a villain? Which I’d argue gets blown up a bit to make him a ‘Why are we still here? Just to suffer?’ kinda guy by fanart and maybe fans but I haven’t spoken to any FF fans indepth since I grabbed him as an F/O lmao.

And since FFVII even Squeenix have misinterpreted his character (Advent Children being an example of that also, naturally) so imo and depending on who you ask, his original incarnation is the most TRUE version of him (That and the remake! They did a really good job imo in going back to his original character :>).

Sephiroth is just a weird guy obsessed with spending Mother’s Day with his alien madre and also becoming a god on the side. He maybe look like the brooding type because anime sword, long hair, black cloak but in reality he is just a catboy baby! I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen someone perfect the :3 face like he can lmao.

He wants to cause problems on purpose and I’d let him. Just watch out for any glasses of water he plans on knocking over to spite you.

11) do you think it’s better to have a copious amount of content for your f/o, even with the risk of finding a lot of ship art, or better to have a lot less? - Slightly leaning towards less fanart imo. He’s a very particular character to write/draw etc due to how even Squeenix and fans handle him, so finding that pure FFVII characterisation of him may be tough to find.

Especially since he is THE original Sans Undertale eg. popular character every fangirl of any age loved, which then leads to him being woobiefied (eg. made more pitiful/likeable) and like, I’ll agree his past is fucked up and he deserves pity in some places, but not ALL the time (past does not excuse actions) which some fanart may emphasis and forget that he is THE signature villain and very important to the history of games and villains in general.

Sephiroth is a genuinely frightening and scary character for many many reasons (hell, there’s even one scene where Cloud is actually paralysed with fear over seeing Sephiroth in front of him, to the point he can’t defend himself with his buster sword like in previous encounters). It’s very obvious in the remake he completely lacks empathy and a moral compass (eg. he stabs another evil character who is threatening Cloud’s group, only to immediately turn around and stab a good character for no reason other than maybe(?) spite or because he’s a troll lmao), which I think many people have forgotted bc haha hot boy!!! Again, there’s a reason he is THE villain of video game history, and why I make it where my S/I’s form a bond with him BEFORE he becomes evil lmao. Otherwise there would be no hope in befriending him.

#ask #asks #I RANTED A LOT SOZ #Anonymous #also I'm filing this #with random stuff #because of the 10 tags rule #like it's good for artists #but I'm bad at like talking to people #hi my name is goldie and i never learnt how to speak to strangers ghfdjgd #hope this works #sephiroth

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

The reader is nervous to tell Erik that she is attracted to women too and when he finds out he teachers her how to pick up women and eventually he lets her find one for a threesome.

That was a long explanation LOL.

Black women are art.

They come in all shapes and sizes.

All different textures of hair and tones of skin.

Y/N was a lover of women...literally.

She didn’t come to terms with that until she was about a year into her relationship with Erik Stevens. They were friends turned lovers. The day Y/N came to the realization was during one of Erik’s nude photo sessions. He was a very popular artist and photographer in LA. Y/N would always stop by Erik’s studio while he was working to admire her man’s work in action.

This particular day was a rainy day and a client had begged Erik to photograph her nude. It was late in the evening as well. When she walked in, Y/N’s heart stopped. She had to catch her breath. The woman was a walking flame. Tall, long thick legs, copious amount of cleavage and a whole lot of ass to match. Her pecan colored skin glistened from the rain and her short curly hair lay pressed against her scalp in pretty chocolate swirls.

Y/N could feel herself squirming in the faux fur lounge chair in Erik’s studio that he bought just for her. She could even see her man checking that woman out. Y/N wasn’t jealous or envious. She was looking without shame herself and the voice inside her head kept whispering take off your clothes, and she’s so fucking sexy...I wonder what she tastes like.

The minute the woman’s amber-colored eyes landed on hers, Y/N was in a half-conscious state. They had a little staring contest for at least a minute while Erik set up. The woman licked her lips, allowing her eyes to study all of Y/N. Y/N found herself blushing at that, unable to stare at the goddess any longer.

“Erik, who is your beautiful guest?” Her silvery voice made Y/N swallow spit nervously.

“Oh, that’s my baby girl, Y/N.” Erik looks over at Y/N giving her a wink. She returned it before giggling.

“Really? I’m jealous.”

She walks over to Y/N, reaching out her hand to greet her.

“Hi, I’m Raven.”

“Y-Y/N,” her soft slender hand was warm and slightly wet from the rain. Y/N wanted to lick the rain from Raven’s fingers.

“Such a pretty name...and such a pretty girl.”

“Raven....” Erik says playfully, “Are you hitting on my chick?”

“Maybe, is that a problem?” She sassed Erik.

“Nah, no problem, I understand. But she’s mines, Ray,” Erik looked over at them both with a lopsided grin, “Right, Y/N?”

“Right,” Y/N spoke in a breathy tone.

“She doesn’t look so convinced, Erik,” Raven leans in close to Y/N to whisper in her ear, “It’s okay, does he know?”

Y/N shys away, lowering her head to her lap.

“I see...” Raven gave Y/N a somber look before stroking her cheek with her pointer finger, standing straight and sauntering away with a switch of her hips that Y/N couldn’t help but admire.

That’s when she realized that she was really really into women. She came to terms with being bisexual and to stop denying it. The only thing is...how does she tell Erik?

—————————————

“Erik...we need to talk.”

Y/N wanted to have the “big talk” about her newfound sexuality with her boyfriend. Erik was in his darkroom developing polaroids. The red hue of the lights looked enticing against his almond skin. She’d been avoiding this with him for about a month since the last encounter. Now, it was eating away at her and she needed to get it off her chest before she exploded.

“Uh-oh...did I do something wrong?” He puts on a faux worried tone.

“No, babe. But...maybe I did.” She fiddled with her fingers while standing across from him. Erik’s eyebrows creased, stopping his motions all together to look at her.

“Y/N, what’s going on with you?” He steps around the table that held all of his developing equipment, “I already know something is bothering you I just didn’t wanna put you on the spot. I wanted you to come to me about it when you were ready.”

“I’m ready now,” she looks off to the side, “I think...”

“Don’t push it,” Erik reassures her before planting a kiss to her forehead over her curly bang, “It’s no rush, love.” He gave her one final smile before turning to walk away.

“ I’m bisexual, Erik.”

She clamped both her hands over her mouth.

Erik stopped in his tracks, his broad muscular back flexed as he turned to face her again. He was looking at her with a neutral expression, much to her worry. Y/N closed her eyes, bringing her hands up to wrap around her body. She needed something to do to calm her nerves so she paced back and forth in the darkroom.

“I-I’ve always known...no, I’ve confused it with just admiration but...but that day...in the art studio...Raven, you remember Raven, right?...yeah, Raven...”

She kicked the carpeted ground, her eyes staring down at the floor. Erik didn’t say anything. He just stood there with his arms folded across his chest, staring at her. His stares could be so mysterious. She didn’t know what he was thinking.

“So, apparently she had me figured out,” Y/N laughs with a shaky breath, “I was so turned on by her. It’s like it hit me full force.”

Y/N chanced a look at Erik, instantly looking away when she connected with his russet eyes. They looked almost black in that room.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous to tell you about this. We’ve known each other for years.” She stroked her hair back only for it to fall into her eyes again.

It was quiet. Y/N fiddled with Erik’s camera to calm herself and hopefully avoid crying. Erik’s body finally relaxed as he walked up to her and squeezing in front of her. He grabs the camera, taking his hands to pick Y/N’s small body up and plant her on top of his work table. She looked off to the side again, but Erik takes his hand to grab her chin gently, making her look at him. He could feel her shaking against him.

“Baby girl...breathe.”

She inhaled in and exhaled out.

“Good girl,” He strokes her chin with his thumb, “Why did you keep this away from me for a month?”

“Because I thought you’d be mad. I thought you’d think I was dishonest.” She spoke with a little voice.

“Baby,” Erik strokes her bangs back from her eyes, “You can’t just assume shit like that. You don’t know how I feel unless you ask. What I say about this shit when we first started dating? We keep it at 100. No matter what, remember?”

“Yes, but,”

“Shhhh,” he placed a finger on her heart-shaped lips, “No buts. You keep it real with me.”

Erik steps back a little to lean into the table with his arms braced on both sides of her body. Y/N’s legs swing and her eyes stare down at her lap. Erik once again lifts her chin, Y/N noticing a lazy smirk on his face.

“So, my girl likes girls?”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Yes, Erik. I could have sworn I just admitted that” she spoke sarcastically.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

“...yes...” she nods her head slowly.

“When?”

“Uhh...Best friend lingerie party.”

Erik raised his brows, “you gonna tell me how that went?”

Y/N laughs, “uhh...it was a drunken kiss, nothing special...but it made me feel tingly. It happened so fast. She told me she’d wanted to do that all night because she liked my lingerie.” Y/N giggles, covering her face.

“I bet you looked really sexy in that lingerie,” Erik smiles with deep dimples, “Did a girl ever touch you?” His voice got lower.

“No, but I’ve thought about it, a lot.”

“Hmm,” Erik looked down at her swinging legs, “I’m sure you can probably guess that I have no problem what so ever with this.”

“Yeah, it makes me feel better.”

“Like no problem. It’s actually making my dick hard as fuck right now.”

Y/N looked into his eyes, taking her hand to place over his crotch. Sure enough, she could feel his length and thickness at full capacity. Erik grabs that hand, placing it inside of his grey sweats so that she could feel him better. Y/N parts her lips before licking her bottom lip slowly.

“I’m just picturing my girl eating some pussy.”

She was picturing that now too.

“And fucking some fine bitches pussy with all those sex toys you got,” He went to whisper in her ear, “rubbing clits together and cumming all over each other...”

“Stop,” she spoke in a weak tone.

“Sucking and licking on a bitch hard nipples,” Erik’s hand was making its way inside of her pajama shorts, “I just wanna watch, baby girl.”

“You can join too,” she spoke softly, opening her legs for his access.

“Oh, yeah? You want me to fuck you and another bitch?”

“Yesss,” she was grinding her hips into his hand. Erik was rubbing circles around her clit.

“You don’t know what you just started, baby girl,” Erik rips her shorts off at the crotch. She took in a sharp breath watching her man roughly pull her legs apart, lowering himself to the ground to eat her pussy. All she could see was his dark head of dreads moving back and forth between her legs. The red hue light above swung back and forth from Y/N accidentally hitting it. He was showing her just how much he loved that she was bisexual and that he didn’t care about that shit he loved her either way. Erik parts her legs further by using the back of his hands to lift her feet on the table. Her toes curled and her hand rested on the back of his head, guiding him as he sucked on her clit. She stared down at him open-mouthed and unable to make a sound.

Y/N’s eyes would shut tightly. She could feel her pussy convulse on Erik’s lips and tongue. He looked up at her with his almost black eyes, that pink tongue appearing red in the darkroom. She creased her brows, small notes of a whimper trying to escape her voice box but there was no use. Erik was rendering her speechless over and over again. Her juices mixed with his saliva was dripping from the table to the floor. She fell back against the table, resting her body over the many polaroids that Erik developed. Wherever she went he followed because Y/N had such a tight hold on his dreads with her fingers. Next thing she knew, Erik places his whole mouth over her pussy, slurping her up something serious. She bit down on her lip, thighs shaking but Erik held the meaty flesh back for better access.

Y/N lifts onto her elbows, finally a soft moan flowing from her mouth. Erik hums into her pussy. He knew that she was close, he could tell by the way she convulsed on his tongue and in between his lips. She wanted to scream, and Erik was going to pull it out of her. He starts tongue kissing her clit with his slippery wet tongue, directly over her trigger point.

“Daddy, Yes!” She spoke softly between moans, “Daddy, yes, please, I’m gonna cum for you!”

Y/N’s body trembled as she came undone on his tongue. Erik didn’t stop, he was so hungry and horny for this girl. She was letting out choked up moans because he kept going.

“Scream,” He spoke into her pussy between licks and sucks.

She screams.

—————————-

Y/N sat on Erik’s lap in a local bar that a friend of his from childhood owned. They were having a great time hanging out with mutual friends playing pool and taking shots. It was Erik’s round to shoot pool with one of his homeboys so Y/N got up from his lap to follow him to the table. Erik grabs the chalk from his friend to chalk the end of the pool stick. Y/N and Erik were on teams of course. He taught her the game even though she still struggled from time to time.

“You’re gonna rack the 8-ball game, Erik?” Their close friend, Tony asks. Tony and Erik were in the Naval Academy together.

“Yeah, I can do it.” Erik starts racking the balls.

The game was very short between Tony and Erik. Erik was close to winning but Tony got him good in the end. He was rather pissed off about that but Y/N kissing him settled his sour mood. Just when their lips parted, a girl caught Y/N’s eye in her peripheral. Short, 4C curly bush, a black wrap top on that allowed her perky cleavage to spill over and tight stretch pants that cinched her plump waistline and exaggerated her big behind. She had a lot to show and wasn’t afraid to do it either. She looked like a 1970s disco goddess.

“Who is that?” Y/N asked, noticing her talking to Tony and a few other people they both knew.

“Oh, that’s Dashawn.” Y/N looked at him to elaborate.

“She’s Tony’s sister's ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Y/N looked over at Dashawn. She perched her round ass on the edge of the pool table. All the men gawked at the weight she was carrying on her back. Y/N could see the dimples in her ass through her pants.

“See something you like, Princess?”

Erik caught her staring. Y/N gave him a shy smile.

“Yes, she’s very pretty.”

“C’mon,” Erik gave her a look as if to say really.

“Okay...she’s fucking sexy.”

“There you go,” Erik wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, “you wanna spit some game?”

“What?” She looked up at Erik with a staggering expression.

“You heard what the fuck I said don’t act like you didn’t,” Erik says with a burst of laughter.

“You just want me to...go up to her and try and talk to her?”

“It’s an art to this shit baby girl,” Erik pulls Y/N away from the pool table and back to their seat. She took her usual spot on his lap, giving him her undivided attention.

“First off, it's all about the eyes. see,” Erik gives her a look but it was the usual look that would make Y/N cave every time. He would always make his eyes really low and sultry, focusing on you with an unblinking and lustful expression. She was already squirming in his lap.

“See, like that. I got your attention and all I did was look at you.”

“You’re so good at that. I’d probably end up being all shy.”

“Just give it a try, go give Dashawn a look.”

Y/N was hesitant.

“Baby, it's okay,” Erik rubs her back soothingly, “I’m okay with it. I really wanna see you pick up other women. It’s sexy”

“And it turns you on,” Y/N added.

“Yeah, it does,” Erik makes his dick jump against Y/N’s ass.

“Go show Daddy how you do it,” he whispers.

Y/N got up from Erik’s lap, Erik slapping her ass. Y/N was smoothing down her velour mini skirt before walking over towards Dashawn’s direction. She was currently watching another pool game, a drink in her hand that had a blue color; Y/N guessed it was probably Hypnotiq.

“I wanna go next round, who’s gonna play with me?”

“I will.” Y/N spoke up.

Dashawn noticed Y/N leaning over the edge of the pool table, her velour cropped hoodie zipped down low enough to show her large breasts. She gave her best “Erik stare” hoping that it was working. Erik always said that Y/N’s Chestnut deep-set eyes were his favorite. Slowly but surely, a smile crept up Dashawn’s downturned lips that were painted a matte brown. Y/N allowed her eyes to travel up and down Dashawn’s body quickly before she sat up straighter with a bounce of her tits in a flirty manner. Dashawn liked that, her eyes were round and prominent now.

“Sure,” Dashawn’s kinky fro bounced as she nodded her head, “what’s your name?” She had a light voice. Her voice definitely didn’t match the way she looked. It was so adorable.

“It’s Y/N,” She reached across the pool table. Dashawn practically bumped into Tony reaching out for Y/N’s hand. Her walnut-colored skin clashed beautifully against Y/N’s honey brown skin. Y/N shook it slow, still holding that same gaze just to reel Dashawn in further before letting her hand go while allowing her fingers to feather the inside of her palm. She could see Dashawn’s shoulders jump from that.

“Did you come alone?” Dashawn asked.

“No,” She pointed over at Erik seated with his eyes on her, “I came with Erik.”

Dashawn followed Y/N’s finger, spotting Erik and smiling wide.

“E?! You’re...” she trailed off, pointing her finger between both Erik and her.

“Yes, he’s my man,” Y/N gave Dashawn a soft smile.

“Oh, okay,” Dashawn nods her head again, placing some hair behind her ear before looking away with a flicker of annoyance. Y/N fought a smile.

“So, we’re gonna go next?” Y/N tilted her head at Dashawn with a bite of her lip.

“Of course!” Dashawn giggled nervously, “Sorry, it’s the drink.”

“No worries, you’re laugh is really cute.”

Y/N gave Dashawn one final look before walking away and back to Erik. The closer she got, she put her thumbs up at him, Erik smiling behind a cup of liquor.

“How was that?”

“Perfect. You had her drooling, ma.”

“I thought it would be so hard.”

Erik gave her a funny look, “Do you see how fine you are? You ain’t even have to do that and Dashawn ass would be staring.”

He was excited now.

“I wanna see you flirt with her some more. Show me how you would flirt with another woman.”

“You are a mess,” Y/N laughs.

“Nah, I’m hooked.”

Once the others were finished, Dashawn and Y/N started a game. Dashawn was really good. Y/N was impressed.

“You’re like, a fucking pro at pool.”

“My dad taught me,” She went her turn, making the shot.

“What is it that you can’t do?”

“I can’t sing.”

It was Y/N’s turn, “With a voice that cute I would have thought otherwise.”

Dashawn blushes, leaning against her pool stick. Y/N arched her body over the pool table, aiming for the ball she needed and making the shot. Her skirt was spread over her bubble booty, the back of her thighs catching the light from the pool area. Dashawn tilted her head when she thought Y/N wasn’t paying attention to check her out. Y/N lifted up, turning towards Dashawn with hungry eyes.

“See something you like, Dashawn?”

The girl was speechless.

“Your turn, beautiful.”

Dashawn missed her shot. She was so enamored with what Y/N said that she was thrown off her game.

“What happened to all those winning shots!”

“You’re distracting me!” The alcohol started giving her courage.

“How so?” Y/N was tipsy herself.

“You’re just so damn beautiful that’s why,” Dashawn slapped her forehead, “oh shit, somebody come grab this drink away from me! I’m hitting on Erik’s girl,” Dashawn pouts, “I know you’re off-limits.”

“If you say so,” Y/N went her turn. Dashawn gave her a look, ready to open her mouth to speak but Erik approached. Dashawn looked at both of them with an envious eye.

“Daddy, I have to finish the game,” Y/N couldn’t pull away from his tight hold.

“I’m horny, gimme some pussy...”

He was drunk off that Hennessy and he wanted to deliver some Henny dick. Y/N knew she was in for a long exhausting night including multiple orgasms and no feeling in her legs.

“Daddy...” she leans back from him, “Can I finish my game with Dashawn? I like being in her company.”

Y/N looked across the table, noticing Dashawn looking away quickly.

“Why don’t you and Dashawn exchange numbers after this? Keep in touch.”

“I already planned on doing that.”

“Oh, shit,” Erik kisses her neck, finally letting her go, “finish your little game then we’re leaving.”

She smiles, “fine.”

Dashawn ended up winning. Y/N informed her and everyone else that she was about to leave with Erik. Dashawn’s face fell slightly but the minute Y/N pulled her into a tight hug a blush replaced her somber expression. They were chest against chest, arms wrapped around each other's waists. When Y/N pulled away she gave Dashawn one final longing stare before licking her lips to speak.

“We should exchange numbers. You know...to hang out some other time.”

“Definitely. I’d like that.”

Both women exchanged numbers.

“Wish I could stay longer but,” Y/N tilted her head towards Erik.

“Oh, I understand. Have fun.” Dashawn gave Y/N a smirk before walking away.

———————————-

Erik has been thinking about it for a few weeks since Y/N confessed to being bisexual. Her and Dashawn hung out a few times but nothing actually happened between them. They just remained friends. That was cool and all and he was happy his girl was making new friends but he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like having a threesome.

She had to be down for that.

After laying the pipe on Y/N for the second time that day, Erik peeked at his dick growing hard again under the covers, pushing into Y/N‘s ass.

“Again?” She asked in a sleepy tone.

“Do you even know what you do to me, girl?”

She sat up, the covers falling away from her large breasts, “Do you even know what you do to me?”

She pulled the covers back, climbing on top of him with a quake in her thighs. She was still sore from a couple of hours ago.

“Oh, I know,” Erik lines his dick up with her still wet pussy, “I remember how much I had to work to get you to even look at me.”

Y/N slid down his length with ease. She closed her eyes, reaching out her hands to place against his chest. Erik grabs her waist, thrusting his hips up into her slowly.

“You-you remember the first time we had sex?” Erik asked with a struggle.

“Of course I do, baby,” Y/N smiles before her lips parted, a soft moan rolling off her tongue, “It was so intense. I felt like a virgin again.”

“This pussy is still just as tight and wet as the first time,” Erik arches Y/N over him a little so he could thrust into her pussy deeper. Her ass slapped against his thighs and balls each time he bottomed out inside of her.

“Daddy,” Y/N asked between strokes, “I want to have a threesome.”

“W-what?” He was drilling her pussy at this point.

“I want to have a threesome!”

Erik slowed down, Y/N leaning back to look at him.

“I want us to have sex with another woman.”

“When?” Erik’s dick got harder inside of her. Y/N shivered from the stretch.

“A-anytime D-daddy. I-I really want it.”

“Fuck,” Erik could hear her creamy pussy, “Goddam, you hear that? Your pussy making them noises daddy like when he fucking you.”

Her pussy made loud squelching sounds.

“Hell yeah, I want us to have a threesome. Hell. Yeah.”

“Daddy, you’re so excited,” Y/N started fucking him herself, “You’ve been fantasizing about me eating pussy and getting my pussy ate and fucked by another woman?”

“How you gonna let another bitch eat that pussy?”

“Ima sit on her face and ride,” she rode him, working her hips.

“Mmm, I can’t wait to see that shit. My balls filling up with all this cum, Princess. You ready for me to nut in this pussy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she bounced on him harder.

“Yeah, work that dick, show out baby.”

Erik has his hands behind his head but from time to time he would slap her ass.

“I felt that puss grip my fucking dick. You better cum all over me too.”

“Yeah, Ima cum all over you, baby.” She was in an entrancing and numbing state with his dick deep inside of her pussy.

“Fuck, Daddy, this big dick!”

She pressed hard into his chest, her body seizing up and her orgasm hitting her full force. Erik was close behind, thrusting into her with an almost blur of his hips before he pushed deep into her pussy, holding it there while his cum spilled out of his dick and in and around her pussy. Every time she spasmed his cum would spill from the sides of her pussy lips because his dick was still tightly sheathed inside of her.

“FUCK. You always have me doing this shit. This good pussy always makes me cum so much.”

She slipped off of Erik to clean up her mess. Erik watched her lick and suck him clean with low eyes.

“We gotta find a fine ass bitch for the both of us, baby girl.”

“Mhm,” She licked her lips clean.

“Gimme a kiss.”

Y/N kissed Erik’s lips.

“Let’s plan it next weekend,” She suggests.

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