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the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Rox

Chapter 13

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter - new courses.

Notes:

I am very sorry to be so late with this chapter, but have tried to make it worth the wait. With thanks to Kitty and Poppy for their endless patience and to my readers for theirs. And especially than all of you who let me know in whatever way, what you think of the story.

Chapter Text

Alan woke to kitchen sounds. Eyes closed and warm in his guest-nest, he listened as someone rummaged the fridge and started coffee. Still no pain and no nausea, though the real test would be injecting the Filgrastim this evening. Part of his mind clung to the state of feeling good and wailed for those brownies. Though Alan did not want to deprive Eric of his medicine - that was some ex - he did not want to feel miserable long enough to become accustomed to it.

A peek out of the quilt-cocoon provided him with a view of his host in a pair of tartan-pattern flannel pyjama bottoms and a pair of… bear-paw slippers?

Nicely toned back, though. Complete with gravy train.

Hush, Alan.

His host stumbled down the hall and into the bath - which Alan had found well enough at some point when it was still dark - and turned on the shower. Ronald came down the hall a few minutes later and peered blearily at the coffee pot.

"Aw, fuck. Hurry uuuup."

Alan made 'waking up noises' to let Ronald know he was here, then lifted his head out of the blankets as he adjusted his glasses. He must have scared Ronald horribly, breaking down like that.

"Um. Good morning, and congratulations."

"Hey, Alan! How're you doing?" Ronald, hung-over and steampunky ensemble nowhere in sight, took three mugs down from the hooks under the cabinet. "About the brownie…"

"Ronald, your brother explained things. It's fine, and I am honestly grateful." He still felt pretty good, too. "I haven't slept so much or so well in a month."

A wave of coffee scent rolled from the kitchen and Alan breathed deep.

"Good. You look better, too. I mean, that's a lot of sleep."

"And food," Alan added.

Ronald grinned. "He stuffed you, didn't he? That's Eric - if it holds still, feed it."

"Wiped out again after two bowls of chicken and gravy, plus ricotta cakes and coulis."

"Yeah, I ended up not liking oysters and port so much."

"But you took one hell of a prize - one I think might be better than first place."

"I was bummed for about five minutes until I figured that out." Coffee was forthcoming, and Ronald brought Alan a cup with cream. "I mean, I'll be exclusive to Pearl Street for a while, but I have my brand to build." The shower shut off and Ronald held up a finger to Alan, signaling for silence, then shouted, "I'm making breakfast!"

"Touch that stove and I break your fingers, Beer Brat!" came the bellow. "And we've got a guest, so keep your fucking voice down!"

"That's a poor thing to do to someone before coffee," Alan reproached, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but it's fun." Ronald raised his voice again. "And lend Alan some sweats!"

"Be reasonable. Your brother's clothing would fit me like a lawn bag."

"Quit jerking my chain before I have my coffee, you ass," Eric growled. "I can do things to your food that would fuck you up for life."

"He's under the impression that I can't feed or dress myself," Ronald confided.

"You do look more mature without the face foliage and with the the new glasses," Alan ventured. "Very Millennial Alternative Entrepreneur."

Ronald absolutely preened. "You think? I thought my look was getting too mainstream."

"The Trinity knot is very distinctive." Good Lord. It wasn't just Eric who was the peacock. Ronald was fanning his tail and having a strut, too.

"He buys a shirt without someone else's name on it and all of a sudden he's Joe Fashion Forward." Eric came grumping down the hall in a bathrobe that looked to be a concession to Alan's presence and made straight for the coffee maker. "You probably blew the competition away last night, though."

"It was Rox that made the scene, man. When I grow up, I want to give that few fucks." He laughed. "The guy from the Village Voice interviewed her first, then the Hot Sheet, and the Daily Smoke blog."

"I told Rox ze'd class up the joint too much." Eric poured an extravagant amount of cream into his coffee and drank deeply. "Oh, coffee. How I love you. Hey, Humphries, how're you feeling?"

"Really… good. Rested. Hungry again. Good. After sixteen hours plus of sleep, it's like getting my body back." And it was. How could he be this relaxed? It was amazing.

"You want to grab a shower, go ahead. I'll make pancakes and then run you and your bike back home in the…"

Ronald growled with unexpected ferocity. "Don't you dare."

"Moby Melon," Eric finished with Ronald glaring at him.

Alan hid his smile in a long sip of coffee. Brothers.

"And then I'm drafting you to bring back the new equipment with me, Eric."

"What, second place doesn't include delivery? What a fucking rip. Do we need a U-Haul?"

"Yeah, and it's in Brooklyn."

"Of course it is." Eric sighed.

"Alan, Eric's a total Manhattanite." Ronald proclaimed, "He just won't budge out of the borough. He's like Dracula with sunlight."

"Nuh-uh. Not getting in that one." Alan made the time-out sign. "I'm in no condition to duck flying pies."

"Keep it up, Ronnie. Keep messing with me. I'm the one who makes the pancakes."

"Eric makes beer pancakes, Alan." Then he turned to his brother. "I want blueberries."

"It's good to want things, butthead." Eric grumped and hooked a thumb at his brother, bringing Alan back into play. "This guy, Humphries. Big brass balls."

"Beer pancakes?" Alan steered for the neutral course, trying to stave off laughter. "How does that work?"

The two of them launched into a whipsaw explanation of the art and science of brewing and the exacting nature of pancake making, and Alan went along for the ride. Yes, he and Eric might be awful at new people, but they had their enthusiasms. Nothing would do but to make a batch of pancakes with pumpkin, spice, and a rich brown porter ale. And Eric was right. Most pumpkin pancakes were soggy mess, but the addition of beer lightened the dough, and made for spongy, airy cakes that sopped up butter and blackstrap molasses.

Alan, as guest, was given dibs on the bath next. Ronald was detailed to the dishes and Eric went downstairs to sign for and put away a delivery of eggs and dairy. A pair of sweats from Ronald replaced his slept-in clothing, and Alan bundled them into his backpack. The moment of truth was looking in the mirror, then running his fingers through what hair had not washed down the drain. It felt like a punch in the chest.

That was him.

This was real.

He came out of the bath to find Ronald with a rather smaller brownie on a plate and a glass of milk.

"Eric says." Ronald held them out.

"It's a bit hard to deal with." Alan pointed at his head and the patchy brown hair remaining before taking the brownie. "I don't think I'm handling it too well."

"It's not like stubbing your toe on the sofa, man."

The brownie went down with a swallow of milk. Extra chocolatey. No 'herby' taste at all, just a rich and buttery undertone. "Eric offered me a share of his brownies, but I don't want to take his medicine from him."

"If they did you that much good, I'd take him up on it, Alan." Ronald leaned in and confided, "That, and he can be an enormous pain in the ass."

"You tease him, Ronald." This time Alan did laugh - the image of competing peacocks was just too strong.

"It's my job!" Ronald asserted. "It keeps him on his toes."

"Beer Brat. Pie. With your name on it." Ronald jumped a foot in the air and then turned, coming down facing his brother. "You have a delivery. Cayuga Farms bundled your oats and barley with mine. Go check yours in."

Ronald looked around for imminent flying pies, and seeing none but perhaps not wishing to push his luck, scooted down the hallway.

Awkward was really awful. Hands. What did you do with them? Alan stuffed his in the pocket of the sweatshirt as Eric tried not to look at his patchy head. "Um. Chemotherapy's catching up with me, I guess. It looks awful."

"I have clippers. Can lend them to you." Eric took a good look - his eyes were such a piercing blue-green that the effect was unsettling. "It's not even that bad. You could even get away with kind of a low fade."

"Probably, but for how long? At least it wouldn't be as bad when it fell out, though." Alan ran his fingers through and came away with more hair. "I'll make an appointment with my barber tomorrow."

The thought was dispiriting, but it probably would feel better to be sheared short. At least then it wouldn't fall off in hanks. Perhaps not especially in front of Mr. Hot Butch Honey, but his pride simply could not get any lower than this.

Eric seemed to be having hands issues as well, stuffing them in the pockets of his jeans and giving Alan another of those unsettlingly keen looks. "I can give you a fade. I do my own 'hawk and clean up Ronnie's undercut when he's tight on cash."

And in a few minutes, Alan was sitting on a stool in the middle of the bathroom floor, towel around his neck, and the clippers humming along his scalp behind the combing of Eric's fingers. There was a quibble over a fade or just an overall buzz, and excellent care taken around his ears. And it might make him a big wuss, but Alan had closed his eyes when the clippers started.

Eric had very gentle hands for such a brusque presentation. Though since he was a chef, perhaps Alan should not be surprised. There was a hint of a citrusy aftershave and a warm, almost spiced scent that Alan could not put a name to.

The clippers clicked off. "Okay. You can look."

As if it was Eric's idea to have Alan close his eyes. But okay. Alan opened them and regarded his reflection in the mirror. It was a fade, but with the thinning of his hair at least he didn't look so pathetic. "Thank you."

"S'all right." Eric unplugged the clippers and removed the blade.

Objectively, it wasn't so bad. Alan ran a hand over the scant quarter-inch fuzz left him. "It's a good job. Looks good."

Eric shot him a look of disbelief, but said nothing.

"I need to jolly myself along sometimes, so just let me do it, okay?" Right now, Alan couldn't bear to have that taken away. It might have to go at some point, but not yet. "I'm trying, you know."

"Yeah. I know."

"Thanks."

"You can roll over here any time, you know," Eric blurted. "I'm shit for company, but Ronnie thinks the world of you."

Simple presentation, Alan reminded himself, but complex seasonings. "That means a lot, but I don't want to… you know… be a Debbie Downer."

"You're not bad company. You don't tell me how to cook."

Alan was not going to mention the fennel. "I promise to at least check in."

"And if you feel like shit, we can bring stuff to you."

Alan parsed for a hint of pity or condescension, and found only the blunt pragmatism of someone who isn't interested in theory, just results. "I'd appreciate that. But I really like coming down here. It feels less like I'm living in a fishbowl."

Eric nodded. "Just so you know."

Alan pulled his knit cap over his new fade. "All I need is a goatee and I'll look like a hipster."

"Facial hair is so mainstream." Eric smirked. "Next thing you know they're going to cultivate their ear hair."

"Fuck, but that's gross." Alan laughed out loud, carefully taking off the towel so that the hair didn't go everywhere. "But you know, someone's probably already thought of just that?"

"If they haven't, there has to be a way to plant the idea somehow. It would be a good laugh." The towel went in the hamper, hair and all, quite neatly. The clipper took a spray of Clippercide and Eric glanced at him. "Okay?"

"Yeah. As okay as I'm getting. I appreciate… everything. You and Ronald have been wonderfully kind over this." Andrea was kind, but he took care not to let her know how bad it could get in his head. "The brownies have really helped. More than I thought they would."

"Good. Because you've got a pan waiting downstairs."

Well. 'Eric says' indeed.

"I am not going to take your medicine away from you."

"I have a steady and reliable supply."

"I don't know how that works but I know that if you need it for yourself, I don't want you running short-"

"Which is not going to happen-"

"People do not normally talk when I am talking-"

"New things happen every day." Eric took his arm. "Come and see."

Somehow Alan managed to argue down the hall and into Eric's room - a rather monastic space with a daybed, desk, armoire, reading chair, bookshelves, and dresser. No carpet, bare walls, and a… capacious closet full of… stuff. Lights and little tubs filled with squat, bushy plants, a pump humming quietly from under the tables and a vent that sounded like a 747 taking off from LaGuardia.

And a rather… sweet funky smell.

"I'm not sure when I'm looking at, here. The stuff I had in undergrad was green and smelled like skunky corn chips."

"This is a hybrid - about 40 percent indica and 60 percent ruderalis. I wanted something lower in THC and higher in CBD." Alan must have looked blank at that, as Eric continued. "Cannabidiol - it's the 'second cannabinoid' behind delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol."

"THC being the stuff that gets you stoned?" Alan hazarded, hoping he didn't sound like a total idiot. "The munchies and all?"

"Yeah, it does that, but a lot of other things, too. I have some research." Eric took a binder out of a desk drawer and held it out. "Most of it's related to PTSD and HIV, but there's a lot of other stuff in there. There's even evidence that THC is cytotoxic to certain cancer cell lines."

Alan took it, looked in at the plants, and thought of all the time put into growing and learning about them. "If I'm not putting you out by taking your medicine and your research, then thank you. Yes, I will take the brownies."

They drove back to Alan's in Ronald's station wagon - and there was a discussion about Ronald's color aesthetics. Eric mentioned that he called the car the Snot Rocket, and Alan dubbed the sofa the Grape Grope Grotto. "Still, he did look well in his outfit."

"Rox dressed him. Alan, you should have seen it before. He looked like Scarlett O'Hara coming down the stairs in that dress made out of her drapes-" Eric peered at Alan's building and whistled. "Nice."

"Thanks. I bought my co-op here about the time that you and Ronald opened up." Eric eased Alan's bike out of the wagon, visibly impressed with the light titanium frame and the fat urban wheels. The brownie pan Alan strapped to the cargo deck. "I'll run Ronald's sweats back tomorrow when I come to pick up my supplies. Thanks for everything."

"Welcome. No problem." The awkward came back and Eric stuffed his hands in his pockets again. "See you Monday?"

Alan smiled. "See you Monday."

Upstairs he hung his bike on the stand and put the brownies in the refrigerator. The place felt quiet and empty, as if it hadn't missed him at all. As it he was not really home.

"Come on, asshole. Do not brain, do yoga."

Unzipping the hoodie, Alan went to change and then set up the Wii.

Eric drove Humphries home in the Snot Rocket, that fancy-ass titanium hardtail bike in the back of the station wagon. Alan held the pan of brownies on his lap like precious cargo. Eric watched him wheel the bike in the lobby door, waving awkwardly when the squirt looked back at him. So he was just making sure that he made it home.

And then Alan waved back.

Aside from being a snippy little thing from time to time, Eric was forming the idea that he was a really alright guy. It was hard to go through bad times alone, Eric knew that. Worse was the belief that there was nobody out there who would care.

He knew that one.

And he knew that sometimes kindness cut more deeply than cruelty, or care would bring you to tears when an outright sucker punch just left you numb.

"Nope. Need the brain today. Fuck off, Gary. You're rotting in a box somewhere, you shitbag." He pulled the Snot Rocket into its space and turned off the engine. "You lost big. I hope you died knowing it."

It hit him at the oddest times, and right out of nowhere. Gary infected him, then lied about it. And he got away with it for years. Eric wondered if that was something he'd ever get over - that his life and well-being had mattered so little to someone who claimed to the end to have loved him. Getting out of the car, he fought the urge to just take a brownie and curl up in his room until it was time to cook. Ronnie needed a hand and that trumped a Bad Brain day.

But Ronnie had radar for Bad Brain days.

"No. I really want to go. It's moving. It's out and doing shit. It's good, Ronnie." The little jerk sat there and gave him an expression like a worried puppy's. "We'll go get a U-Haul, take the Williamsburg Bridge, and then roll back here."

"Only if you're good with it. I know you don't like company much-"

"Nah. He's pretty cool. Snippy, but cool."

Ronnie lit up. "You like him."

"I'm not moving him in! I mean he's pretty cool - he slept most of the time he was here." His baby brother was an optimist - a real believer in love or reasonable facsimiles thereof. "He has cancer, and I have HIV. I think we feel sorry for each other."

"I felt like a real jerk, trying to set him up with you when I didn't know the whole thing."

"It's okay, Ronnie. You're a good kid, and you believe that love can fix everything - but it can't." He wanted to believe that himself, all evidence to the contrary - but who was the big brother here? "Come on, and this time we check for roaches before we start the truck."

Ronnie shuddered and nodded. The last rental featured Eric and Ronnie leaping out of the truck on the Van Wyck Expressway when the damned things started coming out of the AC vents.

The rental office was dead on a Sunday, and the trip out to Hipsterland uneventful save for Eric's reflexive need to roll his eyes. Hipsters crossed with slackers with a side of commission sales proved to be the combo that double-dutched on Eric's last nerve. It was apparent that the prize and cash had been awarded principally to drive an adjunct sale that would actually make the prize turn a profit. Ronnie, bless his open little heart and open little wallet, almost ended up getting jacked for his prize money plus a financing plan for a 'macro-micro' package at an interest rate that made Eric bellow in outrage.

They left with the gear - painstakingly checked by Eric to be as promised - and Ronald's cash intact.

"I can't take you anywhere, Eric."

"Good thing you did. You are such a pushover - that guy was bullshiting four pounds a minute!"

"I was totally playing along with him, ass." Ronald sulked and then cussed when Eric pinched his cheek.

"I can't help it, you're just so cute when you're twelve. Hey, no socking the driver! And you still have that two-k to play with." After a moment's consideration, Eric added, "Maybe we better go cash the check today. Just saying."

Ronnie sighed. "Yeah. You're probably right. That guy was a little too keen on getting me to spend it right there."

"Not your fault, Beer Brat. You're a good guy - good guys believe everyone's a good guy."

"What does that make you?"

"A very disillusioned and bitter former good guy."

"A good guy who looked out for a stranger, took care of him, and then shared his medicine with him."

"I said 'disillusioned good guy' not 'complete asshole,' you know. It was common decency." And if Eric was being honest, there was something about Humphries that… nope. He'd leave that alone. That would make him an asshole. "It has to suck, going through that alone."

"You going over to Rox's tonight?"

At some point he was really going to have to stop blushing. He was thirty-three, for fuck's sake. "Yeah."

Rox had honestly done more for him in a few weeks than years of therapy with therapists who were not a) gay, or b) kinky, or c) traumatized, or d) HIV positive. Granted, it was impossible not to feel good after being topped, put into service, and then fucked silly before the talky part. However, the downside was the cash outlay for more silicone Gates of Hell - he got hard at a stiff breeze lately and Rox liked to cut the device off with an Exacto knife.

"I'd give anything to know, but I don't want to know." Ronald sighed.

"I'll help you unload and get the stuff into the basement first."

The good thing about Sunday was that the narrow streets were empty, so parking and unloading the equipment into the basement vault was easy. Ronnie returned the truck while Eric went up to attend to the cake. Rox had been particular about this one - a Prinzregententorte - and a whirling son of a bitch it was to make. All it needed was a little decoration over the apricot jam and rolled fondant and it was ready to go.

Looking over his prep, Eric found that there was not much to do. The big stuff he'd finished last night in a perfect culinary orgy, so really today was just about the details. Cookies to bake, minicakes to frost and decorate, doughs to punch down and bake in the morning, and the Nescos to fill with oatmeal, polenta, and multigrain cereals. The eggs could be scrambled in the blender in the morning, and the frittata cups were ready for the oven, while the omelette discs could go in their packets.

Consulting the menus for the week, Eric made some revisions to Humphries' stuff. More nutrients, more flavor, something a little extra in the minerals department but not more salt. The beer pancakes went over well, so more of those. Stuffed French toast - that would be good. Frittata cups with roasted veg and pancetta. Smaller meals, to eat more often - and take into account the brownie effects.

More complex seasonings, like a symphony for the mouth in warming spices like turmeric, paprika, and coriander. Amuses bouches - the flirts of the culinary world. Comforting tastes, smells, and even textures needed to carry the appetite. And potatoes - the squirt had nearly eaten his weight in reds over the last week.

Soups didn't take much work to digest. Vichyssoise. Potato and roasted garlic soup. Mushroom and barley. Avgolemono.

Or some bouillabaisse.

He had plenty of fennel.

When Eric was finally packing up the goods for the next day, Ronnie came back from returning the truck with a pair of well-shod Mid-town lovelies in tow to 'help' him assemble the gear. He winked at Eric as he led the ladies down the basement stairs and closed the door after them.

That boy and his dick.

Then again, considering Ronnie's reaction to Eric's 'dick jockey credentials' comment, the ladies might be packing serious dongage. And Eric ought not to talk about anyone's relationship with their genitals, considering that he had not only conversations but outright arguments with his own. Eric simply shook his head and got out his pastry bags and tips, set the Painintheasstorte on a cake-board, and began to mix the piping fondant.

Cake decorating was kind of a meditative state for Eric, demanding both complete concentration and fine motor control. It had to look good and it had to taste as good as it looked. And since he knew that the cake was sin on a plate, Eric wanted to put it in something that begged to be licked off.

His phone chimed with a text message, and Eric blinked his way back to reality.The cake was covered in a piped lattice and subtle buttercream flower shapes - and yes, he wanted to lick it off.

He picked up the phone to a cascade of texts from Rox. The last one tartly commented that Rox understood that Eric's true mistress was food, but when he was able to tear himself from the wiles of the cake-?

He dialed.

"It's about time," Rox huffed.

"Now don't get catty. I was taking care of your cake." Eric transferred cake to cake box, and put it in the refrigerator. "And that was a bitch and a half to make, you tyrant."

Rox laughed, "You are such a service bottom, Pretty Man. If you're ready, I want to come pick you up."

That gave him a lovely twinge of heat. "I'll be ready in twenty."

"No, I want you fresh from your labors, darling. I have Things In Mind, you see," Ze said in a voice that made Eric genuinely weak in the knees. "I'm going to give you a lovely bath, to start."

"You know, I have had to beat off more times in the past week-" It was good and Rox knew every hot button as if ze'd put them there. "I'm going to have forearms like fucking Popeye because of you."

"Then I'll just have to make sure you can't pop for a week, won't I? I'll see you quickly, Pretty Man. Be waiting."

It was lovely to have such a willing playmate. Rox parked the Caddy between the Stutz Bearcat and the Maserati Bora. The good thing about living a long time was the amount of luxuries one could accumulate went up with each decade. Automobile carriages had fascinated zir since ze'd won an Olds Model R Runabout in 1904 - playing poker was so useful when establishing one's mortal-realm fortune.

Eric was quite impressed with this toy collection, too. The ground-level floor of Sharps displayed at least three models at all times. In terms of investments, real estate, cars, and other ephemera outperformed everything but gold - and Rox had a nice pile of both the wearable and negotiable sorts.

"Come along, pretty man. Time to serve me something delicious." Eric had been holding the cake steady through some vigorous liberties taken with his person. Rox unbuckled his seatbelt and nudged the cake box forward. "You locked it down again. Tsk."

"It won't shut up." Eric protested.

"Hm. Talky bits - this merits some time on the couch." The training was taking. He waited as ze walked around the car and opened the door to let him out. "What does the naughty thing say?"

Eric blushed. It was wonderful. Eric cultivated a gruff and standoffish exterior, affected boldfaced harlotry, but at times could be so very missish.

"Well, to start with, it blames you."

"Oh, goodie. I'm going to do so much to deserve it." It was time to start testing to find out where the actual limits and hot buttons were. Eric went for the deep bottom and did it hard. "I've never had anyone come so hard for my Bad Cop Top before."

How he'd managed to sit that motorcycle afterward was an intriguing question.

"Rox. You're going to make me drop the cake."

"Mind your step." In the freight elevator, ze pulled the gate shut and released the hand brake, setting the lever for zir private floor. "Now, about these talky bits." And without further ado, Rox unbuckled the belt, popped open the top button, and unzipped Eric's jeans, and put zir hand down his unders. "Don't drop the cake."

"Fuck the cake." Eric growled as ze gave him a fondle.

"Waste of cake, pretty Man. Never waste cake." Oh, yes. Lovely prick in there, and locked down in a silicone cage. "And you, pretty bits. What have you been telling Eric - hm? He needs much more fucking? He does, you know. That bottom was made for buggery."

Eric aggressively nuzzled for a kiss and the cake was going to go up for a Reap in a moment. Rox would be willingly had on the floor of the lift, but ze had put some effort into arrangements. That and ze wanted dinner.

"Cake in the kitchen, and then strip off." It took effort to keep zir tone crisp. Eric getting nuzzly and rammish was something zir body knew for a very good thing. "Leave your little cage on for now."

Eric handed zir the cake and obediently got naked from the glasses down, then folded his clothing. Yes, he was a little whiffy, but it was quite nice. Rox walked around Eric, giving him a good looking-over.

"I've always wanted a hot houseboy." Ze patted that superlative bottom and handed him the cake. "Kitchen, then go into the bedroom, put on the blindfold, and wait for me there."

It was just like the song said, you hated to see him go but you loved to watch him leave.

Rox's preparations for Eric's bath included soft cuffs, a half-sling to support his arms, and a modest spreader bar in PVC. There was shampoo, soap, a not-too-scrubby bath mitt, a straight razor, a little bottle of lube, and a lovely little prostate stimulator. So he was beating the bishop too often? Ze could fix that.

After putting up zir hair, ze checked and found him blindfolded though not very patient. It took work to get Eric to let go. A soft nylon collar around his neck and a lead snapped onto the d-ring made him flush and flex his shoulders as she led him to the shower. The sling supported his arms comfortably, and the spreader bar affixed just above the bend of the knee made such a pretty picture.

"I want full access, Pretty Man." Rox turned on the water and got in with him. "I know you like to trash-talk and tussle, but you go over so easy…"

"You know I like good pushing, Rox, and your titties are cute, too." Eric's smile was wolfish. "And you need to give me that dick and ride my ass like you stole it."

"Bossy butch boy, this is not your kitchen." Zie soaped up the bath mitt. "You and the titties - you have an oral fixation."

It was a given that the more lip Eric gave zir, the closer he was to being a very good boy - or a very bad boy. At the moment, he was trying to hold attitude against the luxuriant amounts of hot water and a thorough soaping with zir signature scent.

"I do not. They're cute - like bombe cakes," he protested.

"The only thing you love more than sex is food."

"I don't play favorites, Rox. I love food and sex equally - sometimes even at the same time."

"You are a rampant sensualist. A hedonistic ripailleur serving himself up shamelessly while indulging his own appetites." Zie could see him relaxing, the muscles loosening down his spine. There was always that core of tension in him, though it was less now than it had been when zie began inking him. "Goodness, I'm going to have such a feast. Tip your head back, please."

"It's a spa day." His voice was taking on the warm, resonating tone to match the relaxation in his body. "You're spoiling me."

"I intend to work you over, Pretty Man." Zie sank her fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp with zir fingertips. "You're stroppy."

"I'm horny."

"And naughty, beating off so much without telling me." Ze rinsed his hair with the hand-held showerhead, then put it back in the holder and picked up the straight razor. "And then you lock it down." With a flick of zir wrist, the razor snicked open. "It's been a while since I used a straight razor on any bits but my own-"

"Rox…" Eric's prick twitched as zie took him in hand.

"Shh." Ze laid the blade against his skin and the darling stopped breathing, his prick trying to swell against its binding. "Now hold still. You wouldn't want me to slip."

It had been more years than this Eric had been alive since ze had, but it did bear mentioning. Starting with the tip, Rox carefully plied the blade under the silicone bands and cut them one by one. Ze finished with Eric at full arousal and breathing as if he'd run here from Pearl Street.

"See? Not a nick." Ze set the razor on the ledge and stood, squeezing his arse and pulling him close for a little frot. "And you like that so much, you deviant. You're dripping for it."

"I'm in the shower, genius."

"You're also tied up, genius." Rox nuzzled him and nipped. "And I have a lovely little toy."

"...define 'little.'"

"You'll see in just a moment." Rox reached for her gloves and the lubricant, snapping the nitrile on for effect. "Yes, I do enjoy watching you take size, but this is just a bit more subtle."

It was lovely how easily Eric opened up for zir fingers, squeezing and angling for a nice hit on his prostate.

"Rox-" Eric wriggled and pushed back onto zir fingers.

"Hush, you greedy thing." Though ze did oblige him with a rub that made him… squeak? It was deep for a squeak, but it was a squeak. Rox laughed out loud and then did it again, reaching for the stimulator. "Your prick's going to need the rest, and if you can sit for the next week without a smile on your face - Ah, there we go."

The toy slid home and Eric looked skeptical.

Until he squeezed.

And then he grinned, his flush creeping from under the edge of the blindfold. "Oh."

"I'm so pleased you're enjoying it, because you're going to pop for me." Ze slapped his arse and chuckled at the moan. "Give me a lovely little show. I want to see those cheeks working."

"What the hell is this thing?" Eric's toes were literally curling. "It's oh goddamn Rox it's just what did you put in my ass?"

It was lovely to watch Eric get into it, his lovely bottom moving lewdly. Rox urged him on with kisses and touches everywhere but where he begged for it. Not a stroke not a tickle for his prick.

"Work that ass, Pretty Man. I want to see you make yourself come, you strumpet."

Oh, yes. This was too good not to indulge, and Rox gave zirself a languorous stroking. Eric's flexing took on an urgent rhythm, head tipping back, and his weight resting in the upper body sling.

"Rox you fucking hell you have an evil brain you need to bend me over and fuck me stroke me I fuck oh fuck can't come from goddamnit ahhhyeah and I don't know whatthefuckthistingisbut-"

For a man who couldn't ejaculate without friction, Eric was doing quite the champion's job of it Rox thought giddily, zir own shot spattering his belly. What a lovely and lewd picture he made. He finished, panting through his moans and holding on to the sling, their mess washing down the drain.

"Rox?"

"Yes?" Zie took off the sodden blindfold and smiled when he opened his eyes.

"You're not getting this thing back."

The cheek!

The brownies, as it turned out, were a match for the filgrastim and Alan was able to stay awake for a while. In addition to the blessed lack of pain, the level of anxiety and low-grade panic he'd come to think of as normal was dialed back hard. He was hungrier, and the stomach discomfort he'd expected did not reach the degree it usually did.

The downside was that since he was awake, so was his brain. Hal Foreman had couriered over his papers on Friday afternoon, but Alan had been too out of it to do anything but note the envelope. Reading them took determination.

It was odd that even ten years after being disowned, a small part of Alan hoped that perhaps someday his family would love him again. Looking over these documents, meant to shield his assets and home in a living trust to make sure that he and he alone guided his medical care, was the death of that hope. The final documents, detailing the dispersal of his property after his death, felt almost as if he admitted that this might not work. The medical, legal, and financial powers of attorney rested with Andrea, Mr. Foreman, and a top accounting firm experienced in wills, trusts, and estates. Alan signed all of them, putting a set in each envelope for each trustee and retaining one for himself.

Then he sat at the computer and wrote a short note to his brother and his father.

Dad and Ted,

In light of your recent contact with me, I have taken legal advice and acted to preserve my assets and autonomy from any interference. It was a mistake to call, knowing that you continue to feel as you did ten years ago. I have made a life without you, and your responses to my illness simply verify that while you were wrong to throw me out and disown me, I was right in leaving and staying away. Do direct further correspondence or communications to my attorney, Harold Foreman of Foreman-Twickert, 425 West 44th St, NYC, NY. 10036

Do not attempt to contact me at all, or harass my employers. I want nothing further to do with you.

Alan

cc: Harold J Foreman

cc: Alan G Humphries

cc: Theodore P Humphries Sr.

cc: Theodore P Humphries Jr.

Now, if only it were that easy.

He put his laptop aide and lay on the sofa, looking up at the patterns of his tin-tiled ceiling. No, the anxiety wasn't there, but just under that dried scab bubbled a lot of tears. Maybe this was part of the brownie effect? Alan picked up the binder and paged through, the annotated research looking for psychological sequelae noting that Eric referred in his notes to 'wired and tired' - a state of mind that when he began to relax turned him into 'a weepy emo mess' but was less depression than depressurization.

If it were not for the meticulous nature of Andrea, and now Eric Slingby, Alan reflected that he'd be a great deal further at sea than he was now. Google skills notwithstanding, the glut of information and sale pitches from even the most painstakingly constructed parameters did not begin to cover the practicum.

Alan sighed, rolled onto his stomach and tucked a cushion under his cheek.

His hair.

That should be the last thing he ought to worry about, but in the end it was not the hardest blow he'd taken. It had, however, been the one that broke him. He might be able to put on extra clothing to hide the weight loss but seeing that hank of hair, thinner than it should have been, landing on the counter had been like… being gutted. Not even being thrown out of his home had hurt as much as this, nor had surviving homelessness in an Idaho January been as hard. Through it all, he had faith in himself, in his mind and abilities - he had hope in the form of a scholarship and an acceptance letter.

Now?

He didn't know.

He'd already done his yoga, and yet he was still trying to brain.

"I'm the only one here and I still never shut up." He rolled onto his back again, then off the sofa entirely. "I'm asking Mr. Hot Butch Honey if he has a brownie to turn off the brain for a while."

His brain suggested masturbation.

There was a downside to not being opiated to the eyeballs.

And there was one thing Alan still had yet to do.

He ran his hand over his hair, feeling the shortness of it. It was surprisingly soft, almost like a cat's fur. There were thin, smoother spots that were just skin, and a scar from the time that he went tubing in rough water. Standing, Alan walked into his bedroom and turned on the lights, looking at himself in the mirror over his dresser.

Just how long had he been avoiding looking at himself?

Slowly he began to undress, putting the borrowed sweats in the washer along with his own clothing. Alan admitted that he was afraid to look, afraid to see. Because if he really looked…

"If I really look, I'll just have to deal with it. And I don't know how to do that."

He looked anyway.

And looked away.

Then looked again, steadying himself.

He still had some muscle to him, but his face was thinner - his cheekbones showed a little more. Ribs and collar bones showed more than he thought he remembered, and so did the flanges of his pelvis. Turning, Alan looked himself over from the sides, and from behind - he was visibly thinner. Cachexia? It was hard to tell fat loss from muscle loss just from appearance.

Wait.

Alan turned full frontal.

"I'm losing my pubes? You have got to be fucking kidding!"

Come on. This was nowhere to be found in the research! He still had to shave every morning, but how often did you check your pubes? Or your pits?

He looked at his reflection again, this time running a hand over his shorn head, tears coming to his eyes. This sucked. It really sucked.

The tears spilled over and Alan wrapped his arms around himself, backing up until he could sit on the bed. Depressurizing. Depressurizing. It was okay. It was just depressurizing. Alan lay down, curled on his side, and for the first time didn't try to jolly himself out of it. He pulled the covers up over himself, looking out the window at what appeared to be a gorgeous May evening, and was surprised by sleep as Trinity's bells began to ring.

When he opened his eyes again, Alan was confused. The sun was on the wrong side of the apartment.

No.

He'd slept almost twelve hours!

"Oh, shit!"

Alan shot out of bed and straight into the shower. He had a conference call at 7:00 with Mr. Conti and the executive officers at the firm, and he'd slept through his normal pickup time for Pearl Street! Yes, he could do the meeting unshowered, unshaven, and in his pajamas, but that just felt wrong! If he hadn't had his coffeemaker already preloaded…

Alan leaned out of the water and snagged his wet/dry electric razor, toothbrush, and toothpaste from the sink. This was going to have to be an omnibus shower.

Clean and dressed in what had to be his fastest time since undergrad, Alan buttoned his shirt at exactly 6:59 and poured himself a cup of coffee.

The conference phone rang at 7:00 on the dot. Alan put on his headset and answered.

"Good morning Mr. Conti."

"Good morning, Alan. How are you feeling?"

"Better." Alan answered, surprising himself with the truth of the statement. "I've had a change in medication, and even though it's been only a few days I'm feeling more… me."

"That's great to hear, Alan. How is treatment progressing, if you don't mind our asking?"

"I don't mind, but quantitative data is hard to come by. I'm told that I'm progressing as normal without an idea of what that actually means." He took the last of his oatmeal cookies and sat down on the sofa. "I'm full up on medicine being an art, a science, and a crapshoot. I understand that. What I could do with is a little less bullshit."

The laughter on the other end of the phone was unexpected.

"You are feeling better!" Mr. Shore called out. "We were really worried - still are - but you sound like Alan again."

"I've been getting some good rest and following good advice. I just actually woke up about half an hour ago." Opening his email, Alan allowed himself a small smile. There was no way that he was going to tell them about the meltdown and brownies. "Now, I've gone over the Trireme data and if the client is in the market for a paint job, it's a great one. The actual deal stinks. The company's reputation is not so much as a Mediterranean shipping company as a bunch of quasi smugglers operating out of an Athens front office and flying flags of convenience from Belize, Lebanon, Malta, and Panama."

The meeting settled in and Alan made his recommendations based on how much fuckery was concealed in the rosy scenarios - but not by the hard figures. Multinationals had ways to swap debt, conceal liabilities and exposures. Alan's job was to find the devil in the details, and make his recommendations accordingly.

"You're looking at a lot of liabilities - older and substandard ships, lack of trained crew, flags of convenience that will keep these ships out of regulated ports." That was not mentioning smuggling, theft, human trafficking, environmental violations… and that was just amongst the crew. "They're selling the front of store, but the back's a mess. Yes, they have a profitable small-ship cruise business, but that's not enough to muck out the rest of it."

The cookies were consumed during a PowerPoint presentation when he could mute his headset.

The last of the potato salad went during the debate between the company's agent and Mr. Conti.

And by 10:00, the agent's blathering reaching epic proportions, Alan's stomach was growling. He had peanut butter and jelly but no bread - so he ate it with a spoon.

When the meeting broke up, and Alan's new assignments and schedule hit his inbox, it was almost 11:00 and Alan could have eaten the couch by that point.

"Thank you, Alan. Have a good week and we'll talk with you again on Thursday."

"Thank you, gentlemen. I'll look forward to it. Good morning."

Alan disconnected and picked up his phone, Pearl Street's number programmed into his speed-dial.

"Good morning, and thank you for calling the Pearl Street Kitchen."

A tenor, not a baritone. Not that he was disappointed.

"Good morning, Ronald. It's Alan."

"Hey! I was getting worried. Do you need us to bring over your haul?"

Alan was already putting on a jacket. "No, I'm on my way there now. I'll bring your sweats back tomorrow - I put them in the wash last night, but crashed before starting the machine."

"Whenever. It's cool - Eric was putting on finishing touches anyhow. Hold on a second. That's eight-fifty, please. Come back soon."

"I'll be there shortly, it sounds as if you have a rush." Hunting for his shoes, Alan thought that he might get a pair of clogs like Eric's - and now that he thought about it, like Ronald's, too. "Thanks again."

"Not a problem, Alan. See you when you get here." And as he was hanging up Alan heard, "Hey, Eric! Alan's coming!"

Hush, Alan.

Setting up the bike, Alan made a mount and dismount just to be sure that he could manage it, then set out. It was a glorious May morning, and a quick ride if one with more traffic than he was used to. By now he knew that he was allowed to wheel the bike in, but locked it outside instead - mostly to gather his composure as Eric was sitting on a stool behind the counter, drinking a cup of coffee.

"Good morningish, Alan." Ronald greeted him as he came in. "You look good today."

"Thank you, Ronald. Good morning, Eric. Did you get the equipment all right?" Alan looked in the cases and sighed. He needed more nutrition, not more pudding cups.

"Oh, man." Eric rolled his eyes. "Let me tell you about this scam-"

"Oh, no." Ronald almost harmonized. "I am not that much of a dweeb, you know-"

"He is that much of a noob, you know. Wide open heart and wide open wallet-"

"Butthead."

"Dork." Eric snorted. "Now they tried to jive him into not only spending the prize check, but financing this… what was it… micro-macro setup that was supposed to be the Second Coming-"

"Alan, I was completely not going for it. I was playing along-"

Alan found he didn't need to say a word, the pair of them were hilarious all on their own. Instead, he noted some tempting things not normally a part of the repertoire placed to catch the eye.

Almond-milk spiced chocolate pudding.

Brown rice and barley pudding with coconut milk.

Whole-grain garlic knots with infused olive oil for dipping.

Salt and vinegar pistachios.

Alan's mouth was watering by the time he made a pile of goodies on the counter, and his stomach was growling loudly enough that both Eric and Ronald gave him startled looks.

"Have you eaten today?" Eric demanded.

"I had a conference call early and only two cookies left, plus a cup of potato salad." Alan was not going to tell them about eating peanut butter and jelly right from the jar. "I'm a little peckish."

"Wait here." Eric drained his coffee and went into the back, the kitchen wafting the scent of something oniony and rich. "Soup's ready. How do you want your beef dips?"

"On the ciabatta! Alan, the onion soup is soooo good when you dip a roast beef sandwich in…"

"Did Eric do the roast beef?" Alan's stomach was desperate.

"He did." Ronald held up a hand as if swearing in court.

"Sold."

"Eric - two on ciabattas!"

"Okay, both of you come and get. I've got cupcakes in and have to keep an eye on them!" Hearing that bellowed in a baritone was possibly one of the most surreal experiences of Alan's life.

"Come on. You've been invited." Ronald lifted the gate between the storefront and the back.

"I'm coming!" Alan gathered his haul into a handbasket and stepped through, a smile blooming on his face. He'd been invited.

Chapter 14

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, Alan's feeling warmer and Rox cleans up a loose end.

#black butler fanfiction

0 notes

p-antomime · 3 years

Text

just so fine.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 4,7K

content + warnings: 18+, including: dilf!toji, manhandle, spitting, daddy kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of school girl!reader maybe, breeding kink, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, age gap, a bit of size kink, thigh riding

pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— note: this is a bit inspired by: Love Without Tragedy by Rihanna. — jjk masterlist.

Red lipstick and a broken heart trying to be concerted by the petals of your conscience and your friends who said that "he didn't deserve you anyway". And honestly, you didn't know where exactly you were getting the strength from to get out of bed that Monday and go take a shower before heading painfully to your first class in the morning.

He used to be the boy you loved with every cell of your body and soul, he stole the best years of your freshman life at the university, and now you were a senior who had neither the animation nor the patience to welcome the incoming freshmen that year. Despite having Kugisaki and Megumi fervently cheering you on while Itadori was too busy still dealing with the problem of sending documents to the college, your heart was still fatally wounded and your dignity no longer existed as your tears had wiped it off the face of the earth during that morning shower and you couldn't help but be tempted to put on makeup good enough to mask your dark circles under your eyes and downcast face.

"Are you coming today?", Nobara asked excitedly on the other end of the line as you were already leaving the house and taking the long way to college.

— Do I have the option of not going?

"No, of course not.", Nobara replied with a slight laugh that was well intended to cheer you up a bit, "We can have a movie night tonight, to cheer you up."

— At whose house? At mine that won't be, it's a mess. — You grumbled.

"At Megumi's or Itadori's, of course. During lunch I'll buy soda and food with Yuuji and you convince Megumi to let us break into his house today.”

— Why do I have to convince Megumi? You came up with the idea.

"Because I'll be busy, simple. And Fushiguro doesn't take me seriously.", and then you sighed heavily, already noticing that you were less than a block away from entering the college grounds.

— Okay, I see what I can do.

Kugisaki told you that she was waiting for you in the classroom, and you replied that you were already there. And then something distinctive caught your attention. It was strangely easy to spot something different in the landscape of the university entrance because usually it was always the same: university students rushing to settle personal matters or to classes they are late for, or also students who came to see what the college was like before the university application period.

But today was different. There was a tall man fully dressed in black and gray leaning against a motorcycle that looked as if it had been taken from an action movie because it was so well equipped and large. He looked relaxed, and yet he still possessed an aura that could kill you with a single punch. Attractive and devilishly dangerous with that leather jacket highlighting his strong arms and broad shoulders. Forcing your eyes a little, you could notice a scar close to one of the corners of his lips.

— What's the matter, little girl? — His deep voice reaches your ears, but your mind whispers to you that he probably wasn't talking to you at the same time that your heart starts to beat out of control and your head turns from side to side trying to check if there is someone behind you. — Yeah, I'm talking to you. — He smiled sideways.

— Uh... hmm... none, sorry. — Your cheeks started to heat up and you wanted to punch yourself in the stomach because usually a simple man couldn't disconcert you like that, and then your eyes fell on his collarbones, well marked by the black shirt he wore under his jacket, and your mouth suddenly felt too dry.

— What exactly are you apologizing for? — The man asked as he placed one of the helmets on the motorcycle seat, if there were two helmets maybe he brought some college girl? — For eating me with your eyes or staring at me? — And then you choked on your saliva and coughed desperately for air trying not to drop the folders in your hands and he seemed amused by your reaction.

— I-I... — Your fingers squeezed the folders and you had to look away to think straight. — I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to.

— I am not, it's great to be lusted after by younger girls. — He replied, but before he had a chance to continue his onslaught someone approached from the diagonal.

— Dad! — And then you choked again seeing that the one who was referring to the man in front of you as "dad" was Megumi. — Oh, Y/N? — He looked confused looking from you to his own father. — Anyway, they didn't have what you wanted at the pharmacy, next time you'll buy it yourself. — The young Fushiguro spoke to the older man, but seconds later, noticing the mortifying silence that settled over the place as you stared at his father, he spoke up: — And we are almost late already, let’s go, Y/N. — Megumi took one of your arms and started to guide you away from the motorcycle and closer to the interior of the college.

— You never told me you were interested in girls. — His father shouted more to embarrass his son than you, but the effect was the opposite, since you were the one with the burning cheeks.

— Shut up, Toji. — Megumi shouted back as he continued walking. — Did he say shit to you? — He asked you when the two of you were already walking down the halls to your classroom for the first class of the morning.

— Not really, no. He seems... fine. — You tried to talk as if you didn't have dirty thoughts running through your mind especially after remembering the older man's collarbones and scar, and still Megumi gave you an accusing look.

— Don't try to fuck my father, that's disgusting. - Your eyes widened.

— I wasn't thinking that, you idiot. — And then Megumi let out a loud laugh.

— I know, I was just trying to amuse you. — He shrugged and left you standing in front of the door. — See you at lunch?

— Yes, of course. — You answered, and then suddenly remembered Nobara's request on the phone earlier. Your hand held one of his arms so that he wouldn't walk away without listening to you. — Megumi, can we have a movie night at your place tonight? Nobara came up with the idea of doing this to cheer me up a bit. — He seemed to become suddenly tense.

— I'll have to at least let Toji know that there will be people coming home today. — Megumi answered vaguely and shrugged. — I'll send a message to Kugisaki and let her know if it's on or off.

Nodding your head positively, you gave your friend a slight smile, and then for the rest of the day your mind concentrated on paying attention to your classes, your scheduled seminars and the pile of work you still had to do. There was no time for your heart to pound with grief over the loss of your now ex-boyfriend, but there were several minutes when you had to chase away persistent thoughts of Megumi's dad. But looking at him wasn't enough, your hands wanted to explore his body and leave marks everywhere, that's what you thought until you felt ashamed, pushed the thoughts away for a few brief minutes and then thought about it again. In a vicious loop.

When you were having lunch with Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki, your head tried to focus on their conversation as much as possible, but looking at the man with black hair and beautiful eyelashes reminded you of Toji and your hands started to break into a cold sweat. It had been a frustrating, tiring day, but secretly you were a little excited to see your friend's father again.

— Don't take too long, okay? — Nobara spoke after dropping you off and leaning against the hallway wall, and you nodded positively before going to your room to pack a backpack with some pajamas and an outfit in case you and the other two friends ended up falling asleep while you were at Megumi's house.

It didn't take long before you two were ringing the doorbell of the Fushiguro’s house and from the loud sound from inside the house you both could tell Yuuji had already arrived. Suddenly, Y/N felt nervous not knowing who would answer the door. Would it be Toji? "Damn", you thought as you saw exactly him calmly opening the door. This time he wasn't wearing very dark clothes, it was just gray sweatpants and a white v-neck shirt that still highlighted his beautiful collarbones.

— Is that them? — Itadori shouted from another room in the house.

— Yes. — Megumi, who was looking at the two girls standing in the doorway over Toji's shoulder, answered. — You may come in.

Toji moved to the side letting you two into the house and, using the personal excuse of being embarrassed, Y/N walked in with her head down. And partly, in fact, it was true that you were embarrassed, but your mind knew that your eyes wanted to take a good look at the older Fushiguro's thighs and cock. It was impossible not to look at those parts of his body, especially with that kind of pants.

But then Toji gave himself the right to go up the stairs to the upper floor of the house and out of your field of vision when Megumi asked you and Nobara which movie you wanted to watch and she answered that a drama movie. And then the four of you started to watch the movie comfortably, until you started to feel the straps of your own bra start to press painfully against the skin of your shoulders.

— Can I go to the bathroom? — Y/N asked Megumi, who pointed to the steps of the staircase diagonally across from the sofa.

— First door on the left. — You nodded and walked up the stairs carrying your backpack, intending to get rid of your bra and also put on the comfortable pajama top that had been brought.

From the hallway you could hear the low sound of another TV escaping through the gap in a tall door. It was probably Toji's room, such a thought raced through your mind, and you shrugged as you entered the bathroom, leaned against the door, and began to remove your bra and change into your shirt. It was inevitable to sigh in relief as you felt your shoulders less tense and sore and your hands groped your breasts just for the personal pleasure of feeling them free now.

— Hmm, may I come in? — A muffled voice was heard behind the door and instinctively you quickly removed your hands from your breasts.

— Just a minute. — Y/N answered, shoving the previously worn blouse into her backpack and almost running toward the door, slowly opening it.

You looked forward and found yourself facing a bare hard chest as you waited to see a long hallway with four different doors. Toji was now shirtless in front of you and your cheeks burned a little, which got a little worse when your brain short-circuited, your hand rested two fingers against the warm, somewhat soft skin of his chest, and you pulled away slightly so that you could look him in the eye.

— I'm sorry. — Your hand finished opening the door and there was again a sideways smile on Toji's lips

— Are you going to sleep here? — He asked, sliding his gaze over her shoulders, breasts and abdomen freely, without any embarrassment.

— No, actually. I just changed my shirt to be more comfortable.

— Got it. — Toji looked you straight in the eyes again, but yours were already gliding across his face until you found the scar close to his lips.

— How did you get this scar? — You felt the need to prolong the conversation just to get a better record of his face.

— You're pretty curious for someone apparently shy. — He remarked, his eyes sparkling with a gleam that you couldn't quite identify what it was. — When I was younger, we could say I wasn't the friendliest person in the whole world, so I got into a few fights. — Toji shrugged, as if this was not relevant information

How old are you? — A mischievous smile slowly drew on his lips.

— Old enough to be your dad.

"Then maybe I can call you Daddy", was the first thing you thought, but there wasn't enough courage in you to flirt shamelessly, especially with Megumi or the other two able to eavesdrop from downstairs.

— I think I've been here with you long enough. — Y/N answered, putting the backpack on her back and walking past Toji, but just as her feet were about to start down the steps, the older Fushiguro called her out.

— I think you forgot something, little girl. — You turned back in confusion, and in his hands was your bra. Toji threw the piece of clothing toward you through the air without much force to fall gently onto your palms that had opened toward him. — The next time you forget something like that inside my house, I'll keep it for myself. — You frowned, assuming that he was implying that there was possibly something between you and his son.

— Me and Megumi, we don't... — Your shoulders shook without your mouth finishing the sentence.

— I wasn't talking about him exactly, you're very naive, not that that's a problem for me. — He went into the bathroom and eventually you were alone again.

Feeling more embarrassed than the first time you had seen Toji earlier at the university entrance, you joined your friends again in the middle of the movie and were grateful that none of them had bothered to ask if anything had happened in the bathroom because of your delay. Eventually Nobara fell asleep on your shoulder after eating two pieces of the pizza Megumi had asked his father to buy, and Yuuji began to yawn almost pushing the son of the owner of the house off the couch.

— I knew they would both end up sleeping. — Megumi grumbled, pushing Itadori aside and getting up from the sofa. — There are two guest bedrooms upstairs, you and Nobara can use both of them and Yuuji sleeps with me, or one of you can sleep with me and the other and Itadori in the other bedrooms.

— I think it's better that Yuuji better sleep with you. — Y/N replied looking at Kugisaki, who was starting to fall off her shoulder.

And then Fushiguro woke the almost sleeping Itadori to go upstairs while he carried Nobara up the stairs and you accompanied him carrying both your and your friend's backpack. After tidying Kugisaki up in bed and getting Yuuji changed, Megumi spoke to you before leaving you alone in the guest room:

— If you feel hungry, you can go in the kitchen and get something to eat during the night. And, well, you already know where the bathroom is, and so does my room. If anything happens during the night, you can call me or him. — Megumi pointed to the door of Toji's bedroom, and you nodded positively.

And then you laid lazily on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room and tried to relax. Almost, almost, sleep caught up with you, but your evil brain began to make you think about the fact that Toji was only a few miserable doors away, and the anxiety began to corrupt you rapidly, like a corrosive acid. But even though you wanted to go knock on his door, you forced yourself to sleep, especially since the day had been exhausting.

The next day, just like the rest of the week, Y/N didn't get to see Megumi's dad, and he didn't make much of a point of talking about his father either, after all, why would his friends be interested in him, right? All the other days of the week, her mind focused more on trying not to think about her ex-boyfriend and also not to think about Toji, just college business.... And then came the next Thursday of the successive week.

And there was Toji Fushiguro, leaning against his big motorcycle, but this time with only one helmet and different clothes. Honestly? You didn't know if you should go talk to him or not, if you should just walk right by or not. But, in the end, your mind tricked you into choosing the second option, and your feet awkwardly made their way to the college with your eyes struggling not to check the man's reactions.

— Can I have your number, little girl? — Toji asked in a tone loud enough for you to hear.

— What? — You looked away, wringing your hands nervously.

— I asked if I could have your number. — One of his hands swung his cell phone toward you.

The first thought that crossed your mind was, "What if someone sees us together and tells Megumi?", but honestly, Megumi probably wouldn't be interested in your sex or love life, even if it was with his father.

— Maybe, if you take me for a motorcycle ride today.

— You're wearing a skirt, are you sure you'd want to do that? — Toji suppressed a playful laugh. — You could have a ride somewhere more comfortable than my motorcycle today.

You narrowed your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, realizing that you were entering dangerous territory in a game of seduction that Toji knew and played better than you.

— Will Megumi be at home?

— He has an internship today. — Toji replied, drumming his fingers on his helmet.

— Wait for me after four o'clock then. — You replied and walked back toward the college as you felt his eyes fixed on your ass.

Throughout the day you felt uncomfortably nervous and Nobara even asked you if everything was okay several times at different times. The only answer your mind formulated was a simple positive head movement, because honestly you felt embarrassed to be interested in a friend's dod, even though this father was extremely attractive and did not reject your shy and restrained advances. He was just so nice, fine.

Fine enough to make you press your thighs together to try to relieve the sexual tension as your legs walked towards the Fushiguro house. And when you got there, it didn't take long to see Toji opening the door wearing only black sweatpants. You went inside and closed the door, nervously watching the older man, who sat comfortably on the sofa in the living room and called out to you with his index finger. As you stopped in front of him, one hand patted his lap and the other was placed on your thigh covered by your skirt. Slowly, Y/N took her seat sitting on his covered cock.

— Why do you look so tense, hm? — Toji asked, squeezing your thigh without too much force and you moved slightly against his hip. — Are you a virgin by any chance? — Your cheeks heated up.

— N-No, you just make me nervous. — Y/N replied, shrugging slightly.

— Do I? — He pretended to be surprised as he slid his hand up her skirt and pushed his fingertips against her covered pussy. — Do I make you get your panties wet too? — Toji pressed his hips against hers and her hands rested on his shoulders for a few brief seconds.

— Fuck, yes. — You groaned, taking your fingers to the buttons of your shirt to undo them. — I've been thinking about you more than I should, I've been thinking about everything about you.

— So, why don't you show me how much you've been thinking about me, huh? — Fushiguro pulled her panties aside and stroked her pussy in slow circular motions while he brought his other hand to her face and pulled her closer to his. — Show me how much you want me and cum on my fingers like the dirty slut I know you can be. — His thumb slowly brushed over your lips and you opened them, your mouth filled by long fingers.

You grabbed his wrist close to your intimacy and guided two of his digits into your interior. And, fuck, they filled you so well. Toji's fingers were thicker and longer than yours, so the times he repeatedly curved them inside your cunt, their tips easily brushed and pressed that spot that made you roll your eyes having your body spasm with pleasure. "What a beautiful vision", the man would be thinking as he watched his beautiful college girl choking on his fingers while being fucked by the others.

However, he didn't move his hand against you much, meaning that he let you choose the pace and intensity, until you whimpered against his neck in a silent request for his fingers to move against you:

— Please, Toji, move your fingers. — Y/N said as she pulled away from Toji's digits that were preventing her from speaking and forced her hips against his hand.

— Can't you cum on your own? — He asked squeezing your chin to make you keep your mouth open. — Pathetic. — Toji spat on your tongue and closed your mouth to force you to swallow. — Pathetic slut. — And then he began to finger you in a relentless rhythm.

If Fushiguro wanted to make you cum in his hand, that's exactly what he got, and he even got a great view of your trembling body, your breasts rising and falling rapidly because of your rapid breathing and your head falling back in an intense pleasure you didn't know your body could achieve. While you were still clouded by ecstasy, his fingers snuck up to finish removing your panties and getting rid of your clothes covering your upper body. He wanted you only in your skirt.

— Look at my pet slut with her beautiful cunt leaking. — His fingers spread the folds of your pussy to see you twitching around just at his obscene words. — Just so nice. — Toji pressed the thumb against your sensitive clit and gave you a smirk before he sat you down on one of his thighs, began to move you there and also slowly stimulated your clit.

His body leaned down and his lips latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking them more intensely as your hips moved faster against his thigh. And occasionally Fushiguro would pull up her skirt and slap her ass hard enough to leave several finger marks across her skin; and it was on one of his slaps that a short, gasping, "Daddy" sneaked out from between your lips and hit Toji's mind as a twinge of intense pleasure coursed through his entire body.

— Say that again. — He ordered, grabbing her neck with the hand that had been slapping her ass before.

— Daddy... — Y/N groaned breathlessly as she continued to move her hips against Toji's thigh in a desperate attempt to cum again.

— Keep calling me that, be a good little whore for me. — His other hand continued to stimulate your clit, now at a more intense pace that managed to push you straight into the abyss of a orgasmic pleasure that you so desperately needed.

After that, Fushiguro held you still in place as he continued to press his fingers against your clit. He definitely wanted to bring you close to the level of almost passing out from so much lust running freely through your body, and so your legs instinctively closed around his hand. At the same time that you desperately needed to breathe because you felt like your lungs were burning from your intense panting, every fiber of your body was still clamoring for the stimulation that only Toji could give you at the moment, so it wasn't hard for him to force your legs open again with a sly smile on his lips:

— Come on, my pretty girl, give me everything you've got. — He made scissor-like movements against her walls and her hips automatically forced themselves against Toji's palm, even though her intimacy was already quite sensitive.

— Daddy, please... please, more, daddy... — Y/N sank her face into the curve of Toji's neck trying to stifle her own moans.

— What a great fuck toy you are. — His fingers curved and you gasped, feeling again that same pressure as before against your bottom that indicated that your third orgasm was approaching. — No matter how much I make you cum you keep asking for more.

And the more he moved his fingers frantically against your pussy, the more you felt your thoughts disappear completely and all that was left was only Toji Fushiguro, and his fingers, and the cocky smile he had no matter what the situation was. Those same fingers that made you squirt for the first time against his abdomen in a third, overwhelming orgasm and your cheeks heat up violently, especially after seeing Toji bring them to his lips looking more than just satisfied with his work with you. Fuck, you could fuck him several times, you could pass out from pleasure, and you still wouldn't ask him to stop or slow down with you.

— Think you can handle one more, pretty girl? — He asked, his hands reaching for his pants and underwear.

— Yes, Daddy. — Y/N tried to speak as firmly as possible with her heavy breathing.

Toji put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin and took the opportunity to pull you in for a kiss as he entered you slowly, which made you lose some focus on the kiss and moan against his mouth as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. He didn't let you get too used to the recent intrusion and started thrusting himself against you hard.

After leaving yours, his mouth slid down your neck and shoulders to leave sucking and biting the area before placing the hand that was on your chin on your neck. Eventually yours moans went from simple gasps and sighs to little "Daddy" that made Fushiguro's dick twitch against yours insides several times and grunts escape his lips.

— I will breed you like the desperate little whore that you are. — Toji stroked hard against you while squeezing your neck a little harder. — I bet you're going to love this, aren't you?

— Y-Yes, daddy, breed me, please. — Y/N moved her hips against his while maintaining eye contact with the older man's predatory eyes. — Fill me up completely, until I'm leaking.

Toji squeezed your waist tightly, tilted your body slightly until your hips arched a bit, and started a rhythm of thrusts against you that as a result made your mind go blank and your nails leave scratches on his shoulders. And your fourth orgasm didn't even take long to hit you almost as hard as the third because your whole body had been extremely sensitive for a long time; after fucking that man incessantly you would definitely be addicted to him, to his touch, to his dick, to his lips. Everything about him was addictive.

After making you cum for the fourth time, Fushiguro kept thrusting inside you until his cock forcefully contracted against you and filled you full of cum. By that point you had definitely become just a bunch of holes for him to fuck, and if your body wasn't already so sensitive you might want him to actually fill every possible place in your body with cum. When he withdrew his dick from inside your pussy, Toji pulled your hips up to watch the white liquid escape your entrance and used his fingers to push it into you again.

— Come here. — He patted his chest lightly, and you leaned your sweaty body against his as you lifted your head to look at him. His hands caressed your body and soon you found yourself being carried up the stairs. — I'm going to give you a long shower, and then I'll take you home. — Toji left a gentle kiss against your forehead, and you felt more comfortable than you really should have in his arms.

— Thank you, daddy. — You replied, and he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.

And maybe from then on you continued to take advantage of the times when Megumi wasn't home or you weren't so busy with college to spend hours together.

#toji fushiguro #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #i4nanami #daddy toji #toji supremacy #tw.daddy kink

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tennessoui · 3 years

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when is anakin going to get his revenge and kiss divorced obi-wan back

yes hello this got out of hand and the best moment would be in the hypothetical part two but here is a KUWSK directly post kiss from Anakin's pov. For context, this snippet and this snippet probablllyyyy should be read?

(2.8k, ffs @ kit)

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself after he drops the kids off at school and starts making the drive back home. His hands are tight on the wheel. He’s been trying to think about something else--anything else ever since it happened, but his mind refuses to let go of that moment.

He’s replayed it so many times in the last hour and a half that it doesn’t even feel like an actual memory anymore, just a combination of sensations.

The chill of the almost winter morning that made the hair on his arms stick up. The tacky feeling in his mouth because he had slept a bit later than he had wanted to and didn’t have time to brush his teeth if he wanted to make breakfast before the kids and Obi-Wan left.

The woodsy-spiced smell of Obi-Wan’s cologne, stronger than normal. They’d been standing closer together than normal too, but it had been so early and Obi-Wan’s mind had obviously been miles away.

Anakin had been saying something stupid, something that didn’t mean anything, and Obi-Wan had replied and then Obi-Wan had leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth. His beard had felt so soft against Anakin’s skin, his lips even softer, if a bit chapped.

Had they been chapped? Now Anakin can’t remember, he’s turned this memory over in his head so often. It had been for less than a handful of seconds. A quick brush of lips, a taste of a life Anakin has dreamt about for well over a year now. And Obi-Wan had just turned and left, as if he hadn’t done anything extraordinary. As if he hadn’t just kissed Anakin on the porch for everyone to see.

Obi-Wan would never be that cruel on purpose. Perhaps to that one profesor who always tries to refute Obi-Wan’s papers, but not to Anakin.

Which means Obi-Wan hadn’t been thinking. He had been perhaps caught up in the domesticity of it all, of having someone wish him luck and see him off. And maybe Anakin has been doing something like that for the last two years, but there’s a person who did that for Obi-Wan for much longer. A person they ran into at the park just two days ago.

“He was thinking about Satine,” Anakin tells himself as he gets out of the car and unlocks the house. He tries desperately to keep the despair and jealousy out of his voice, but at least no one’s around. It’s not that he hates the woman or anything. Really, he doesn’t. He doesn’t understand her, but that’s a given.

He’d never have Obi-Wan’s heart and soul and throw it away. He’d never get tired of fighting with Obi-Wan if he was fighting to stay with the man. He’d never be able to run into him at a park and then just leave again as if seeing him stirred up nothing inside of him.

Seeing Obi-Wan always stirs things up inside of Anakin. It makes no sense that Satine, who had had Obi-Wan’s love--knew all those things about the man that Anakin did not and could not know as just his housemate--had just been satisfied with saying hello and then just as quickly goodbye.

The same cold sinking feeling that Anakin’s been trying to shake off for the last two and a half days returns, and he has to lean against the countertop in the kitchen for a second to ground himself.

They’re going to get back together. They will.

At the park, they had seemed so in their own world, as if everything else had disappeared except for them. Anakin had had to send Luke over, couldn’t stand watching that reconnection happen without at least trying to remind Obi-Wan that he has a family now, that he’s not alone anymore, that there are people who love him.

Obi-Wan had glared at him for his meddling, which hadn’t admittedly done wonders to his confidence. And when Obi-Wan had deposited Luke--Luke--on the ground to chase after Satine, when he had hugged her, Anakin knew for sure.

They were going to lose him.

Anakin had had his set of chances and had taken none of them, and now Obi-Wan’s going to re-fall in love with his ex-wife and Anakin’s going to have to be the supportive best friend who has to figure out how to tell his children that due to unforeseen and tragic circumstances, their Obi is probably going to elope to Paris and maybe send a postcard once or twice a year addressed solely to the children and Anakin will grow old and die alone and the name Obi-Wan Kenobi will be banned from his small, shadowy apartment, and all Anakin will have is a few memories of the two most important and heart wrenching kisses he’s ever been a part of in his entire life.

“He was thinking about Satine,” he tells himself. “He kissed me but it wasn’t about me. It hasn’t ever been about me.”

There’s no denying that Obi-Wan loves Anakin’s children and also no denying that his children love Obi-Wan. Anakin thinks he wouldn’t love Obi-Wan half as much if he hadn’t absolutely been charmed by the kids and vice versa. But he had been. They had been. Those few weeks when Anakin had thought about leaving a year ago had been absolutely awful because he knew he would be breaking his twins’ hearts, not just his. He’d be hurting Obi-Wan too, he had known that.

But he had had to try. Because he knew that if he didn’t try to leave then he’d have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of Obi-Wan’s life when it came time for the man to grow tired of his presence.

It had been a last ditch attempt at saving his dignity. And it hadn’t taken much argument from everyone else to get him to abandon the idea completely.

Now he can’t help but to think he should have put his foot down, gotten some distance. Because now he’s entrenched in Obi-Wan’s world, the same way Obi-Wan is entrenched in his and the twins’ world. Leaving now will feel like ripping himself in two. He’ll probably wake up in the middle of the night five years from now and wonder about the academic response to Obi-Wan’s most recent publication.

He’ll probably have read it. He’ll probably still be fielding questions from his kids’ friends’ parents about whatever happened to that handsome man that used to come in to help during Show-And-Tell Day? Do you remember who I’m talking about, Anakin?

If he had left then, the idea of leaving now wouldn’t hurt so much. But there’s a ticking clock in his head.

Obi-Wan kissed him.

But he was thinking about Satine.

He calls Padme, because that’s sort of what he does when he doesn’t know what to do. She’s never turned him away--with the rejected marriage proposal being the one glaring exception, of course.

Thankfully, she doesn’t start now, though she does sound a little stressed when she picks up.

“Hey,” he says trying to sound normal and as if he isn’t a few minutes alone with his thoughts away from crying like a baby.

“Ani?”

“Are you--are you busy? Something sort of happened.”

“My flight is boarding,” Padme admits, but there’s a rustle on the other end of the line like she’s just sat down. “But it’s not like I’m not assigned a seat. They won’t leave without me. What happened?”

Anakin smiles in spite of himself. She’s really just such an angel of a person.

“Are the children alright?” she asks, sounding worried the longer it takes for Anakin to respond. “Ani?”

“No, yeah, the children are fine. I dropped them off at school this morning. But. Um.” He takes a deep breath. “Obi-Wankissedme.”

“I’m sorry?” Padme asks.

“Obi-Wan kissed me.”

The other end of the line is silent. “And we’re calling this a problem now?” she asks faintly. “Is he a bad kisser?”

“He’s a great kisser,” Anakin defends, shifting awkwardly on his feet, catching sight of the fridge door and quickly turning away.

“Then I don’t…?” Padme trails off uncertainly. Anakin can understand this confusion. Padme has only had to hear about how much Anakin wants Obi-Wan to kiss him for about two years now.

“I don’t think he realized he did it,” Anakin confesses. “He just did it as he was leaving. Because I said goodbye. It--I don’t think he realized who he was kissing.”

Now Padme sounds a distinct mix of skeptical and sympathetic, a tone Anakin’s only ever heard her use with him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because--because we went to the park the other day and he ran into his ex-wife and they were together for, for years so--so obviously he just--he wasn’t--it wasn’t me he was kissing. He was thinking about Satine.”

The words sound dull and practiced and lifeless.

“Oh, Anakin,” Padme says.

“And they’re probably gonna get back together, and we’re going to have to leave, and he’ll never know that I--” Anakin cuts himself off and thunks his head on the countertop with a groan.

Padme hums disbelievingly. “Anakin, I know you’ve never believed me when I say this, but that man is gone over you. And I think if he kissed you long enough for you to tell me for certain that he’s a good kisser, then he definitely knew he was kissing you.”

Anakin bites his lip and debates the pros and cons of being completely truthful. But he had called Padme for help, and she can’t provide the best advice if she doesn’t know the full story.

“That’s not the first time he’s kissed me,” Anakin finally admits, rubbing bashfully at the back of his neck.

“What?” Padme exclaims, probably much louder than appropriate for a public space. “Anakin Skywalker, explain yourself right now.”

He exhales forcefully. “Last New Year’s Eve party.”

“That was almost a year ago! And nothing else ever happened between you two? What? We always thought that once the first kiss was out of the way we’d need to beat you both with sticks to keep you off each other.”

“Well--wait, who’s we?”

Padme tsks. “Myself and Obi-Wan’s coworker.”

“You’ve been gossiping about me?” Anakin asks, torn between being flabbergasted and offended.

“That’s not important right now,” Padme says airily. “What’s important here is the fact that you apparently kissed Obi-Wan Kenobi and never told me?”

“He doesn’t remember, okay?” Anakin snaps. “He. We’d been drinking. A lot. It was after everyone left. And. I was in the kitchen and he was in the kitchen and he--”

--had pinned him to the front of the fridge and just looked at Anakin for a few seconds like he was the most precious, important thing in the entire world, and Anakin had opened his mouth to say something and Obi-Wan had--

“--kissed me,” Anakin says out loud. “And then he--”

He had pressed impossibly closer to Anakin, one hand wrapped around his hip, caressing the thin skin there while his other hand ghosted down Anakin’s hair and back as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, as his tongue mapped out Anakin’s mouth for what could have been seconds or minutes, and Anakin could have stayed there forever, but his own hands had grabbed too tightly onto Obi-Wan’s shoulders, must have jerked him forward too roughly, because he had been pushed away and--

“--threw up in the kitchen sink,” he finishes.

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line before Padme bursts out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she says once she’s calmed down. “But how do you know for sure he forgot about that? Sounds like something he might just never want to talk about if it ended up with him vomiting in the kitchen.”

“I just know,” Anakin promises. And he does. Obi-Wan had no idea about that kiss. It was a secret Anakin thought about too often, but one he had kept to himself for nearly a year, too afraid to reveal it to Obi-Wan only for the man to say he hadn’t meant to, it hadn’t meant anything, he’d been much too drunk.

Even the idea of Obi-Wan apologizing for one of the hottest kisses Anakin’s ever experienced in his life has been enough to keep Anakin silent on the matter.

But now he’s been kissed again, this time by a sober Obi-Wan, and it still--it still doesn’t mean anything.

“It didn’t mean anything to him then, or he would have remembered,” Anakin tells Padme. “And this one doesn’t mean anything either. The timing is just...it can’t be a coincidence, Padme. He’s never once thought about kissing me, about...about coming home to me like that, and now, a few days after he runs into his ex-wife he’s suddenly planting one on me as he walks out the door? I know--I know you think he...he might...he might have liked me, or...or wanted me, but. There’s no way I can hold a candle to a decades long marriage. I just. I can’t compete with that. He doesn’t want me to.”

Padme’s Anakin is cut off on her end by what sounds like a flight attendant. “Yes, I’m coming,” Padme tells the person, and there’s shuffling and then the distinct sound of the harsh beep of the ticket scanner, before Padme’s heels are clicking on the flight tunnel. “Do not rush me,” Padme tells someone. “What are you going to do, close this thing while I’m in it?”

Anakin has to hide his only sort of watery smile in his hand as he listens quietly on his end.

“Anakin?” Padme asks, and she must be on the plane because there’s a buzz of other people’s noises around her. “Anakin, I know you won’t believe me, and maybe--maybe you’re right and they’ll get back together, maybe you’re going to lose him.” Anakin’s heart hurts quite painfully at these words. “But do you remember what you did the first time you proposed to me and I said no?”

Great, yeah. Just bring up all his biggest failures in love. Sure, why start with Padme? When Anakin had been five he had tried to kiss a boy and been shoved into the mud for his efforts. That’s a fine place to begin, really. Just drag up all the old hurts. He sighs. “I went and got you a bigger ring.”

“And do you remember what you did when I told you that I couldn’t raise the children, but my parents wanted to?”

“I threatened to take them to court if they didn’t let me have them,” Anakin says. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, of course, but Padme’s parents had never really liked him. They still don’t.

Someone’s trying to talk to Padme on the other end of the line. “Yes, fine,” she snaps. “Anakin. Anakin, what I’m trying to say is I’ve never seen you give up on anything without at least trying to fight for it. And I don’t know why this should be different. You won’t be able to live with yourself if you have to watch him get back together with his ex-wife and know you never even tried to tell him he had other options.”

Anakin opens and closes his mouth, speechless. “Then what--”

“So go,” Padme cuts him off. “Go tell him he has other options! For fuck’s sake, yes, alright I’m getting off the phone. Anakin, when I land I expect to have a very detailed account of events waiting for me on my email. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. Anakin stares at the phone in his hand for a handful of seconds, thinking over what she’s said. What she’s implied.

She’s right, of course. Anakin never gives in this easily. He doesn’t fully understand why he’s so ready to capitulate now. Maybe he knows full-well he can’t compete with whatever Obi-Wan had with his ex-wife. They have history. They grew up together, became adults together. Anakin’s just this weird twenty-eight year old man with a pair of kids too old for his age who crashed at Obi-Wan’s house during the lowest moment of his life. Of maybe both of their lives.

Love can’t bloom from that. Not really. Not...not the sort of love that turns into a lifelong marriage.

But. Padme’s right. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t try. If he doesn’t know for sure.

So either he could putter around the house all day waiting for Obi-Wan to text or call or come home, talking himself into and out of confessing every emotion he’s harbored for the man for the past two years, or….or he could drive to his campus and confront him in his office, put himself on the execution block and hand Obi-Wan the axe. At least it would be a quick death.

He glances at the digital clock on the oven. 9:38. The idea of waiting ten hours for a resolution makes his skin crawl.

And besides.

Obi-Wan hadn’t packed a lunch.

#this is unread through #because i have housework i have put off in order to type this #i think we all know where this is going though #anakins gonna Do Something Ill-Advised #asks #KUWSK #poor anakin :'(#i imagine obi-wan was probably very pensive for the rest of the day after the park #and anakins just panicking and thinking that he's thinking about his ex wife #and obi-wan kind of is but he's mostly thinking about his new family #and he's thinking a lot about anakin #if only they c o m m u n i c a t e d

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fa-by · 3 years

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official to get together with Ty. I mean, what?? Who does something like that if they were truly in love?// about this part technically they only became "official" publicly at that time because they never gave us an actual date as to when L and LV got together or even broke up and what makes it more confusing is that LV and L looked like they ended on good terms but then a few weeks later they unfollowed each other and LV was throwing shade at L and now they're not even friends.

Still here, not a hater nor a shipper Anon? I see that the first two times weren’t enough for you. Okay. Suit yourself.

“they never gave us an actual date as to when L and LV got together or even broke up”. Actually, we may not have specific day dates, but we do have dates to calculate everything.

As I’ve already explained, Lucy returned to Lauren’s life after she had a car accident on May 17, 2015:

“She came back into my life when I was 18. I was on tour and I was in my room in a hotel somewhere and she called me”, and, according to their narrative, Lauren decided they would be together “all in” and “now we’re gonna be in this relationship” from that moment on. The last public interaction between the two of them occurred on January 12, 2017 with that post for Lucy’s birthday (which is actually Jan 11):

And by January 21, 2017, they had already broken up since they were at the same Women’s March but with other people. While Lauren ‘was still together with’ Lucy, Ty tweeted “LMJ” on January 4, 2017:

He canceled it right away, and on February 12, 2017, Tyren made their first appearance as a ‘couple’ at the Grammys after-party (picture posted by L two days later):

If you calculate from mid-May 2015 to mid-January 2017, it’s 1 year and 8 months. And of that year and 8 months, 2 months were public due to the wedding pictures.

Lauren was already with Ty after less than a month. In fact, if you want to calculate from January 21 to February 12, it’s only 9 days. So, as you can see, we have dates on which base ourselves.

“Um let’s be realistic this literally happens all the time in real life”. Oh yeah? To who? To those who weren’t really in love and didn’t care about their exes maybe, but not to those who claimed to have been in love with their best friend since adolescence. You continue to be contradictory, Anon. Even in your own thoughts. Because if you believe in the Laucy narrative, then you’re supposed to believe that Lauren was in love with Lucy for five years (from when she was 15 to when she was 20). And if you believe that, then how can you think she fell out of love with her in less than a month? How can you think that’s realistic? Do you really give your fave so little credit? As I’ve already said, I don’t know you, so either you’ve never been in love and that’s why you think it’s realistic, or you do give Laur so little credit for real.

I’m gonna copy and paste the entire piece that you copied incompletely now: “How can you have been in love with someone for so many years, broke up with them because they were a toxic person, and immediately get together with an even more toxic person without having the proper time to heal? Without taking the time for yourself to lick your wounds, grow up, be ready again to throw yourself out there, and eventually find a better person to be in a relationship with? How? Simple. Because they were both fake relationships. The timing they wanted to tell is not credible. None of what they’ve said is believable, and luckily, there’s also enough evidence to prove it so these are not opinions and theories”.

When you love someone, Anon, when you really love someone and you’re not with them anymore, you need time. You really need some time before you can move on. Less than a month is not enough to fall out of love after 5 years and start another relationship by declaring to be in love with this other person every five seconds. I really don’t understand how you can think it’s realistic, and most of all, I really don’t understand how you don’t see it was all fake.

“and who says Ty was a toxic person cause so far L has never said anything bad about him and he treated her right from what we have seen, also the fact that their ‘split’ was peaceful so how was he toxic for her?”. So, let me get this straight. Someone who thinks that ‘the women only serve to be in the kitchen’, that ‘the lesbians only are confused girls’, that:

and that he’s:

is not a toxic person? Someone who’s been in a gang (like his brother who’s still in jail) since he was a teenage boy and has a long list of felonies on his record for infractions, assaults, and possession of various drugs, isn’t toxic? Someone who lies about his age and is disrespectful in the lyrics in his songs and when he speaks in general with phrases in which he had no respect for either women or homosexuality, is not toxic? Someone for whom it’s normal to punch and kick another celebrity in the head just because he refused to leave and free for him the VIP room of a club he was occupying, is not toxic? Someone who wanted to make a blind woman move who was sitting behind him with her guide dog, claiming to be allergic to the fur that was making him sneeze, and despite the fact that the plane staff offered him another seat in the back, which he refused because ‘he had paid extra to be in the one he was sitting in’, and the blind woman even offered him an allergy pill, he refused AGAIN with the excuse that he ‘had to perform’ a few hours later at the Escapade Music Festival (the woman obviously had priority over her seat and wasn’t moved, so they all stayed in their seats in the end), is not toxic?

Are you for real?? Do you really think Lauren could actually have been with a person like that? Someone who represented exactly what she always despised? Do you really think so low of her? You say she’s your fave, but do you know her at all? Because you’re basically insulting her as a person and her intellect. When will you learn to distinguish reality from fiction? When are you gonna open your eyes? If Lauren were to tell you that Santa’s real, then you’d believe it just because the words came out of her mouth? Come on now! Just because she was forced to say that she loved him and how a good person he was, DOESN’T MAKE IT TRUE. Not to mention that we’ve witnessed several times how uncomfortable she was when they had to look intimate for pictures:

And how inappropriate he was:

https://youtu.be/g3D_FMHy4ho

Don’t you see how she tried to move his hand and how uncomfortable she was? And these are just two examples, but there are so many of them. Wake up and learn to recognize the distinction between script-following Laur and authentic Laur. I already told you this.

No, I’m the one who’s sorry here. Because as I said, you can’t distinguish when something is fake and when it’s real. I was there. You seem to have forgotten this. I saw every post, every picture, and every live they did together. They were together. They obviously couldn’t say it because Lucy ‘was together’ with Laur, but they were together. It wasn’t a serious relationship like the one with Nicole, but they still had something. They stayed together until February and then Lucy got together with Nicole in March.

---

I hope this can also answer your ask, dear Anon 😄 and hi to you too 👋🏼

---

Back to you, not a hater nor a shipper Anon. Keep blaming CS and believing every single thing your faves say if you want, but do yourself a favor: stop trying to change someone’s mind (with empty proofs) and try to convince them to think like you. It’s useless. As I already told you in that post: “You can come back here a hundred more times, but you won’t change my mind”. Just accept it. Just accept the fact that we think differently because we believe in different things. Follow the blogs that think like you if you want, create your own blog with your own opinions or whatever, but don’t go to CS ones like mine because you wouldn’t come out as a winner, as you could see all three times. It’s one thing to go to another blog to express your opinion, and another is to go there multiple times and insist on changing their minds. Unlike you, I don’t go bothering other blogs to convince them to believe in what I believe. In fact, if that’s why, I don’t really care to change their minds precisely because, as I already told you, everyone is free to think what they want and have their own ideas. I accept the fact that not everyone thinks the same way. Embrace this idea too, trust me, you'll live better. Find your community and be happy there.

I hope I’ve been even clearer than the previous times. Take care, not a hater nor a shipper Anon, and have a good day. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for.

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princessmariaphiliper · 3 years

Text

THE SLEEPOVER FIC | Part 1 The Meeting

Notes: James Acaster, Ed Gamble (Platonic), and other characters to be added.

Pairing: James Acaster x Reader

Genre: Fluff with eventual smut, Slow Burn fic

Words: 1,951

Summary: You and James have put yourselves into trouble, but you think maybe it’s hotter that way.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

It was a boring, cottage cheese Wednesday if anyone had bothered to ask you. The sky held a greyish tinge and the London air tasted like exhaust fumes as you made your way back home from the studio. It was 5:50 and you were more than ready to curl into bed, put on a podcast, and stare at your ceiling until you slept.

You’d been tied up in a project lately that stripped every brain cell out of you whenever you tried to think about it.

This wasn’t because you didn’t like it! Don’t get me wrong, you adored the concept you were trying to convey through your piece. It was just missing something. Hence, Wednesdays the past month had started to feel a little groundhog esque. You knew the fog would part soon.

Pulling your clattering keys from inside your coat pocket you unlocked the door to your flat. Upon entering you noted the new letters. A missed parcel, various pizza menus and an enclosed envelope from Ticketmaster. Grinning, you opened it up.

Ed Gamble, McDonalds Apple Pie, November 15th 2021. Sounded delicious, you pulled out your phone, texting Ed.

Hey! Just got your tickets through. Where are you rehearsing? Let me know when it starts and we can plan something :)

It had been a while since you and Ed had hung out. You lived on opposite ends of the city and for the most part you were usually busy when he was free ,or vise versa. That the trouble of being friends with theatre people, no matter how hard you try, the schedules don’t gel. However, Ed usually rehearsed his shows in the venue below your flat, luckily this time was no exception.

I start Friday, usual place. We can go for drinks after I finish at 7 if you like?

Yes :))))) would love that!! Can we say 7:15 though as I’ll have to get back from the studio and change

Yeah that’s fine, I’ll invite some people if that’s okay. We can meet you at the pub first?

Sounds perfect, see you then. Send Claire love!

Will do :)

You put the kettle on and made yourself a pot noodle. Getting ready to sleep before another day of making. Excited at least, with the knowledge that on Friday night, you were getting shitfaced with your mates.

And so Friday arrived. You started the day off right with a banana and a coffee to go on your way down to the youth centre. Fridays and Tuesdays were your favourite days of the week currently. On these days you worked with other women exploring the ideas of femininity within society. For many years it had been a passion project of yours, creating dialogues with women who’d gone through difficult times in their lives to convey their struggles through art.

Today you were hosting a dance workshop with a group you had been working with for a while. They had all been making tremendous progress over the past few months you wanted to hold a class in celebration.

“Good morning Y/N” a familiar face beamed from across the hallway.

“Good morning Olive!” Olivia was a petite lady, somewhere close to her mid forties. She had dyed fire colour hair that she always wore up in a headscarf. She was dance ready, wearing an outrageous and gaudy pair of printed leggings.

Olive had grown so much as a woman since the first time you had met her, in one of your first ever workshops. The two of you had become thick as honey ever since. She even occasionally helped you plan and run some workshops out of studio now. It gave you joy to know you helped her grow into her full potential in one way or another.

“How have you been?”

“Oh same old. Trying not to lose myself in projects. How about you?”

“Brilliant! Officially divorced on Monday. Sorry I couldn’t make it on Tuesday I was feeling the effect after a few too many champagnes” she laughed, her smile was contagious. Olive had been going through a complicated divorce for a good few years now, some of the reasons she started the project stemmed from such a relationship.

She was such a resilient woman, managing to smile through whatever life had put her through. You loved her distinct lack of care for what people thought of her being a single woman in her forties.

It made you really put your life into perspective when you had met her. Even encouraging you to drop ties with your ex partner four years ago, who simply, didn’t care for you as a person but rather as an stability object. You hadn’t been in anything serious since. Not that you didn’t want it, being single had it’s perks too. You simply hadn’t been searching. A “bold move” in your late 20’s.

“Congratulations, I’m so happy for you! I’ll have a few for you tonight darling”

“Out on the town are you?”

“Yeah I’m meeting an old friend and hopefully some new people too”

“Well don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said with a wink.

“I’ll try my best”

It was 7:05 and you were definitely going to be late. You’d just set off from the studio, pushing your way through the crowds on the busy streets near your flat. It had been an intense day in the end, most of you and your class had gotten carried away with your choreography. Immersed in the music and memory you wanted to portray. In the end you had all learnt one another’s routines and combined them all to a jazz beat.

You were still in your sports bra, leggings and oversized shirt with the duffel bag over your shoulder when you reached the outside door to your apartment complex. You heard a voice boom at you from behind.

“Y/Nickname” you turned around, instantly knowing who it was by the stupid name.

“Ed!”

He was coming up from the basement venue staircase, there was another man loitering casually behind him. In an instant you recognised him from the telly. It was the one and only James Acaster, dressed in a deep green suit, white shirt and purple Oxfords. He had a peppering of stubble across his face that you hadn’t seen him sport on tv before. You noted it looked good on him. You made your way over to your friend and embraced him into the first hug you’d had in a long time.

“Sorry I just got back, I might be a little late. I need to have a shower. Very sweaty”

“Yes. Thanks for the hug” he said, making you chuckle. “We can wait around for you if you like. No one else is coming until later anyways. Oh! This is James by the way” James have a polite wave of a hello and smile at you then.

You didn’t quite know the etiquette of meeting people you’d seen on Dave for years. A simple, “Hi I’m Y/N” you decided was the most normal option. “You can come up if you like. I won’t be too long”

“Sure”

And so the trio of you braced the stairs and made it into your apartment. You moved rubbish around as you all entered. Slightly ashamed of how messy it was, moving open books into one corner of the living room to make space on the coffee table for some drinks. If they were waiting for you you’d at least fix them a little something as a thank you.

“What would you like? I’ve got vodka, gin or tequila. Lemonade orange juice and pineapple juice for mixer”

“Ooh vodka and pineapple sounds delicious Y/N” Ed said with some excitement, taking a comfortable seat on the sofa. James hung nervously by the door, as though he wasn’t sure of the etiquette this time.

“Same here” he agreed

“Please have a seat, make yourself at home.” You said with a smile, watching as he looked around the room. You became slightly anxious that his glaze was clouded with judgement until he spoke as he went to take a seat next to Ed.

“Nice place, where’d you get the paintings?” He asked genuinely as you began pouring three glasses of juice.

“I made them myself”

“Oh you’re an artist?”

“Sort of, I work in lots of art forms, mostly theatre and community projects. Not painting though, it’s just hobby and plus, home décor is expensive”

He chuckled a little at that as you brought the two of them their drinks over. “I’ll put some music on while you shower is that okay?” Ed said, taking his phone out after taking a swig of his drink. “That’s strong”

“Sorry might have given you mine” you said jokingly “let me disconnect my Bluetooth then” you said getting out your own and switching to Spotify. You played the music for a second or two just until you had it disconnected. It was the song you’d been working with all day at the studio with the jazz beat and hypnotic drumming.

“Is that Jon Bap?”

“Yeah, I was using it today at work” His eyes gleamed, visibly excited by the idea of it.

“I love ‘What Now’,” he took a drink and shaking his head to himself “Such good drums on that album”

“Yeah, you like the drums?”

“Was a drummer for years in my 20’s”

You were slightly shocked by his comment on his age, always assuming he was younger than 30. Although it made sense for him and Ed to be in the same age bracket.

“Hey, that's cool, I never made it further than level two recorder. Guess I just don't have musical genes, anyways I’ll hop in the shower. Won’t be long”

You made your way to the bathroom. Listening as the two men struck up a conversation. Giddy from the knowledge of their being pleasant conversation and good company tonight. You’d always admired James, never really considering the fact you may possibly meet him. You hoped that wouldn't mess up the possibility of a future friendship, by making a reference to something that he’d said on the telly before. Shaking the idea you stripped off, turning on the faucet and climbing inside.

After you’d felt refreshed you did a little, awkward, jig to your bedroom in your towel. You hadn’t considered the fact that from where James sat on the couch you could see all the way down the corridor. Your bathroom being on the right, and your room right on the very end. Embarrassment aside you dried off your hair and did your makeup quickly yet efficiently. Slowing down only to put on a red lip with care. You then got dressed. Choosing to opt for something a little fancy tonight as the other two had clearly made an effort. Even if you did end up somewhere at 4am, it still felt good to dress up for the walk of ‘platonic’ shame.

You chose a silky skirt with a slip down the leg in a champagne iridescent colour. Paired with a tight long sleeved polo in white. You slipped on a pair of socks with ruffles over the top of your rhinestone tights. You emerged from your room feeling a little more confident and ready for a boogie.

James smiled brightly at you when he noticed you’d come out. Something else was flashing across his face that you couldn’t quite pinpoint however. You brushed it off, blaming the triple vodka pineapple you’d been sipping through your ready-ing routine.

“7:28, not bad” Ed said looking at his watch when you fully entered your living room. Pulling on your white leather converse. You told him to shut up in response and book an Uber.

#james acaster x reader #james acaster #james acaster imagines #james acaster fanfic

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

The Bargain Pt 2 | Feysand

Modern AU. Read Part 1 Part 3.

Feyre's first time being tattooed was surreal- positive in many ways, but mostly it just hurt a lot. There was no way of preparing herself for the pain, Rhys just sent her an email reminder of her upcoming appointment and advised that she have a big carb-based meal before she come.

And then there she was, lying on his bench, staring at the thousand ink drawings they had pinned up around the studio and trying to take her mind off the searing sensation in her forearm.

Rhys had drawn her a beautiful design, just like all the other beautiful designs she had seen on his website. She hadn't wanted to see it before today, hadn't wanted anything to make her chicken out. This appointment had been booked for three months, and the more time went on the more sure she was that she wanted this. She would lie in bed, in the dark and be able to see the ink on her skin in her mind.

The design itself seemed to be made of smoke and stars. Every tattoo Rhys made was different of course. While she had been saving pictures of florals and swirls, this one seemed to contain midnight clouds within the pattern. She loved it from the moment the stencil hit her skin. Now she just had to endure three sessions of agony and then it was hers forever.

On the upside, Rhys actually made her feel very safe. And Feyre tried very hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was exceptionally attractive. There was something about the way his shoulders were so big, but his hands were so gentle as he moved her arm, that made her feel assured that even though she was in pain and her body was freaking out, he was in control.

For a while, Feyre looked around herself, for distraction. Studied the sketches pinned up all over the studio, and how each artist had a wall that was distinct in style. Counted the Japanese masks that hung along one wall, that stared back at her with empty eyes. Watched Rhys' face as he concentrated, and the muscles that moved in his arms.

"Do you get used to the pain?" she asked. Rhys, like all of the artists in the space, had both his arms and what she could see of his chest under his t-shirt covered in tattoos.

"Yes and no," Rhys answered, without lifting his eyes from her wrist. "I think the pain is just as bad but you can endure it a little longer each time. Unless of course you stop doing it for too long. Take, oh, six months, a year off, and then you have to build your tolerance all over again."

"What's the longest you've ever been tattooed for?" "I did ten hours once, but I wouldn't do it again." He flashed her a grin. "Felt like death. I was shaking so hard, I didn't even realise at first and I wanted to keep going. But the artist had to stop because I was making his lines wonky. Then I felt like I had the flu the next day."

"Wow," Feyre said. "Ten hours feels impossible." "You're doing great," Rhys reassured her. "Just tell me if you need to stop, and we can finish for the day." "I'm okay," Feyre said.

A while later, she asked, "Did you go to art school?" Rhys redipped his machine in the ink. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I actually thought I might paint murals or something. But then my first year out I was offered an apprenticeship, and this is actually a pretty stable income as far as art goes. So I never left." "Where did you go?" "I went to Burton's." "I went to NAS," Feyre told him. Rhys looked up at that.

"You went to NAS?" He whistled. "That's a great art school. I heard they got Katherine Silkie to teach a term there." "Yeah, it was the best term of my degree." "I'll bet," Rhys said. "I used so many of her pieces as inspiration works. So you paint too?" "Yeah, I do. Do you still get to paint much?"

Rhys shook his head. "Nah. Mostly drawing for work at the moment." He was quiet for a moment. "I haven't really painted since I moved out of my ex-partner's place. She used to hate the smell of paint, it made her so mad. So I stopped painting at home, and then I left school and didn't have just... never really did it after that."

"Oh. That's too bad," Feyre said. "My boyfriend likes my paintings... but I kind of feel like he thinks they're a way to keep me busy." "What do you mean keep you busy?" "Like... sometimes if he doesn't want me to go out, or go with him to things, he suggests that I 'work on my painting.'"

Rhys paused and looked up at her.

"What do you mean 'doesn't want you to go out'?" he asked her. Feyre shrugged. Memories of Tamlin telling her she didn't need to go out now that she had him, of him telling her "it's not you I don't trust, it's other guys," of him not wanting her with him when he met up with his own friends. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and when the needle touched her skin again it was almost a distant sort of a pain.

"You know," Rhys said slowly. Focusing on the drawing he was carving into her. "My ex was really controlling. She had her own stuff going on so I tried to be understanding. I think I let a lot of stuff slide because I figured it wasn't her fault, she had like a pretty horrible family and a lot of mental health issues as a result. But, then a few years in I realised we were both just steadily getting worse. And she wasn't willing to work on any of it, she just always blamed me."

Feyre looked at him, but Rhys didn't lift his eyes from the tattoo.

"I got out eventually, but actually the worst of it was the six months after I left. I was grieving, but also she was throwing everything she had at me. So I get that relationships are complicated and I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about yours. I just want you to know that I've been in a hard situation and it took me ages to leave, and then it got worse but then it got better."

Rhys turned the machine off then, and set it on the table next to him. He wet down a paper towel and cleaned up her arm.

"I hope it gets better for you, too." He gave her her arm back, and looked up at her. "You're all done."

Feyre looked down at her forearm and marvelled at the new tattoo there. The skin was red and swollen, and but the pattern was beautiful and perfect.

"Shading next time," Rhys said. Feyre just blinked down at herself.

"Thank you," she said. "I love it, so much." "You're very welcome." Rhys smiled at her. "You did a great job, especially for your first tattoo." It was a small compliment, but Feyre felt an unreasonably large bloom of pride in her chest. Not to mention a blush that was triggered by the dimple in Rhys' smile. How embarrassing, she was crushing on her tattoo artist.

Then Rhys began pulling out lengths of clingfilm to wrap her up. He went through the after care instructions, and Feyre nodded along. Honestly, she was still shaking a little from her body being under stress for so long, and was very grateful when Rhys gave her a little flyer with everything written down. Finally, they were done, and Rhys stood with his hands leaning on the bench as she tried to sort out her feelings.

"Take it easy tonight," Rhys said. "It feels weird that I just met you," Feyre said. Now that the pain had stopped, left over adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she felt giddy. And she suddenly found it odd that this person, whom she had just let cut her arm up and make permanent marks in it, was a stranger. The words slipped out before she knew what she was saying. "Can we be friends, Rhys?"

The dimple again.

"Sure," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't see you outside of the shop, at least not while I'm tattooing you. I gotta be professional, and all."

"Okay," Feyre nodded. "I guess I'll see you in a month, then." Rhys nodded. "One month," he said. "And Feyre? Thanks for the trust today."

And then she walked off into the dark, clutching her arm to her chest and feeling both relieved and a little sad that the day was over.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine

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hepaidattention · 3 years

Text

denial

part 2

where Allison never died in s3 and Lydia and Stiles are still going strong in the flirting game but still stubborn, so Allison decides to set them up (with Scott’s help of course).

part 1 can be found here

Scott would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised to see Allison's name pop up on his phone screen as he played video games in his room. The names to pop up are usually Stiles and his mom. Seeing Lydia's name was a little more normal - he even got one from her earlier, telling him that Stiles was in the works of a terribly stupid plan and he needed to distract him from it. Hence the video games they were now playing together. Isaac was a little more regular, Isaac just wasn’t much of a texter. Point is, there were a lot of people in his life that he would expect to be texting him at 7 o’clock on a Tuesday night. However, Allison was not one he would expect.

There was a time in his life where Allison was the most common name to pop up. But now, now she was with Isaac and things have been especially weird and tense since her almost dying thing. She said a few things, they both said a few things that might have made things even more awkward now than ever. It was by a miracle that Scott was able to even heal her enough to get her to a hospital in time. Even Scott thought they had lost her forever that night.

Isaac was there in his room too, defeating Stiles in the game with a triumphant grin on his face. Stiles just looked like this gave him even more reason to hate him. Now that Isaac and Allison were officially dating, Stiles claims that Isaac broke some kind of bro code and he shouldn't be allowed over his threshold. Scott doesn't care though; Isaac's his friend. Besides the guy lived here most of the time, where else would he go?

Stiles, his attention now split, of course noticed Scott's uneasiness. Probably because he died a while ago and has shown zero interest in rejoining. Stiles was now frantically glancing from the game to zombie-like Scott, trying to catch his eye. It wasn't until his half baked attention span made him lose (Isaac cheering over his success) that Stiles turned to Scott and asked, "You okay there buddy?"

"Yeah, yeah," Scott locked his phone screen. He couldn't make himself open the text. He was sure it was probably something small, like 'hey do you have the history homework for tomorrow', but there was too much pressure for him to open it right now. He couldn't do it with two pairs of peering eyes now watching him. "Sorry, just started thinking. Got a little distracted. How about another round?"

"I'm down." Isaac tried to sound cool, but he sounded more enthusiastic about it then anything. With his permanently smug expression, he weaved his hands behind his head and leaned back, as if winning this game was a walk in the park.

"Of course you are Lahey," Stiles glared at him, his temper boiling when Isaac even breathed loudly. "Hey, why don't you do Scotty boy here a favor and go get him some water. He looks parched."

The weirdest thing about Isaac is now that he stole his alpha’s/friend’s ex-girlfriend, he did everything for Scott. Scott hated it. Stiles? Well he thoroughly enjoyed it.

Isaac shrugged. "Yeah, okay, I could use a drink." He got up and walked out, not even questioning it.

Scott waited until he left to say, "I'm not even-"

"Not all of us have a servant to wait at us hands and feet, okay now Scotty? Some of us, when thirsty, have to stretch a little truth to get even the simplest of things." He leaned back into the beanie bag and sighed. "Now what did Allison say?"

Scott's eyes widened and he looked behind them in case of Isaac before hissing, "How did you know she-?"

"You've been staring at her name on your screen for the past 10 minutes there, buddy. You're not exactly stealthy about it."

Scott smirked back at him and winced, it was this look that he gave Stiles a lot. Stiles knew it as ‘yeah okay well you don’t know everything thank you very much smartass’, but that was just general speculation. Nothing was set in stone. Scott looked back down at his phone fearfully as he said, "Like you can talk. You've spent all day staring at the clock, counting down the hours until you can go faun over Lydia Martin as she bosses you around again."

Stiles gave Scott that distinct look in return, this time it said 'you can't turn this around on me'. "Yeah, okay, whatever - I see what you’re doing. And I don't know what you’re talking about - I'm not seeing Lydia later."

Scott arched a brow, "That's not what Lydia said."

Stiles clearly wanted to ask what Lydia did say, but he was too smart for the bait. Scott knew it seemed to easy. Instead Stiles said, "So what you’re saying is you haven't even opened the text then?"

Scott puddled into the floor in shame, "Nope."

"C'mon man, she's probably just checking up, right? I mean, you've been really weird around her lately. Like borderline schizoid weird. Maybe she's just trying to clear some air so you'll stop dodging her every time you see her in the halls."

Scott frowned, "Have I really been that weird?"

"Scott," Stiles blinked, his face fallen, "yesterday she asked you for a pencil in class and you stared at her for five whole minutes before you gave her like ten. Then when she said she only needed one, you didn’t respond but instead you gave her like ten more."

"She loses her pencils a lot," Scott defended, "it was for later."

Before they could finish their conversation Isaac reappeared with the water. He handed it to Scott, which Stiles then took from his hands before he could even think about drinking it and took a long sip. Isaac flopped back into the beanie bag when Stiles said, "Hey, Scotty here's stomach is growling. You should go make your true alpha a sandwich, Lahey."

Isaac started to stand.

"Isaac, no stop -" Scott shot a glare at Stiles, clearly annoyed with his antics. "I don't need a sandwich, I'm fine."

"Okay," Isaac shrugged, "I'm gonna go make one for me then. I’ll make extra just in case." He walked out and Scott gave Stiles his 'I'm a disappointed mom' look.

"What? He’s hungry too, he said it himself.” Scott’s face didn’t change. Stiles sighed, “C’mon - Scott, he's like a puppy. He will willingly do anything the fuck I want for you and he doesn't even think twice. You could ask him to jump off a bridge for you and he'd probably do it."

"And that's definitely not something we're going to test." Scott gave him a warning glare before leaning back in his seat and looking back at his phone screen. "He just feels bad about Allison and he shouldn't, I don't have some kind of claim over her. We've been broken up for a while now."

"If it doesn't bother you so much, then why don't you just open the text from Allison?"

Stiles was attempting to make Scott admit something, but he actually had a really good point. Him and Allison were over, no matter what they might have said to each other that night. He needed to toughen up and read the text.

"You know what? You're right, Stiles." Scott unlocked his phone and clicked on the message in one swift motion.

"That's not something I hear very often." Stiles watched, trying to read the text over Scott's shoulder. "What does it say? Was I right? Does she need to return to you all the unneeded pencils now?"

To Scott's surprise, it was about Stiles himself. Stiles and Lydia, to be more precise. Scott locked the screen again, just in time before Stiles got a glance at it. He just shrugged it off and said, "She just has question about history homework. I'll answer it later."

Stiles knew he was lying. Scott could tell by the look in his eyes, he didn't believe a word he just said. "Yeah alright, sound like believable bullshit at least." He deadpanned. "Not any chance you're going to actually tell me what she said, is there?"

"It's just about homework Stiles, that's it."

Stiles sighed and pulled out his phone now, his eyes on the time again. "I knew it. She wants to return the pencils. No normal human being needs that many pencils. Why do you even have that many pencils?"

"I always come to school prepared." Scott was reading the text again, now that Stiles was occupied with his own phone.

Stiles raised a brow, the corner of his lips sliding up to the side. "You know, just in case you break all twenty pencils with your werewolf super strength before lunch?"

“Ha ha,” Scott said with heavy sarcasm, probably something he learned from Stiles himself.

The text said, "I need your help. Stiles and Lydia, as we both know, are in denial about being completely in love. We have to do something or I'm going to lose my shit. Meet me tomorrow morning at my locker. DON'T bring Stiles."

Scott was grinning to himself, something he wasn't aware of until Isaac with a mouthful of sandwich said, "What's got you so giddy?" He entered the room and dropped a plate of sandwiches at the floor in front of all of them. "You look like someone sent you that video of that dog who helps people cross the street again."

Stiles was now suspicious, looking away from his evident Lydia texting so he could check over Scott’s shoulder again to see the screen. Lucky for Scott his phone was back to being locked. Both boys were looking at him like he was up to something and he needed to change the subject. He decided on casually smiling as he picked up his remote control and said, "Who's ready to get their butts whooped?"

Stiles, taking a big bite out of his sandwich said, "Let's hope that answer is you."

As Scott royally got his butt handed to him in the video game, he looked down to see another text from Allison. When Stiles wasn’t looking he opened it, glancing down in between rounds to see it say: Take it back. Tonight. 9pm. Pick me up.

Scott had to keep his heart from racing the rest of the night.

read part 3 here

#teen wolf fanfiction #Stydia fic #Stydia au #allison argent is alive fic #issacs still around too #this is a series of them #i just write it when i get the next idea so lol bear with me #I have a plot but not any details yet #I know how its gonna end tho don't you worry #denial stydia series #next is gonna be allison and scott basically stalking stydia as they walk around the forest and flirt/talk about trauma #stydia #my stydia fics

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animatedminds · 3 years

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Star Wars: Visions - Episode 2: Tatooine Rhapsody

Continuing with my set on Star Wars: Visions (all the episodes had to come out in one day, didn’t they?), we’ll move on to the next one. My feelings about this one are difficult to convey without spoilers, so SPOILERS. Anywho: Episode 2: Tatooine Rhapsody Developed By: Studio Colorido Directed By: Taku Kimura This is an interesting one, because it’s about music. Music in the Star Wars universe has always been something that we know existed, kind of, but which never got much specific focus. Characters lay low in seedy bars with jazz or ska music playing in the background. Mob bosses hire musicians to play for their lavish castles and spaceships. That sort of thing. It’s always just been for setting. Not this one. This one is about the musicians. A ragtag band of hopefuls who want to be the best band in the galaxy, but run into trouble with Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt, who are after one of their members for unknown reasons. They can’t win, but maybe they can play their way out... It also brings a new music type to the Star Wars video output: we’ve gotten jazz, funk, ska, etc before, but the focus of this one is a pop/rock mix that’s pretty reminiscent if one has heard more than a few anime theme songs in their day. But back to the plot: if you’ve ever watched a slice of life anime about teenagers in a specific subculture facing fantastical odds - skateboarding, tabletop gaming, art, etc and so on, there’s ones for lots of concepts - the general tone and characterization of this one should feel familiar. There’s a brash but goodhearted kid who is very attached to his found family of musicians, and who goes all out to save one of them from mortal peril on their path to being the best. Besides the one in trouble, the other members of the band aren’t too distinctive: there’s a droid, and then an odd alien design unlike any I’ve seen in the franchise before, consisting of three oni-like aliens conjoined into a single body. They each have a close attachment to one another, but beyond the oni-trio alien having head with a different emotion, they do kind of blend together. Things get somber when we get the backstory: that brash kid is an ex-padawan, found when he was very young by a runaway gangster after Order 66. That gangster wanted to leave behind his criminal life to be what he always wanted to be: free, and a musician. The young Padawan joined him, was practically raised by him, and years later the two are inseparable... except now But here’s where it gets interesting, and the reason I felt the need to reveal that in the review: if this were a main Star Wars series production, it would almost certainly end with the kid realizing his destiny and becoming a hero through the galaxy, the others part of his team. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, the short commits to its chosen genre and runs with it all the way: the kid finds a way out of the situation without fighting, and instead saves his friend by pushing forward on their quest to be the best: seeing as Jabba could do worse than profit off of an up and coming popular band...

It’s different, and throws off a few Star Wars conventions in favor of certain genre ones, but that commitment is exactly what makes it a fun and almost innocent, in a way that gives it a lot of charm. Sometimes, your destiny is to be what you want to be. It’s a bit customary in anthologies like this one to start with your big, hype first foray, and then go into lighter slice of lifes for a while before whammying the audience with the hammer blows, and this one definitely does its job with its lighter leanings.

As a musical short, there’s a song in this one - and it rocks. It’s excellent in both Japanese and English, though it’s - for obvious reasons - clearly written with more Japanese vocals in mind, the dub sometimes having to throw in “yeahs” and extra syllables to keep up. Lastly, as with the first review, and all of the subsequent ones, I’m also going to be looking at canon potential. These shorts are explicitly non-canon, but there’s always a chance that with enough support certain characters or ideas might catch the studio’s attention, leading to them pursuing them later on. It’s not entirely likely, but it’s enough of a possibility that I’m also looking at each episode on terms of how well they fit into the Star Wars universe... just in case. And in the case of Tatooine Rhapsody... I actually have no idea. As I mention above, this short explores an area of the universe that’s almost completely unplumbed. I do think it does fit into the universe fairly well continuity-wise - it does strain credulity a bit that Boba would encounter an ex-Jedi, even a kid, and do nothing about it, plus the one bizarre alien design above - but it’s a generally decent fit. But with both the studio and the fanbase being as highly fixated as they are on only wanting BIG, WORLDSHAKING EVENTS for major Star Wars media, I’m not sure how much Disney would want a series about a bunch of musicians making their way in the universe with their song while throwing off their old obligations, nor how fair the fanbase would be to it. In the end, with that in mind I’d tentatively give this one only Okay Chances of canonization, but only if people really pulled for seeing these protagonists again. Otherwise, probably not. But personally, I would love it.

#tatooine rhapsody #studio colorido #taku kimura #star wars anime #sci fi rock #great episode #okay chances #boba fett #jabba the hutt #anime reaction #animation reaction #star wars #animated minds for animated times #noncanon #disney+#jay #geezer #star wars: visions

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Chapter 10 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

To Sakura, world still revolved normally; nothing changed between them, nothing mattered enough for her to behave differently. To Sasuke, the world shifted in its axis, having revealed a glimpse of his true feelings to her however falsely convenient she deemed them to be; everything changed between them, everything mattered enough for him to behave differently.

Like flinching at her slight grazes on his skin or his ears picking up her voice in the middle of the crowd noises or his eyes following the trail of her rose hair tied up in a ponytail, bewitched by the sway of the strands as she tousled to get to the front of the fray, her fingers burning a hole through his sleeve.

“HOMERUN!” The announcer screamed through the microphone, the feedback running through ripples in the throng of people. “Uzumaki Naruto nails a clutch win in the last inning for his team in their first ever nationals!”

Screams erupted around them, and as others jumped and cursed and hugged each other, she stood there frozen in time, her hands on her mouth. “He won. He won, Sasuke.” Her voice quivered, and he knew then that she was crying.

“Yeah, the blonde idiot won.” He allowed himself to smile, picking the blonde among the ruckus that enfolded below.

An hour and lesser filled stadium after, the two went down to congratulate their friend with open arms despite the sweat and the grit. Sasuke went with the flow, jumping up and down and circling about in the middle of the pitcher’s mound. They broke away from each other’s hold after several minutes, breathless in the undertaking, and flushed with all the gleeful screaming.

Two firm pats on Naruto’s back and a ruffle on his porcupine hair. “You did well, idiot.”

“Ah I earned a compliment from grumpy. This truly is the best day of my life!” His teammates broke in laughter in the background.

“I’m so proud of you. I’m so glad we took the bullet train to watch your game,” Sakura said through tears. Perhaps it was the height of the celebration or the ride of her emotions; she reached for Naruto’s face and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Sasuke turned away just in time, thankful for the screams, hoots, and whistles that possessed the student body. In his aversion, he also saw another face who kept looking anywhere but at the two. Hyuga Hinata, his ironic comrade in heartbreak.

Haru was in the group of spectators earlier, a pseudo-coach and mood-raiser for the team, his undercut prominent against his cap. Sasuke guessed him and Hinata were civil enough to be enclosed in a common space. He walked towards her, hands in his pockets.

“I’m gonna confess to him in the cultural festival,” she told him before he could reach her side.

He leaned against the bleachers, shutting out the continuing noises from the student body. In the midst of it, he can hear Sakura scolding all of them for misunderstanding. “And you’re gonna get rejected.”

“At least I told him what I felt,” she replied. “Did you already?”

He shrugged, unsure himself whether he got the point across or not.

“You better make it clear. You berated me for giving mixed signals after all.”

“You don’t hold your punches, Ms. Hyuga.” Sasuke sighed. “I think she rejected me already.”

Hinata let out a small laugh, the first in his vicinity. “Well, I’m just giving back your advice. If you think it so, you should ask again.”

“A second heartbreak won’t do me good.”

“The future has a lot in store.” She finally landed her gaze on Naruto and Sakura who separated now and were engaged by Haru in some funny exchange. “Good luck to us, Uchiha. I’ll take my leave.”

Sasuke detached himself from the bleachers. “Without saying congratulations?”

But Hinata continued on her exit without giving him a reply. To his surprise, it was not only him who caught her leaving; a pair of blue eyes also followed after her, mouth agape, hesitant to call her name not when he was in the presence of her ex-boyfriend and ex-captain. Ah, we’re all stuck in this complex hell, aren’t we?

His phone vibrated against his pocket. On normal days, he would ignore the call, but today wasn’t normal and he had to act nice for the favor he asked.

“Did your best friend win?” Itachi’s voice greeted him.

Sasuke didn’t correct him on the terminology. He just grunted a small yes, and somehow, he can hear his brother smiling on the other end of the call.

“Glad my donation helped fund their team’s expenses. I take it you also spent some for the bullet train?”

Again, another small yes.

“That’s nice.” It was the first time he heard Itachi chuckle again after the accident. “I’m glad you have friends.”

They’re not my friends fell silent on Sasuke’s lips. All he wanted was to consistently rank first, have uninteresting interactions…but all of those foiled because of the two. “Yeah, something like that.”

He heard the beeping pager in the background. “Gotta run, little brother. See you.”

Little brother. Sasuke swallowed back an unfamiliar sound.

It was a sob.

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Sakura tried to look at anything but him – the titles of books on his shelves behind, the heads of other faculty members bobbing, the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock. Kakashi clucked upon seeing her career sheet.

“Haruno, you’ll be graduating salutatorian, just points away from Uchiha Sasuke and yet you haven’t listed a university or a job listing. It’s referral season, and you’ve done a lot of good in this school.” Kakashi held his eyes steady on her, a firm line on his lips. “Don’t you want help?”

She mustered a smile, if that was what they call it nowadays, and handed him a filled out form. Whether he could see that it was written with wavering hands, she’d never know. “I settled on fashion design. I’ve always wanted to be a seamstress myself.”

That was a lie, and she knew Kakashi knew judging by how the firm line stayed. He briefly nodded and let her go.

Sensing the bubbling anxiety, she traversed the noisy hallways and almost sprinted to what has also become her safe space – the hidden spot of the boys behind the library. It wasn’t lunch time yet so Sasuke and Naruto wouldn’t be here. She slumped against the wall, sobs racking throughout her body.

Aimless was what she would describe her direction, untethered her depth, and a black hole her emotions.

“I wish you would let me help you.” Kakashi’s voice made her jump. She scanned her surroundings but cannot find a telling strand of silver in the hedges. He was probably standing on the entrance, just before the canopy of vines. “I didn’t follow you. I just knew the three of you went here for lunch and after-school chats. I’m a faculty, Sakura.”

“Please go away.” She never heard her voice sounded so small…and vulnerable.

“Sometimes, talking it out would make the burden feel lighter.”

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t wait for it. His audible footsteps were an indication he was moving away so she took the bait. If this was one way to be near him, why couldn’t it be in the guise of her pain?

She emerged in the hedges, eyes bloodshot red and strained, only to find him leaning against the wall, waiting with a handkerchief for her.

In an ironic turn of events, he brought her to the program she initiated. When he turned to leave to give her the privacy she needed, she asked him to stay. And that simple silent gesture gave her the courage to face her reality.

That her parents were divorcing, and in a futile attempt to cope, she made herself scarce, almost invisible.

Perhaps she was too much work for a middle-class couple with a lot of bills and unemployed siblings to feed. Maybe if they didn’t have a child that hindered their defining career opportunities to relocate or get promoted to an overseas position. Her outstanding community work and numerous distinction medals just weren’t strong enough to warrant a reconsideration of their decision.

And maybe it was a wrong move to get a part time job and dissociate from the pink-haired, studious Sakura and be the adult black-haired, funky cashier Sakura because it only gave them the idea she can live just fine on her own without any of them worrying about her instead of seeing the whole thing as a call for help.

“If you’re ready, you should share your problem to the two,” her sensei said when they finished with her therapy consultation.

“They have heavier baggage,” she simply replied.

“They’re not comparable. Naruto has an empty baggage, a kid with no past, yet he drags it around. Sasuke has sand for load, it’s leaking at the seams but he refills it. And for you, it could be air or water. It’s because you’re compressing them all inside that they become heavier.” He laid a hand on her head, an action of a sensei to a student. “Thanks for sharing some of those with me, Sakura.”

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Cultural festival was an amalgamation of confessions, last clinchers, and stolen moments. Whoever snatched a dance with someone they liked would be blessed with good relationship – that was how the saying went among the ranks of students.

It was the reason why Sasuke and Naruto hid throughout the day in their spot, content to eat instant ramen, batches of onigiri, and packs of orange and tomato juices. Throngs of freshmen and second years were on the hunt for their feet as dance partner.

“If only they knew I have two left feet,” Naruto grumbled. “I can’t even enjoy the day with Sakura. It’s pathetic to think I’m stuck with you.”

“I second,” Sasuke said. “Do you think she’ll confess to Kakashi later?”

“She hasn’t made a move yet?”

Sasuke shook his head.

“Wait what do you mean you second?”

Minutes of silence ensued. Sasuke put a whole onigiri in his mouth, too flustered to say it right at his face. “I like Sakura.” The words were jumbled with his chewing, and he was sure Naruto didn’t catch it.

But the idiot grinned and laughed maniacally. “The great pretender finally admits! When did you realize it? Did you have the fireworks in your head too?” He even mimicked a rainbow with his hands.

“That’s a rainbow, you idiot.” Sasuke scratched the back of his head. “When she was busy looking at Kakashi playing the piano.”

“Ah, will we ever have the chance?” Naruto snickered. “Let’s confess tonight, grumpy.”

“Already thought of that and already prepared for it.” Despite the seemingly downfall trajectory of their common affections, Sasuke still managed a smirk.

Not to be one-upped, Naruto pulled out his phone and flashed a small bouquet of dahlias. “Ready to be picked up tonight.”

A Greek tragedy, that was them; two best friends falling in love with and being rejected by the same girl.

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Majority of the school population have gathered around the giant bonfire on the campus grounds, but Sakura knew Kakashi would be stuck in his cubicle in the faculty lounge, nose-deep in a novel, headphones in to drown out the noise, and feet propped up on his desk.

Tonight was the night she would bare her other truth naked to him.

But before she could even step foot in his space, she already heard the voice of his favorite book drifting across the nooks and partitions.

“You should be with your students.” Giggling and a sound she would only assume was a string of kisses.

“I don’t have much time with you. Let me be greedy just this time.” Hearing her sensei say that painted him in another light. So there was this very attached Kakashi, far from the laidback and chill professor she knew.

Sakura should turn her heels and join the rest of the student body. She should act like a good student model, ignore her teacher’s affairs, and pretend she was never here. Except she tripped while running, and that summoned the two of them to her aid.

“Sakura? Did you need something?”

She side-eyed Rin Nohara and shook her head, her one only good chance blown to bits by her own recklessness and stupidity. She muttered an apology and starts to walk away with limping feet when Rin stopped her.

“I’ll get a drink in the vending machine. I’ll be back in five minutes Kashi.”

Thank God for women intuition, Sakura thought.

But inevitably she was left alone in the corridor with her heartbeat far stronger than the noise of the band outside around the campfire and the unknowing subject of her admiration. She held tightly to his rubber tie around her wrist, the mark etched deeper by each day she leaves it there mangled with her pulse.

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a smile etched on his face, the soft moonlight falling on his features only to highlight his beauty mark. It was unfair seeing him like this only to have him break her heart.

She knew she didn’t stand a chance, but even then, she had to hear it clear and loud.

“I like you.”

Were three words ever enough to encapsulate the three years of affection she held for him? One word for each year she felt content with glimpses of him, may they only be passing shadows in the halls, an echoing voice in the adjacent room, the silent arbiter in council meetings or a silver strand she could easily pick out in a sea of black of white.

Kakashi looked at her, his smile still etched, his face still immaculate. “That wasn’t a question.”

“And that wasn’t a reply.” It was nature to look away when one was too scared to face truth, but for the many times he helped her, even without him fully realizing the extent, she owed it to him to be brave.

“But you already know the words.” A head pat, the same gesture that gave her comfort in the past was the same gesture that broke her heart just now. How easy it was for the breaker to give and take minute and mindless affections, but what right did she has to think they were special to begin with?

It was the end of an illusory conception.

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

A bouquet of dahlias and a bouquet of daffodils were hidden behind Naruto and Sasuke. It was dark, already past seven, the bonfire in its final vestiges, its sputtering flames waiting for last-minute lovers to dance in their splendid light.

Within the shadows came the girl of their dreams, hair untangled and morose emerald irises dipped in pools. Sasuke first noticed the bare wrist, the rubber tie gone, and he knew then that she confessed, and she was heartbroken.

He didn’t need to say anything to the blonde beside him. Her stance was enough to convey her present state of being. What she needed right now were her friends, not aspiring lovers stupid enough to break the friendship label.

And so they hid the bouquets on their backs, safe in the clutches of the dark, and when she reached out to them, their free hands already grasped her trembling fingers in waiting.

There they were, three broken-hearted people, wallowing in their own respective pain, sitting on the dewy grass that would leave stains on their clothes the next morning. When the school band started the last song, Sasuke stood up, abandoning his bouquet on the side, and pulled the other two up.

“Would be a shame to end our last cultural festival like this.”

Ten steps later, they were in the middle of the crowd of couples, three awkward friends holding each other’s hands and stepping on each other’s foot.

“For the love of God, you really can’t dance Naruto. Can’t you do a simple turn to the right?” Sasuke complained.

“Why are you putting all the blame on me? You’re the one who can’t differentiate the right from left!” Naruto spat back.

She laughed, and it somehow stopped their bickering for a moment. Bent at her stomach and eyes clinched shut in crinkles, that was their Sakura.

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 11

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #narusaku #kakasaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #this did not feel heavy as i thought while planning it #is it a good or a bad thing? hehe #anime fanfic #fanfic #fic!pinkhairedlily #fic!pseudolily

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amythedvdhoarder · 4 years

Text

Stockholm Syndrome - One

Pairings: Dark Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You would make the perfect wife for Bucky and Steve. A perfect mother to their children. They have dreamt of this, of you, for so long now. You just have no idea that they exist or how badly they want you for themselves.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Stalking, NonCon, Swearing, Smut, NSFW. 18+ only

A/N: Venturing out from just writing fluffy smutty Bucky and into some dark Stucky instead. First attempt at a dark fic so fingers crossed it’s ok. This is an intro chapter to set the scene. Feedback always welcome, interested to hear what people think to this x

Also I made a pretty thing to go with the story!

Masterlist

Part 2

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The music thumped through the club; the noise filling your ears and the vibrations guiding your movements. The alcohol had given you a pleasant buzz that vanquished the nerves you’d had prior to the evening. Going on date with someone from work was always risky. The saying ‘don’t shit where you eat’ had sprung to mind when Joel had asked you out. But you had agreed anyway, he was hot, young and could be the welcome distraction you needed right now. 6 months on from your last relationship you were ready to let your hair down. It didn’t have to turn into anything, if it only ended up being a quick fuck then that was absolutely fine with you. The date had started at a nice bar and a few drinks later you ended up here. Dancing with your bodies pressed against each other, sweat glistening on your foreheads, his hands on your waist, one of your hands reaching back holding onto his neck. All it did was build your anticipation for what you had decided could happen tonight. Yes, it was a first date but it was probably your last date too. So, when Joel suggested getting out of there, you willingly agreed.

After getting your coat from the cloakroom you headed outside into the cool New York air. You leaned against the wall casually as you waited for Joel, who had headed to the toilets. Pulling out your phone you glanced at the time, which at just after midnight, was still fairly early. You sent a quick reply to your best friend Serena who had messaged to ask how the date before taking a look up and down the street. The road was quiet, a couple of taxi’s loitering around hoping to pick up a drunk or two. You smirked as you spied a couple just down the street from you who looked in desperate need of a room. It made you think of Joel who really should have been there by now. He had been over 10 minutes now which seemed odd. Normally the men’s room was quieter, in fact in the past you had used the men’s room a couple of times because the que was always shorter. But you let it slide, you waited for another 10 before calling him, the call going straight to voicemail. Brilliant you thought, the prick must have gone out the back or met someone else to use to get his dick wet tonight. Sod him. You debated going back into the club to find someone else to hook up with but as the cold air started to sober you up, you thought better of it. Tugging the collar of your trench coat up, you turned you back to the club and began the 5-block journey back to your apartment.

By the time you had walked two blocks in your heels you regretted not getting a taxi. However, it wasn’t just the pinch at your ankles that was making you uncomfortable. You had the distinct feeling that you were being followed. It wasn’t for the first time either. For the last few weeks every time you went somewhere you felt as if someone was watching you, not that you had ever spotted anyone to confirm the suspicion, but it was a feeling that you could not shake. More than likely you were just being stupid but you still stopped briefly to have a quick look around. Nobody seemed to be paying you the blindest bit of notice, in fact there were only a couple of people in sight in the halogen lit street. Despite this you still walked home in record pace, ignoring the stinging in your feet.

You were out of breath by the time you closed the door to your apartment, kicking off your shoes and shrugging off your coat. Heading over to the window, you opened the mesh curtains a fraction so you could peer into the dark street below. There was only one person walking along the pavement, unsurprising for that time of night. But what was surprising was, that as they walked underneath one of the street lamps, you could see that their face was obscured by a cap. Even from this distance and dim light you could tell it was a man, well over six foot, broad and muscly. You shook your head at your deductions and let the curtain fall, shimmying your dress down and letting it fall to the floor as you walked towards the bathroom.

After removing your make-up and brushing your teeth you pulled on a t-shirt left behind by an ex-boyfriend and climbed into bed. Despite how tired you were your mind was still on the events of the evening. Joel abandoning you mid-date. That familiar feeling of being constantly watched as you walked home and then the mysterious man, walking around at such an odd hour. You tried to imagine what his face could look like beneath the cap; sharp cheek bones, a strong jaw masked by a light beard and piercing eyes. How your mind and conjured up that image you weren’t sure, but it wasn’t the man behind the cap though that interested you. It was the question of why would anyone be wearing a cap at night? It definitely wasn’t to keep the sun out of their eyes. Maybe they were self-conscious; had a scar or an injury to cover up. You tried to exhaust all the innocent reasons but none of the seemed feasible. Leaving only one option. They didn’t want to be identified. Not that it was your problem, it was absolutely nothing to do with you what they had done or what they were planning on doing. Satisfied that you had a conclusion, you closed your eyes and waited for sleep to come, looking forward to putting the weird day behind you.

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Steve stopped at the end of the street, his eyes trained on the fifth window across on the third floor. He waited for the lights to go off before pulling out his phone. “It’s me. Yeah, we got a problem… She spotted me…No I had my hat on, I’m not that stupid. We can’t wait much longer though, she’s getting suspicious…Yeah see you later.” Steve put his phone back in his pocket, sighed and walked around the corner. He got into the back of the van and immediately turned his attention to the row of screens in front of him. The live black and white feed showing a woman in bed, tossing and turning as she got comfortable for the night. Steve pulled off his cap and smiled to himself, a bolt of excitement passed through him as their girl turned to face the camera. It wouldn’t be long now. Just a few more days and she would be theirs.

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in or out

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18 , @silentcoyotesong, @queenofstarliqht, @buckys-henley, @lonelyheartsm @alexa-lightwood-blog, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork, @fandomfic-galore, @holypicklelightnickel

#dark steve x reader #dark bucky x reader #dark stucky #stucky x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky x reader #steve imagine #bucky imagine #stucky imagine #marvel #marvel fanfics #avengers #dark #captain america #winter soldier

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Within Arms of Heaven | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x Plus Size Reader, past!Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 13.1k

✦ summary — you find out secret relationships are not always a good idea the hard way, but it doesn’t matter in the end.

✦ warnings — nsfw, angst, reader is Tony Stark’s niece, mentions/depictions of cheating, a brief relationship with an age gap, hypersexuality, smut, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), oral sex (both receiving), vaginal sex, there’s a scene that could be triggering in terms of sexual assault but sexual assault is not depicted in the story, fluff

✦ a/n — I hope this isn’t too long, lmao. Let me know what you think!

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Childishly, you did your best to adopt a comfortable position and faked being asleep the moment you heard the front door open. If you tried hard enough, he might’ve felt pity and cuddle you for once.

The mattress dipped. You waited as your ears picked the shuffling of fabric and sheets.

“I know you’re awake,” Bucky whispered in your ear, pulling you against him as his hard-on rubbed against your ass.

Letting out the smallest strangled sound you were capable of, you turned around. He immediately kissed you, rolling you over so he’d be on top.

You stretched your arm in order to turn the lamp on, but Bucky stopped you, pinning your wrists over your head with one hand as he kissed down your neck. You opened your legs, waiting for him to get comfortable between them.

Bucky pulled your panties to the side, making you hiss as the cold air hit your pussy. He pulled his cock out and entered you in a swift motion, grunting lowly.

You moaned louder than you had intended. Bucky clamped his free hand over your mouth, tightening his grip around your wrists with his metal hand to leverage himself as he pounded into you.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” You asked as you caught your breath.

Bucky sighed, “You know I can’t.”

Humming, you nuzzled against his chest. With his arm around you and heartbeat under your ear, you fell asleep only to wake up to a cold bed.

You didn’t mind rough sex, but hiding the bruises was getting harder and harder. This time Bucky had gone a little too far, wearing makeup on your wrists would seem excessive to anyone.

To make matters worse, when you thought you would have time alone with him he decided to be late again after having promised he would be there at 8.

There was nothing you could do to keep him from being late or from canceling plans, he didn’t want to tell people you were dating and you respected that. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t want to be seen as a creep — you understood, you always would understand.

His lateness turned into absence.

Your intentions had been to say goodbye properly before he embarked on the mission he would be part of with Sam and Sharon. Oh, well, you would have to make do with wishing him good luck in the morning.

Watching the team leave for missions was ingrained in your weekly routine. There was always something to take care of, somewhere where at least a couple of Avengers were needed.

It was especially common for Bucky to be part of those missions. He always had the energy and the drive to do it, you imagined he wanted to prove to the world — and perhaps to himself— that he deserved his title as an avenger.

His goodbyes were always cold. They had to be, you knew, it was for the best. But you had to wonder if he had ever to stopped to think for a second that one day a cold goodbye could be the last thing he said to you.

You missed him. Sleeping without him wasn’t the same, waking up in a hurry to not be caught with him when you had visitors was a fundamental part of your mornings.

His blue eyes would often ground you, making you feel like you were finally finding the normality your life had lacked years ago. You missed their comfort, how shiny they turned when he spoke about his sister.

But you would see him soon. Tony had told you that the mission was going smoothly according to Sam. He would surely be back for your birthday next month.

Bucky promised you would come clean to your friends and family after the party when the pressure was off Tony’s shoulders.

The preparations for the celebration kept you busy enough, Tony wanted to go above and beyond due to it being the first time you would celebrate your birthday as a legitimate Stark.

Tony had found out you were his niece after everything went down in Siberia. He contacted your mom, his half-sister when he was ready to confront the fact that his father had been worse than he anticipated. They bonded rather quickly, and you had so many things in common with him that he got attached from the day he met you.

He offered to pay your college tuition immediately, but you made an arrangement with him that you would work for him. Tony clarified that you would work with him and not for him, it was an important distinction.

Pepper had been surprised when she got back to run Stark Enterprises and you were there, but she too took a liking to you.

One evening, Bruce and you were the last to leave the lab, everyone else was already in the dining room. Dinner time would arrive soon, and you knew better than to leave Tony waiting.

The chatter was chirpy, they were happier than you had ever seen them.

“What are we so happy for?” You asked, taking your seat around the table.

“Bucky and Sharon finally made their relationship public,” Natasha explained.

Relationship? Public? Sharon? What were they talking about?

Peter showed you a photo on his tablet. There Bucky and Sharon were, happily touching each other as they enjoyed a sunny day at the beach.

Peter swiped his finger against the screen, now showing you a photo of Bucky clearly checking Sharon —his girlfriend— out.

Another swipe and now the photo showed Sharon, —Bucky’s gorgeous girlfriend— kissing him.

So he could go public with Steve’s ex-girlfriend but not with you?

Peter craned his neck to look at you. His puppy eyes appeared in your field of vision, blocking the photograph, as he asked, “Are you okay?”

You immediately nodded, clearing your throat in hopes that the lump forming wouldn’t be audible. “Yeah, sorry. My eyes are tired.”

“See, Tony?” Bruce chastised your uncle, “she needs a few more hours of sleep.”

You changed the subject, “So Sharon and Bucky have been dating for a while?”

Natasha stared solely at you. “You didn’t know?”

“I’m not close to any of them,” you excused your reaction. “They are always busy.”

And now it made sense as to why.

“It’s nice to see Bucky happy,” Peter commented earnestly.

You hummed, lifting your glass to take a sip of water.

Every time Bucky had complained because you were close to someone else was now infuriating. He had accused you of cheating on him with Peter just because you had fallen asleep watching a movie with him, then a week later he had bluntly asked if you would rather fuck Sam after you helped him to fix his wings.

Turns out he had been projecting the whole time.

You were less than excited about your birthday now. Wishing he wouldn’t come back in time for the celebration, you busied yourself with work like your mom did when your dad left.

He didn’t deserve your tears, nor your time really. You felt stupid for believing he worried about his career or what people would think of you for dating someone older. His excuse of wanting you to find a balance between working at the company and personally with Tony hurt the most, you had found how much he cared comforting.

The worst part was not being able to show how you were feeling. It was extremely hard around such smart and cunning people. Pepper was the one who asked first, and you could tell she had talked about it with Nat due to how quickly the redhead took interest in the conversation.

“I’m kinda overwhelmed,” you admitted.

Nat threw an arm around you and pulled you closer to her. “Birthdays, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, relieved unbeknownst to them.

Sam was back already, he said he wouldn’t skip your birthday for anything in the world. You appreciated it, yet you felt a pang in your chest when he said they would’ve taken you to the mission if he had known it would be so short.

You had never gone to the beach, you didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of people seeing you in a swimsuit as a teen; and now it couldn’t be that different, much less if it was next to Sharon.

Sam told you once that you would love it as much as he did. You believed him, you just weren’t ready.

Your heart wouldn’t have taken seeing Bucky with Sharon. Although you wondered what would have his explanation been.

The idea of seeing them together on a daily basis was heart-wrenching. You loved your job, your uncle, your friends, too much to simply quit — at least you wouldn’t have to watch them leave each other’s room every morning.

You didn’t know how to feel when Sharon and Bucky arrived. Hand in hand, sporting a nice tan and beaming smiles.

Sharon let Bucky’s hand go in order to approach you. She gave you a warm hug, telling you she had a surprise for you.

“For me?” you hoped you hadn’t sounded bitter.

It seemed like you hadn’t because she grabbed your hand, pulling you toward the couch as she hurried to open her luggage. “I had to buy a bikini at the beach because I didn’t know Bucky would surprise me with a trip there,” she told you, happily.

She sounded so enamored, as though she had always dreamt of having someone like Bucky beside her. You wished he wouldn’t fail her like he had failed you.

“And the store had plus-size items! I bought you the ones I thought you would like.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to hide your shock. “Oh, Sharon, you shouldn’t have...”

“Nonsense, I should have. You will look gorgeous in them.”

Your eyes crossed Bucky’s for a fleeting second. He quickly focused his eyes on the carpet under his feet and your own went back to Sharon who was handing you the swimsuits she bought for you.

“Why don’t you try them on? We might finally convince Tony of giving us a long vacation if you like them.”

Everyone laughed at Natasha’s suggestion, everyone but Bucky and you.

Reluctantly, you accepted. Maybe it would help you get a confidence boost... you definitely needed one. And a hug. God, a big hug.

You had never visited Sharon’s room. The two of you weren’t close, your schedules didn’t align and when they did it was for important events.

She hadn’t visited your apartment either. When Tony asked if you would rather live at The Compound or on your own, you had been tempted to choose The Compound but ultimately decided that you would never be able to unwind in such a busy place.

Peter had been apart from Bucky the person who had spent more time at your place. Spending time with Peter was nice, he was the first avenger you met after Tony and like the younger brother you had always wanted to have. You enjoyed hearing his secrets and silly jokes, giving him advice... Bucky always left you wishing you could at least tell Peter about your relationship.

Sharon motioned for Natasha, Carol, and you to get comfortable in her bedroom.

As you were guided toward the bathroom, to try the first swimsuit on, you saw them sit on the bed where Bucky and Sharon had probably slept on together thousands of times.

Sharon looked proud of her choices every time you came out of the bathroom to show them. Her expression made you feel worse — it would have been easier to hate her if she wasn’t so nice, such a good agent, such a supportive woman.

She couldn’t have possibly known Bucky had been playing with you and now your anger mingled with guilt. Had he cheated on you with her or on her with you?

It didn’t matter; you felt awful.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You were finishing typing a report for Tony when Peter leaned onto your desk. You hummed, motioning for him to speak.

“Can Ned hang with us this weekend?” Peter asked, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table, “he’s upset because Betty will be out of town.”

One weekend each month, Peter and you would have a movie marathon. Sometimes Tony joined if he wasn’t busy, but it was usually only the two of you with a few visits from Pepper or May here and there, it depended on where the marathon was taking place.

Admittedly, you weren’t in the mood for spending time with anyone, but being alone didn’t sound like something you would be able to put up with. So you told Peter that it was fine, because it was; Ned was nice, he was a far better company than your tears.

Happy drove you to May and Peter’s apartment. They would go out on a date, or so you assumed by how long had it taken Happy to get changed. Your assumptions were confirmed when a blushing May opened the door.

“Ned and Peter are in Pete’s room,” she let you know as she parted from you after kissing your cheek.

Placing the snacks you had brought onto Peter’s desk, you greeted both him and Ned with a wave.

You made yourself comfortable between them. Peter’s bed was too small for the three of you so they had arranged something that resembled a pillow fort.

Focusing on the film became a task after the first ten minutes. You had to wonder why Bucky had never tried to treat you as a friend in front of everyone, why could Ned rest his head on your shoulder platonically but not him? What was wrong with affection towards you?

“Okay,” Ned sighed, pausing the film. “What’s going on with you, (N/N)?”

You almost smiled at the nickname. Should you tell them? They wouldn’t laugh, you had never met sweeter guys than them; maybe Thor, but Thor wasn’t even human.

“I had a bad experience with a guy and I’m a little upset,” you confessed. It was fine, you hadn’t said who — you wouldn’t say who.

“Define bad experience.”

“He cheated on me kind of bad.”

“You should make Peter kick his ass.”

You chuckled sadly, “It’s not worth it.”

“Who was it?”

“Oh, you don’t know him, Pete.”

Peter made you rest your head on his lap, rubbing your back in the same manner he had seen Tony do it when you were upset. Comforting people didn’t come with his spider-sense and abilities, sadly.

“We’ll find you a hot nice guy,” Ned promised. After a pause, he added, “Or a girl? Do you have a preference?”

“I don’t want to date anyone ever again.”

“Now you’re just saying things,” Peter observed. He knew how easily you grew infatuated with people, like that guy at Costco or the one at Stark Expo... He was still in the process of forgiving you for saying Brad Davis was handsome, for fuck’s sake!

“Men are disgusting. No offense.”

“None taken,” both Peter and Ned assured.

“They lie and say they want to protect you, they say they’re not ready to take things seriously in case something bad happens,” you started venting, angry at yourself for not seeing how stupid it sounded. “God, I was so stupid,” you sobbed.

Sharing a look with Ned, Peter told you, “Now I’m definitely kicking someone’s ass.”

Peter soon found out who had broken your heart. He hadn’t needed you to tell him, Bucky gave himself away by squirming every time you entered a room and this once hadn’t been the exception.

Bucky caught Peter staring, but he didn’t think much of it. The kid was curious, he liked that about him.

As you entered the lab, you paused when you saw Tony was fixing Bucky’s arm. You were about to start small talk with Peter when your uncle asked, “Can you attend a meeting at Wayne Enterprises this Tuesday?”

You avoided looking at Bucky as you acknowledged Tony. “It sounds like a bad idea, uncle.”

Tony chuckled. You only called him uncle when you wanted to convince him of something. “Look, I’ll be busy with Thunderbolt, and Pep has that trip to Germany...”

“I’m not a good businessperson.”

“They’re not interested in the business part, they want details of the project. Only Pepper could do a better job than you at that.”

It was a high compliment. However, you were doubtful — you weren’t as good with words as Tony and Pepper were, and from what you knew about The Waynes, they were pretty stuck up.

“It’s just more rich people but in Gotham,” Tony assured. “You dealt with Hammer really well last time. And Happy will go with you.”

What Tony failed to mention about the way you dealt with Hammer was that he had never wanted to have a deal with him in the first place.

You gave in still. “Which project are we presenting?”

Smiling widely, Tony instructed F.R.I.D.A.Y to send a copy of the details to your Starkpad.

You curled up in the couch while reading the files, remembering bits and pieces of the observations you had made yourself. Part of your notes was still there, thankfully transcribed and not in your hurried handwriting.

Someone cleared their throat behind you. “Can we, uh, talk?”

You shook your head, not even bothering to take your eyes off the document you were reading.

“It’ll be quick.”

“I am busy, James,” you said dismissively.

He hated being called James, he had told you a few times that it reminded him of a person he couldn’t be anymore. Well, you hated having been kept as a secret only to eventually get cheated on — he couldn’t be just Bucky to you anymore.

You had no interest in excuses, you needed to move on. You would move on, you always had and he wasn’t the most important person in your life to break your heart either way.

If you could take your father’s abandonment, you could take being cheated on by a man who didn’t know what he wanted. Or so you hoped.

Pepper greeted him, then you. Observing what you were reading, she let out a small laugh. “Good luck if you have to deal with Damian Wayne.”

At that, you lifted your head. “Why?”

“Don’t scare her, honey,” Tony warned playfully, patting Bucky’s back as he passed him.

Your question remained unanswered.

The waiting room was comfortable, you would give them that. Pepper had been right, you needed luck in order to deal with Damian Wayne. Regretting having said yes to Tony, you looked at Happy and gave him your best puppy eyes in attempts to convince him to finally call Tony.

Happy had refused to let you back off from the meeting. He didn’t understand how badly you had fucked up in there, your stuttering had been embarrassing and that wasn’t even the worst part of it.

Stupidly, you hadn’t expected him to be that handsome. You couldn’t stop staring and ended up making a fool of yourself by making him repeat his questions.

You could see him now through the glass wall of the meeting room, losing time by randomly selecting pages from the spiral-bound project he said he needed to inspect before giving you an answer.

To your luck, Damian caught you staring. Turning to your side to look at Happy, you found a teasing expression on the bodyguard’s face.

“I can take it from here if you want.”

Damian could hear the teasing in Tim’s voice. “Don’t make me punch you.” He didn’t take his eyes off the wall, you were talking, but the angle didn’t allow him to read your lips.

But when had Damian’s scare tactics stopped Tim? “You could just—“

“Don’t,” the interrupting warning came in a loud sneer. Damian lifted a finger so Tim wouldn’t say a damn thing.

Again, his brother ignored him. “Okay, I’ll ask her.”

Damian jumped off his seat, stopping the lankier man from crossing the room. “Don’t you dare, Drake.”

Tim rested both hands on Damian’s shoulders. “Read that thing, give the answer, then ask.” Seeing his younger brother’s expression, Tim added, “She’ll say yes.”

Watching his brother leave, Damian let out a huff. Your explanation had been enough for him to make a decision, and truly, from what he had read in passing, you had a way of making it sound less dull than it was.

Not that the project was dull in the slightest, but he didn’t have time to read every detail.

Damian gripped the document in his hand as he left the meeting room, approaching you personally. You stood up, looking up as he towered over you.

“Follow me, please.”

Nodding, not trusting your voice as the silkiness in which he uttered the word please resonated in your head, you followed him down the hallway.

He opened the door to his office for you. As you stepped in, you observed how normal the office was — it wasn’t bland like one would assume from someone who wears a black tie to work.

“I was wondering,” he started speaking, silky voice now more confident, “if you could stay in town for a couple of days.”

You stuttered, “I— I don’t think so.” You gained confidence when his blinking got quicker. “It would be pointless if you’re not interested in the project. I’m a busy person.”

Where did that lie come from? You spent your entire days between an office and a laboratory while your nights were full of complaining to yourself over someone you weren’t sure you could call an ex.

His brow twitched yet he stopped himself from frowning. “I am interested.”

“In that case, I could call my uncle and ask—“

Damian blurted, “Have dinner with me tonight.”

You had never attended a business dinner, what was one supposed to do or say? Weren’t those things for closing deals in terms of money?

You would’ve taken social studies more seriously if you knew one day your uncle would send you to convince a handsome guy to partner with you for a project.

God, that sounded more like high school drama than what it really was.

Telling him you didn’t have a clue as to what to do in such a situation couldn’t be more embarrassing than being caught ogling at him. It would be close, though.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“Mmh?” You turned to look at him. Concern filled his gaze. He had such vivid eyes, the greenest you had ever seen; greener than you ever imagined nature from a fairytale could look. “Sorry,” you rasped, “I’m fine.”

He gave you a single nod, staring at you in expectancy of something. When you only stared back, he sighed, “I will prepare everything to be signed tomorrow morning if that’s fine with you.”

Tilting your head, you frowned. “I thought you just said I had to have dinner with you?”

“I was asking you out.”

Ah. Wow.

It wasn’t a good idea to say yes, your heart had just been broken. But he was handsome, and blunt enough to estate his intentions without fussing over your misunderstanding — you liked that.

“Did I read the situation wrong?”

“No,” you answered way too quickly. “Not at all.”

He smirked. “I will pick you up at 7, then.”

Happy was surprised by seeing you so flustered as you told him to drive you to the —Wayne owned— hotel you would be staying at.

Not daring to look at him, you asked Happy if he could help you find a dress quickly. You could hear the smile in his voice as he said yes.

In your eyes, there was no such thing as moving on too fast. And even if there was, this was a date and not the start of a relationship. You would allow yourself the pleasure of enjoying a handsome guy’s company, and if you found him unbearable you would just leave — Tony wouldn’t mind.

The last proper date you had been on had happened a long time ago, before you were out of college, if your memory served you right.

Being around someone your age, truly the same age, and not just part of your age range would be a nice change from hanging out with two 18-year-olds, people in their forties, and whatever age Bucky was.

At 6:59, a knock was bestowed upon the door of your hotel room.

“You look beautiful.” The compliment easily rolled off his tongue. It was hard not to believe him.

You bashfully said, “You look handsome.”

He grinned, offering his arm for you to take. He was a little too formal from what you were used to, yet you found it nice.

You understood why everyone followed his orders automatically. In part, it was their job, but it wasn’t yours and you too felt compelled to please him.

He looked different under the soft light, calmer. More handsome. His voice was impossibly smoother as he told you about himself.

All his attention was on you when it was your turn to tell him about yourself. He would encourage you to continue speaking, more comfortable with hearing you than with speaking himself.

You wished you would’ve found Damian unbearable. He surely had flaws, you weren’t one for expecting perfection in people, it was just damn hard to find him one and you liked it, what a nice illusion to part with.

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” he reminded you as if reading your mind, eyes on your mouth as he swallowed harshly.

You bit your bottom lip as you nodded. “Good night.”

Damian left, albeit reluctantly, happier than he thought he would be. Bruce would kill him for skipping patrol, but it had been worth it.

He would let the fact that Tim had been right slide this once.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Feeling like a teenager with a crush again, you tried really hard to keep yourself from whining as you left Gotham. Wanting to stay was childish, you didn’t really know the city nor Damian.

New York was home, your mother lived there, your uncle and friends too. And you were being a little dramatic, to be completely honest.

“How did it go?” Tony asked, throwing his arm around you as he guided you toward the living room.

“It went great.”

“More than great, I would say,” Happy chipped in from behind you.

You whined lowly, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass you. The date had been nice, but it was naive to think something would come out of it when you didn’t live in the same state. You would rather keep that night to yourself.

Pepper smiled. “Tim is a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

Happy hummed, turning around before he would burst out laughing.

Peter saved you from embarrassment, telling you he had a project for you and Ned to help him with. Projects with Peter were always something to behold, they could go from the most anticlimactic thing to testing his constantly improving web fluid formula.

This project, though, was a nightmare. He had the brilliant idea of sewing a teddy bear for MJ. From scratch. By hand. With his own design.

Sat on your office, surrounded by scraps of fabric and tiny strands of thread, tired of stabbing your self while sewing, you told Peter, “I don’t understand why can’t you just use Tony’s credit card to buy her something.”

“Or use a sewing machine,” Ned pointed out.

“It’s more romantic this way. MJ will appreciate it more.”

Ned and you hummed. If you hadn’t known how much Peter liked her, you would’ve given up already.

The door was almost kicked open. Happy entered the office, or at least you thought it was him due to the man’s height, his face and torso were covered by a gigantic flower arrangement that he put down on your desk as quickly as he could let it down without shattering the vase.

“Happy,” Peter screeched, “that’s fabric!”

“Peter, these things are heavy!” Happy mirrored the tone.

You rolled your eyes. “This isn’t Pepper’s office, though.”

Happy snickered. “These are for you, genius.”

Glaring at him, you waited for him to crack. But Happy never did. He snatched the card from on top of the arrangement. “Do you want me to read it out loud?”

“No!” You screeched, extending your hand.

Happy continued nagging you, “Should I use the monotonous voice and all?” He unfolded the thick paper. “Oh, it’s handwritten!”

Your face was burning up. You wanted the chair to swallow you as Happy read, “‘Thank you, again, for an amazing night. I hope to see you soon.’ Signed by Damian Wayne.”

“Couldn’t he text you that?”

Ned defended the stranger, “It’s more romantic this way, Peter. I thought you were an expert in romance now.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Peter dropped his needle. “You went out with Damian Wayne?”

You only nodded.

“Good thing you weren’t interested in dating anymore...”

Grabbing the pillow behind your back, you threw it at Ned. “Shut up!”

Peter giggled, picking a pillow from the couch and throwing it at you. Ned threw the one you had hit him with at Peter and soon the three of you were laughing historically.

Your cellphone buzzed. With a flipping stomach, as your laughter died down and tears ran down your cheeks, you looked at the screen.

I hope you like them.

Unlocking the device, you typed quickly. They’re lovely.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, gnawing on it. Fuck it. I hope to see you soon, too.

He replied immediately. You will.

You couldn’t wait.

But you had to. After a few more days of exchanging text messages, he had let you know he would be out of the country for a while. You had hoped to see him at your birthday party but alas.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Every few minutes, you were introduced to people whose names you had forgotten already as the guests continued to arrive.

The number of people in the venue was excessive when none of them really knew you. It was strange, being the center of attention when people wouldn’t have cared if you weren’t Tony Stark’s niece.

Pepper had warned you about it, she had said you shouldn’t take it personally. You would’ve had done so on any other occasion, but you were too busy staring at Sharon and Bucky.

Never in a million years would you imagine he would have the nerve of openly displaying his affection toward someone else in front of you. Yet there he was, all over her at your birthday party.

You stuck close to Tony and Pepper for the most part, only straying away when the conversation wasn’t something of your incumbency.

Everyone was seemingly enjoying themselves, Sam had convinced you of dancing with him just so he could ask if you were having fun. Then Peter and MJ did something similar but it didn’t feel the same, they were worried about you which meant you weren’t doing a good job at hiding that you wished you didn’t have to be there.

The contrast between what you had expected your birthday party to be throughout the past weeks to what it truly was had to be one of the most jarring experiences of your life.

Your plans had changed twice, your expectations three times, and your excitement had exponentially lowered as the day arrived.

Pepper pinched your shoulder. “Tony wants to introduce you to some people.”

Following her steps was a skill you hadn’t mastered yet, much less in the uncomfortable shoes Nat had chosen for you. Next time, you needed to remind her you weren’t a skilled spy who could kick ass in any type of shoe.

“The birthday girl!”

“Hi, uncle.”

“Darling, meet Bruce and Damian Wayne.” The sarcasm in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

You shook hands with Bruce Wayne first, he was as handsome as every photograph of him you had seen made him out to be. He smiled at you as he wished you a happy birthday, adding a nonchalant, “I’ve heard wonders about you.”

Damian’s hands were warmer than his father’s, and instead of smiling at you as he wished you happy birthday, he fixed his eyes on yours, gluing you to your spot.

He then winked, trying his hardest to hide the smug smile wanting to break through his face.

You wouldn’t have stopped staring if your life depended on it. Photographs would never make him justice, he was taller than he looked in them, much more handsome — equally intimidating yet photographs portrayed him as stuck up while having him in front of you had made you find him alluring from the first time.

“Introduce Damian to Peter, will you?”

You nodded in response to Tony’s question. Your surroundings stirred as you were left alone with Damian, with his hand still encapsulating yours.

After a pause, wishing he wouldn’t drop your hand, you asked him if he wanted a drink. Introducing him to Peter could wait.

“Of course,” he answered, sliding his warm palm off yours and motioning with it for you to lead the way.

Sharon and Bucky were at the bar. He had his hand on her hip as they whispered in each other’s ear. You caught her eye, you and your companion, and she winked at you while resting her chin on Bucky’s shoulder.

Smiling at her, you stood closer to Damian. You both ordered your drinks, and he leaned on his elbow against the wooden bar to face you.

“So, why a public party for your first birthday as part of the family?”

You chuckled. “My uncle insisted, and it was a good chance to get introductions out of the way.”

“Can’t say I disagree.”

You confessed, “I thought you wouldn’t be able to come.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

Behind you, James got louder, “We should go to the beach again, babe.”

Sharon giggled at her boyfriend’s faux-drunk antics. “Don’t yell, baby, you’ll give (Y/N) an ear-bleed.”

You could tell he turned around when he put his hand on your shoulder. “Hi, (Y/N).”

Only craning your neck to not give Damian the impression that you were impolite, you greeted, “Hi, James.”

You enjoyed his expression every time you called him James. The only person who found it funnier than you was Sam. Everyone else found it normal, you supposedly weren’t familiar with him.

You wished that was the case. Not because you missed him or because he hurt you — it would be nice to not feel tense around the others.

Natasha would pick up on it soon if you continued to tense up when he entered a room next to Sharon and you weren’t ready to come to terms with that. You didn’t know what you would say to Sharon in the first place.

“Here,” Damian’s smooth voice interrupted your train of thought. As you looked to the front again, you found your cocktail being offered to you.

You took the glass, thanking him. “We should move away from here.”

Humming, Damian lifted both eyebrows. His eyes dropped to your shoulder and James’ hand was withdrawn instantly.

“Enjoy your night, doll.”

You wanted to scream at him for calling you that, for still seeking some kind of reaction from you.

Walking past Sharon and her boyfriend, you took a sip of your drink. You would’ve drunk it in one go if you weren’t trying to impress your companion.

The terrace, empty due to the fact that everyone was busy dancing, welcomed you with a burst of crisp air.

“You looked uncomfortable,” Damian said casually.

“I am not used to these things.”

He took a gulp of alcohol. “Are you always that bothered by your uncle’s colleagues?”

If only he knew...

Seeing Sharon happy was nice, though. According to Nat, she had closed off after things with Steve didn’t work out. James must’ve been patient with her, at least you hoped he had been.

You made a pause, one you wished had been longer. “Would it offend you if I changed the topic?”

“No.”

Silence settled between you. Finding things to say had never been easy for you. The fact that he was gorgeous didn’t help your case. Tony should’ve taught you how to flirt instead of sending you irrelevant files before the party.

Damian didn’t look displeased by it. You finished your drink before he did, you were the one gripping the railway. He was close enough for you to feel the heat his body radiated, but he made no move to touch you.

He stared, though. You were trying your hardest to keep yourself from staring back. There was only so much you could focus on that would be more pleasing than his pretty face.

Offering him another drink would ruin this, and not saying anything would make you appear uninterested. You would’ve gotten drunk earlier if you knew he would be back in time for your birthday.

It had been so easy with James. After fixing his arm, he had interpreted your giggles correctly and kissed you. That was it, no flirting or small talk.

“It’ll start raining soon.”

The starless sky proved him right. In an almost comedic way, the sky rumbled just as the words left his mouth.

“Do you want to go back inside?”

He shrugged. “Do you?”

Your eyes met his again. The kink of his eyebrow told you he was waiting for an answer, but you didn’t have one. You would happily stay there, staring into the green vastness of his eyes, come rain or not.

Damian moved closer to you. Expensive cologne awakened your senses, relatively meaningless in comparison to the goosebumps his touch ignited. His hand, firm yet light, rested on your arm as he reached for his drink.

Envious of the glass, you stopped blinking to not lose detail — his full lips trapped the rim of the glass as he gulped the liquid down. Damian put the glass to the side, giving you a full look at his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

Your hand came up to wipe the corner of his mouth, where a drop of alcohol lingered. Damian lightly shifted, lips brushing your thumb as he did so.

You found yourself tracing his bottom lip with your thumb, wondering if it would feel as soft against your own.

He placed his free hand on your waist, gaze on your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered.

Your eager tone encouraged him to dive in. He hummed, tasting the sweetness of the cocktail you had been drinking. His lips were as soft as you had expected, touch heavier on your waist.

The sky rumbled again and he broke the kiss way too early. “We should get back inside.”

You felt eyes on you as Damian and you walked toward the bar once again. His hand was firm on your lower back, this time not shying away from touching you or from uttering comments instead of meaningless questions.

From your spot, you could see a few of your friends. Sam was flirting with one of Pepper’s friends, Nat and Carol were competing over who could handle alcohol better, and Tony was crying out of laughter next to Rhodey.

In front of you, Damian was gazing intently at you again.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Pretty features.”

You tried not to smile but the rush in the pit of your stomach failed and betrayed you. He was so pleased with your reaction, smiling back as he fixed his eyes on your mouth.

You gazed at him, placing your hand on his bicep to boldly ask, “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Damian finished his drink in a single gulp, opening his palm for you to take. “Wherever you want.”

With your purse on your lap and his hand brushing your thigh, you went through the drive in complete silence.

You thanked the driver, inwardly also thankful over the fact that they weren’t Happy. You wouldn’t have heard the end of his teasing.

Unlocking the door, you pushed it open and let Damian in first. The lights turned themselves on as he crossed the doorway.

You motioned for him to get comfortable. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Later,” he dismissed the offer, cupping your face with both hands as he leaned to kiss you.

Kissing him back, grabbing him by the neck, you tickled his mouth open. Damian granted your tongue access in less than a second, moving one of his hands to the nape of your head to eventually place it on your back and pull you close.

His hand brushed the zipper of your dress, fingers playing with it as he deepened the kiss. You hummed on his mouth, sliding your hands to his shoulders in order to push his blazer off.

He groaned as he had to part from you to discard the blazer completely, throwing it to the reading chair closest to him.

Grabbing you by the hips, he playfully bit down your bottom lip. You glared at him through your eyelashes; it only made him smirk.

“Did the birthday girl expect something else?”

Fuck. You hadn’t expected his voice to get deeper. Nodding, you took the collar of his shirt between your fingers.

“Take it off if you want,” he gave you his permission lowly, eyes on yours as he uttered the words.

You hesitated. He would expect permission to take your dress off too, and although you were dying to have his hands on you with nothing in between, you couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen your body.

Damian made no movement to pressure you nor to move away from you. He just waited, with his lips pursed and hands steadily on your waist.

You undid his tie first, just enough to pull it over his head. His knuckles traced your spine while you worked on his shirt, easing your nerves up.

Unbuttoning his shirt took you a little longer than you would’ve liked, you had been in high school the last time you had to do that for someone else and you couldn’t even remember their face by now.

You tugged on his belt, looking at him in search of permission. Damian nodded, immediately looking down at your hands as they unbuckled his belt.

You pulled the shirt out of his pants, pushing it then off his shoulders in the same way you did with his blazer. You traced his chest, firm, and littered with birthmarks and a few scars.

His broad shoulders were the same, and his taunt abdomen had bigger scars. You would’ve asked about them if you weren’t eager to lick them.

He pulled you into a searing kiss, mouth hot and heavy on yours while his hands wandered down to your ass. Feeling you huff through your nose, he moved his lips to your neck to give you space to breathe.

You let out a sigh, feeling him inch up the skirt of your dress. Damian sucked on your neck, leaving a wet trail towards the exposed part of your chest.

You whispered his name. He shivered, lifting his head. Taking him by the hand, you guided him to your bedroom. The lights turned on automatically, illuminating the vast room.

Kissing him again, you pushed your body flush against his. Damian gripped your thighs, unintentionally grinding against you.

“You’re so hot,” you blurted, hiding your face in his neck to suck on it.

He tilted his head to give you further access to his skin as he searched for your zipper. When he found it, he pulled it down slowly in case you would protest.

You were too busy tasting his skin to really care anymore. Your teeth scraped his Adam’s apple, making him let out the sweetest sound you had heard.

Goosebumps ignited your skin as he dragged his hand over your bareback. He groaned, realizing you weren’t wearing a bra.

Stepping out of the dress looking over your ankles, you bent over to pick the item up and threw it onto your vanity chair.

You found lust-filled eyes checking you out and fuck if having Damian Wayne looking at you like he wanted to eat you a confidence boost.

His palms brushed the sides of your breasts, thumbs close to your nipples, only teasing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, nose brushing your cheek.

He nibbled on your pulse point, making you moan. Your hands again explored his chest, this time following the marks of his abs too. Reaching the waistband of his pants, you finally popped the button open.

Dragging his zipper down, you felt his semi-hard cock twitch due to the contact. He hissed, blowing air on the small bites he had peppered over your neck.

He moved to the side to discard his shoes, socks, and pants. You freed your feet from the heels, now remembering how uncomfortable they had been seconds before you met Damian.

He rubbed against your ass, wrapping an arm around you from behind. His teeth grazed your ear, free hand exploring your body painfully slowly.

You ground against him, desperate for something more. He chuckled on your ear, cupping your clothed pussy.

Whining as he pressed his thumb as deep as your panties would allow him, you craned your neck to kiss him.

Damian dragged the hand on your belly upward to cup one of your breasts, pinching your nipple. He swallowed your moan while kissing you.

You twisted one of your hands, reaching for his thigh. As you inched your hand closer to his cock, you felt his breath hitch.

From on top of his underwear, you palmed his cock. You struggled to put your hand under the cotton material, and when you finally did, both of you groaned.

Enveloping the base with your fingers, you moved your hand up and down, using your thumb to apply pressure when needed.

“Wait,” he rasped. “You first, it’s your birthday.”

“What if I want to make you come for my birthday?”

His cock pulsed in your hand at the question.

Turning around with the intention of pulling his underwear down, you briefly let his cock go.

He kicked the boxers to the side, swallowing thickly when you grabbed his cock freely now. The movements of your hand were more enthusiastic, thumb circling his tip.

Biting his bottom lip, he fixed his eyes on your hand and its rhythm. You tapped his tip, bringing a string of pre-cum as you lifted your thumb.

He hissed, you smiled. Tightening your fist around him, you searched for his expression to make sure he was okay with the amount of pressure. Damian closed his eyes, sighing out.

You slid down to the floor, sinking to your knees. Holding his cock still, you licked the pre-cum off his tip.

Damian’s eyes flew open. His hand came down to hold your face. The gesture encouraged you to suck on his tip. He chocked on a hum when you pushed your head down, taking as much of him as you were able.

“Shit, (Y/N).”

You hummed, feeling yourself getting wetter. Using your hand, you fisted his shaft, bringing your fist upward as your mouth withdrew from him and moving it down as you took him in your mouth again.

His sounds got louder as you found a rhythm, and the bobbing of your head along the twisting of your hand got quicker as his cock throbbed on your tongue and fingers.

You hadn’t lied when you said you wanted to make him come, you needed to know you could please him that way.

You sucked more harshly. He reacted by moaning so loud it rumbled like thunder, hand holding your head by the neck as you sucked harder and harder.

Slurping sounds filled the room, and when Damian thought there was no way things could get better as he watched his cock enter and leave your mouth, you made eye contact with him.

All fucking night you had gazed at him through your lashes, every fucking time it had gone straight to his cock. The difference was that this once around you had him panting.

You continued sucking as he came, bringing your hand to massage his balls while gulping. He cried out your name, fingers digging on your jugular.

Feeling him get soft on your tongue, you pulled away but not before giving his tip another lick.

You placed your hands on his heaving chest, leaving small kisses on his jaw, meanwhile he recovered his breath. He had broken into a sweat, his damp skin glistened under the light.

Damian walked you back onto the bed, hovering over you.

He gave you a short kiss, still trying to even his breathing. He then attached his lips to your neck, kissing his way down your chest. Making a stop there, he sucked on each of your breasts.

Dragging his lips down your torso, he took the time to kiss the stretch marks littered there. When he reached your navel, he gazed up in search of permission.

“Go ahead,” you gave your consent.

He slid your panties off in a swift motion. His thumb brushed your clit while his index and middle finger prodded your entrance.

Not able to hide his smirk, he collected some of your wetness only to bring his fingers to his mouth. You squirmed, watching as he licked his fingers clean.

Damian latched his mouth onto your clit, making you squeal in surprise. Your hand fell onto his head, gripping his hair tightly.

He introduced his fingers to your pussy again, curling them up as he sucked on your clit. Your hips jerked upward, almost bucking although you were able to control yourself.

He was having none of it. Using his tongue, Damian alternated between sucking and licking while his fingers stretched you as he scissored you.

You draped your unoccupied arm over your face, biting down your forearm.

Speaking against your clit, he ordered, “Don’t. I like hearing you.”

Unconsciously, you let out a sob and grabbed his hair with both hands. Pushing him further in between your thighs, you could feel his nose brush your labia.

Writhing under him, you tried your hardest to not press your thighs together. Damian took his fingers out to help you, gripping your thighs with both hands to hold them open.

He ate you out like he had been born to do it, loudly and messily. His tongue didn’t leave a centimeter unexplored, he lapped and licked until he had you crying out his name.

And he didn’t stop when it got too much and your thighs shook in his grip, instead, he increased his rhythm.

You had never had someone drink your juices like a dehydrated animal yet there he was, licking you up clean.

Damian peppered kisses over your thighs, grip around them barely loosening. You were seeing white, hearing his breathing, and feeling his soft lips against you with an intensity you weren’t sure if it was natural from him or not.

Sliding a hand down the side of his head to cup his cheek, you beckoned him back up. Damian obliged, fitting himself between your legs.

“Are you alright?”

You hummed, leaning upward to kiss him. His tongue slid into your mouth, and as he ground against you, his hard-on became palpable. You bucked your hips up, smiling when he groaned into the kiss.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He filled you to the brim by shoving his cock inside you all at once, making you grab him by the biceps. He was snug inside you, and the fact prompted you to clench around him.

God, you had had intercourse like five weeks ago and yet you felt like this was the first time you were fucked in years.

“You feel so good,” he praised in a low voice.

You moaned and his cock twitched inside you. Damian threw patience out of the window, thrusting shallowly.

He grabbed your hands and pinned them to your sides. You stayed still for a moment until he intertwined his fingers with yours.

His eyes, so dark you swore they could swallow you, were on you. Just on you, not on the headboard, or the wall, or the ceiling. They were on you, he was ramming into you because he wanted you.

You cried out — his name, a string of curses, something you couldn’t even understand. And he ate it up, he relished on every sound and expression. You felt it in his strong grip and deep thrusts, heard it in his own moans, he loved the effect he was having on you; it stroked his ego, and fuck if it didn’t tip you to the edge.

“I wanna come,” you whined.

“Nobody’s stopping you,” he promised through heavy breathing to then kiss your jaw. “Please, come for me.”

You did. He asked oh so nicely, with hot breath on your skin and relentless thrusts. You couldn’t not do it even if you tried, how could you disappoint him?

It was the second time he had you trembling, and you hoped it wouldn’t be the last. You wanted him closer, yet there wasn’t a way for him to be closer to you than with the tip of his cock crushing your g-spot.

His strings of cum were as welcome as everything he had to offer, heavy and hot. Feeling him all around you was like a distant dream. His hot cum and pulsating cock weren’t even the best part.

You woke up to a warm bed, between strong arms. Fingers traced your side, stopping at every curve and lump.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes were vibrant green eyes already analyzing your face. You had forgotten how bright his eyes were.

Damian’s skin glowed in the morning light, cheekbones only more prominent from your angle.

“Is there something on my face?” He teased you.

“Handsome features,” you teased him back.

Huffing a laugh, he brushed your hair off your face. “You’re gorgeous.”

You held his gaze. “I’m afraid there’s no compliment you haven’t heard before.”

“They sound better coming from you.”

“You’re a real charmer, huh.”

“I’m trying.”

You leaned onto him, not really sure as to what to say now. Feeling the shake of his shoulder as he laughed, you couldn’t help but laugh too.

“What are we laughing at?”

“I had meticulously planned how slow we would take this and now you’ve got me naked in your bed after our second date.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Of course not. I like you.”

“I like you too.” You kissed the scar he had on his shoulder, and the one on the crook of his neck, and the almost faded mark under his jaw. “Will you ever tell me about your scars?”

He hummed, “But not today. It’s your birthday, we should talk happy things.”

“It isn’t my birthday anymore.”

“Birthday weekend,” he clarified.

He left the bed for a moment, going through the pockets of his pants. You pouted at him. Chuckling, he approached the mattress again, phone in hand.

Giving you a short kiss, Damian placed his free hand on the back of your head as he guided you to lay on his chest.

“Is there anything you would like to do today?”

You considered the question. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a free weekend in a long time.”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Your ‘birthday weekend’ officially started with waiting for him outside a changing room. He needed to buy clothes for the weekend, arguing that it would be stupid to go around the rainy city in a tuxedo.

“Did you really have to buy another watch?”

He defended the splurge, “This one is more casual.”

Pursing your lips in attempts of keeping your laugh in, you nodded. Damian pried your fingers open to fit his own between yours, squeezing them once in a teasing manner.

You looked down at your connected hands, marveled by the fact that he was willing to show he was dating you.

Spending the weekends together became the norm, he kept clothes and his favorite self-care products at your place, he already knew the house and sauntered around it like he owned it too.

A particular Friday, you bumped into Sharon and Nat in the elevator. Nat pushed the button that would take you to the first floor as Sharon asked, “Do you want to go to the baseball game with us?”

You smiled at her. “Next time, yeah?”

“You’re busy tonight?”

You nodded, shifting your coat to drape over your other forearm.

“Got a hot date?” Sharon lightly elbowed you on the side.

A nervous giggle escaped you, “I do.”

The doors slid open and you stepped out first. You didn’t mind their company, you just liked your boyfriend’s more.

Peter was talking to James near the entrance hall, nodding enthusiastically. He caught your eye and waved at you past Peter’s shoulder.

As you had to approach them to leave the building, you wished them both a good night and continued your path.

Avoiding James had been extremely hard throughout the weeks, he tried talking to you a few times and every time you found an excuse more ridiculous than the last.

The shower in your bedroom was running, meaning Damian was there already. You changed your clothes in the meantime, happy to finally be in comfortable clothes and away from The Compound.

You were plugging your cellphone in when the bathroom door was loudly unlocked.

Damian struggled to fit his arm in a sling, groaning in frustration. Approaching him, you moved his healthy hand away from his arm and did it yourself.

He nodded at you as a thankful gesture.

“Are you telling me what happened to you?” your question was soft-spoken.

“I got in a fight.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You? A fight?”

“You should get used to it.”

Looking up at his towering figure, staring directly into his eyes, you actually glowered at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He extended his hand for you to take, fingers open, expecting yours to find their place between them. You shook your head.

“Why are you mad?”

“Really? Are you that dense?”

He mimicked your tone, “Are you that worried?”

“Of course I am worried, Damian! If you don’t want me to worry about y—“ you stopped yourself when his hand brushed your forearm.

“I never said that,” his voice lowered, “I simply asked.”

Sliding his hand down to press his palm against your own, fingers caressing yours, he intertwined them like he had missed doing the entire week.

You murmured, “Could you at least not get injured too often?”

His face softened, and just then you observed how swollen it was.

“I have something to tell you,” he sighed, briefly looking at his feet before nodding to himself. Completely lifting his head, he continued, “I shouldn’t say it now, but I don’t feel comfortable with you not knowing...”

“What did you do?”

“I am Robin.”

Of course you had fallen for a secret vigilante. That was your luck, your boyfriend lived miles away from you and spent his nights punching people in the face. It was a better secret identity than the ones other rich people tended to have, you would give him that.

One more worry to have on your shoulders.

“Why are you so tense? I’ve already promised to be careful.”

“Long week,” you mumbled. Eager to change the subject, you asked, “Are you hungry?”

“I ordered food a few minutes ago.”

Humming, you let his hand go in order to sit on the bed, stretching your legs.

“Habibti, what is going on?”

He knew what he was doing by using the petname. He sat on the bed too, letting enough space between you to look at you properly.

“Sharon and Nat invited me to go out with them tonight and I feel bad. Like really bad,” you confided him.

“You can go if you want.”

“It’s not that... Forget about it, yeah? It’s not worth it.”

“You’re upset, that means it’s important to you.”

“Don’t get mad,” you warned him.

“Well, now I’m worried.”

“Before meeting you,” you clarified before saying anything else, “I had a... fling... with Sharon’s boyfriend.”

He hummed, encouraging you to go on.

“But I think they were dating already. I don’t know... their relationship was secret and—“ you groaned. It was so pathetic. “Whatever I had with him was secret too.”

“And you want to tell her.”

You twisted your mouth upward as you nodded. “Is it a good idea?”

Damian nodded slowly. He threw his healthy arm around your shoulders, placing his hand on your farthest arm. “You would like her to tell you if it was the other way around,” he asserted, “so I believe it’s only fair for you to do it.”

Inhaling his body wash, you nuzzled against his bare shoulder as carefully as possible, afraid of hurting him. The ability he had to make you feel safe was astounding.

He changed the subject, sensing you were done with the topic. “Do you want me to tell you about my scars now?”

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You had been seconds away from also telling Tony about what you once had with James just you wouldn’t be forced to fix his arm. Ultimately, you stayed quiet because Pepper had an appointment with the gynecologist and Tony wanted to be there with her.

You were regretting not leaving after they had. He had attempted to make small talk a few times, as if it was normal to talk to the person you cheated on about the weather.

He then started to get into your nerves. “How long do you think your boy toy can keep up?”

You ignored him, tightening the arm the way you had seen Tony do many times.

He continued taunting you, “He has to drive for what? Two hours? Or summon a helicopter just to see you. Sounds like too much trouble.”

Setting your jaw, you moved away from him. “Your arm is done.”

He stood up, following your movements. “Have you fucked him yet?”

You glared at him for asking such inappropriate questions. He trapped you between his bulk and the wall, breathing on your face. You moved your head to the side. “It’s none of your business.”

James placed his hands on your thick waist. “That’s a no, then,” he mumbled, lips grazing your cheek.

You could only think about those photos and how he had rested his hands on Sharon in the same fashion, of Damian’s hands and how different they felt on you — warm, firm, heavy but never burdening. You pushed James’ flesh hand away from you.

His metal hand dropped to your hip where he gripped tight so you wouldn’t move. “We both know he’s just a rebound, (Y/N). You miss me.”

“You have a girlfriend and I have a boyfriend. Please, move.”

“Sharon broke up with me.”

You had assumed she wouldn’t. After your talk with her, she said she would have a discussion with him. She hadn’t been angry at you so you had thought she just didn’t care.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I have a boyfriend.”

Resting his weight on you, he chuckled. “You don’t mean it. You love me, it’s obvious.”

“I’m going to scream if you don’t move,” you threatened.

Moving his flesh hand upward, he wrapped it around your neck. “Just admit it.”

“Please, move,” you begged him.

He covered your mouth with his hand instead of choking you, applying pressure as you tried to exhale against his skin. “You always have to make things difficult. Talking all the time, making noises... How many times didn’t you almost give it away because you couldn’t keep your eyes off me?”

Tears ran down your eyes and he let go of you immediately, hurt all over his face as you tumbled your way out of the lab.

Locking yourself in your office, you let out a sob, unable to contain whatever it was you were feeling.

What if James was right and your relationship with Damian was doomed?

You couldn’t even ask him his opinion at the moment, he was out of the country due to a mission and the little contact you had wouldn’t give you time to talk about such things with him.

Besides, you didn’t want him to break up with you through text. You didn’t want to break up, period.

And fuck, you missed him. And missing him was... different. Everything that had to do with him was.

When you missed your mom, you felt the sadness of a child on their first day of school, desperate to cling onto their mother’s leg.

Missing your dad was absurd, it only came in waves that crashed against everything you stood for, against everything you had gone through; it was bitter, raw, merely wishful thinking in the form of what-ifs.

Longing for Bucky’s touch had been, surely, the stupidest form of missing someone. At the time it had been inoffensive, now it was only a bad memory.

The way you missed Damian, though, with the hopeful yearning for the bliss only his laugh had ever brought you, and the craving of shared silent moments that often culminated in kisses... it felt like missing someone for the first time.

Stark Industries was a better place to spend your time than the laboratory when Tony wouldn’t be there either. Bruce usually could do things by himself and often preferred it.

You were informed that you had a visitor. Allowing however it was to come in, you felt your heart skip a beat when Damian closed the door behind him.

He smiled at you, observing the smile you gave him back didn’t reach your usually lively eyes.

Damian snaked an arm around you, placing his hand on your hip. You hissed, prompting him to withdraw his hand. “Did you have an accident?”

Not giving him an answer, you leaned onto his shoulder so he wouldn’t think he couldn’t touch you. In fact, you needed him to do it, desperately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just... can you hug me?”

Anyone else would’ve repeated the question, with the intentions of helping most likely, but Damian wasn’t like other people. He wrapped an arm around you at the height of your waist while his other hand rested on your upper back.

You hugged yourself to his torso, eventually sliding your arms under his armpits in order to have him closer.

He didn’t ask anything, he didn’t try to pull away quickly or to make up an excuse to leave. Damian just held you, more than content with giving you the comfort you were seeking.

You heard the door being opened again. Tony had the tendency of not knocking. If your door was unlocked, it meant he could enter and retrieve whatever he wanted from your office.

You expected Damian to part from you. Although a little uncomfortable due to the lack of privacy, he didn’t. He stared at Tony, as if daring him to tease either of you.

Tony tried to keep a chuckle in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you lovebirds. I updated your Starkpad, (Y/N). I left a few instructions for the week there.”

You parted from Damian reluctantly, avoiding his eyes as you took the pad from Tony’s hands. “Will you be out of town this week?”

Your uncle nodded. “Pep wants to visit her family and who am I to deny her?”

You almost smiled. Tony kissed your forehead, patting Damian’s shoulder on his way out.

“I’m sorry about tha—“

Damian cut off your explanation, “It’s not your fault.”

You nodded, placing the new pad Tony had given you on the desk. Damian cupped your cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

Leaning into his touch, you nuzzled your face against his palm. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Does visiting me bother you?”

His face turned serious as he frowned. “Where did you get that from?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes again.

“It would be nice to have you closer, I can admit that, but some selfish reasons are at play there.”

“That wasn’t the question, Damian.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I simply wish I could see you every day.” He made a pause, then continued, “That’s new to me, I’ve never minded being alone or having piles of work to do.”

“Why would that be selfish?”

He was the one who avoided your face this time, looking at the light being reflected on the screen of the pad. “It’s not. But I also don’t like the way Barnes looks at you, for example.”

“Because of my history with him?”

Damian corrected you, “Because he’s geographically closer. And sometimes I would prefer to be the only one who ogles at my girlfriend. Seeing as I can’t stop people from staring, I never complain.”

You took his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. He smiled softly.

“I only have eyes for you.”

Damian’s lips enveloped yours. He kissed you softly, tenderly as he slid one of his hands off yours to hold your face again. You rested your free hand on his waist, angling your head.

Brushing your lips with his, he whispered, “And I only have eyes for you.”

This time the smile you gave him did fill your eyes.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You felt nauseous. You were doing a shitty job at keeping your nerves at bay for the first time in many months.

You chugged down a glass of water in one go, sighing out through your nose. Then you refilled the glass and gulped down some more liquid.

Sharon stretched to reach for a glass herself, softly calling your name. “Are you falling sick?”

Oh, God. This would be extremely awkward. You weren’t avoiding her per se, there was no real reason to do it, but you definitely would find ways to not be around her.

If only your mom wasn’t busy with work...

Refilling the glass, you took it with you and sat down on your usual seat around the table. “Have you ever met a partner’s family?”

You almost said ‘James’ but that would have been disrespectful to both of them, and you actively avoided mentioning him in general.

Taken aback, Sharon rounded the table to sit down in front of you. “A long time ago. I don’t think it’s thaaaaat common anymore. Why?”

“Damian wants me to meet his mom.”

“You don’t know his family?”

Lifting the glass, you drank a small sip of water. “I’ve met everyone but her, and she’s visiting soon.”

She hummed, opening his takeout plate. “You don’t want to meet her?”

“I don’t think I can impress her.”

Picking her fork up, she moved it around so you would go on.

You stayed silent, however. There wasn’t much to explain there, everything you knew about his mom terrified you.

“Has he met your mom?”

“Yes.”

“Does your mom like him?”

“Yeah, they get along well. B—But this is different. Like... from what I’ve heard his mom has super high standards. I’m going to fuck it up, Sharon! And I’m really into him!”

She shook her head, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “No, you won’t. How many times hasn’t Pepper complained about him specifically?”

“A lot.”

“And you charmed him! You got the difficult one of the family wrapped around your finger already.”

“Damian isn’t difficult,” you defended him, “people just aren’t willing to give him a chance.”

She smiled at you, humming. Instead of teasing you, she asked, “You know what you’ll wear?”

You shook your head. “He said something casual would be fine. It’s just lunch according to him.”

“I’ll help you.”

You were the shocked one this time. While never confirming it, you suspected she knew the truth about what happened — if that was the case and she still was willing to help, she was way nicer than you had initially imagined.

Damian approval of the outfit she helped you choose was encouraging, he said you looked beautiful in it just like Sharon had complimented you when you tried the item on.

When the day arrived, however, you were having second thoughts. He looked worried, tense even. You weren’t the only one who was having a bad feeling.

He gripped your hand tightly, fingers crushing yours as you walked into the restaurant together. You wanted to ask, for your sake obviously, but mostly because you had never seen him in such a state.

His mother's eyes, sharper than his, scanned you up and down. Damian rolled his shoulders beside you, making you feel the ripple of his muscles.

Sharon, while helpful, had been extremely wrong. This was definitely worse than Jason’s shock over the fact that there was someone who was willing to date Damian.

Damian had told you beforehand to be ready for an interrogation. He openly called it that which prepared you rather well. You didn’t stutter, or cowered under her intense gaze.

Talia didn’t make the comment you assumed she would, the one regarding your physical appearance. Instead, her critique was almost sound.

“You should date someone you have more things in common with, Damian.”

“You should get to knew her before coming to assumed conclusions.”

Talia glared at him. “You know what I mean.”

Damian glared back. “And you know I do not care.”

“I want what’s best for you.”

“Well, I love her, she makes me happy. What are you going to offer that is better than that?”

He said It oh so naturally, like it was ingrained in his vocabulary. There was no hesitance, the words weren’t tender either — the tone had been sharp, he was daring his mother after all.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The drive toward his family’s lake-house, now so familiar after how many times you had visited, felt significantly longer than it was. Damian never drove in silence if the two of you were alone, and that was 99% always the case.

You were dying to say something, but what? Words would fall short, you couldn’t stop replaying how easily those three words had slid past his lips. Had he meant them or was he only being stubborn for the sake of fighting his mom?

He unlocked the front door, letting you in first.

You hadn’t attempted to cross the living room when his hands were already on you, burning your skin through the denim fabric. “You look amazing in these jeans.”

“Damia—“

He shut you up with a kiss, hands ghosting your sides as he tilted his head to barely deepen the kiss.

You broke the kiss begrudgingly, asking, “Can we talk?”

He grunted, leaning to hide his face in your neck.

You spoke either way. “I don’t want you to have a bad relationship with your mom because of me.”

Lips brushing your skin, breath giving you goosebumps, he tried to dissipate your worries, “She has attempted to murder me a couple of times, the relationship has always been complicated.”

“Oh, honey...”

“It’s fine.” He kissed his way up to your cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

“She’s your mom.”

“And you’re my girlfriend. If she really cares about me, she’ll understand.”

“Yeah,” your voice cracked, “b—“ he didn’t give you a chance to say anything else. He pressed you against the nearest wall and kissed you with as much passion as a human being could muster.

His strong hands were tightly gripping your waist, nose puffing air on your face as his mouth swallowed your sounds. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gave in, pulling him closer with your forearm against his back.

Breathlessly dragging his mouth down to your neck again, he inhaled a lungful of air before sucking on the smooth skin. Your perfume filled his nostrils, making him hum as the vibration of your throat caused by a whimper was felt on his lips.

You said his name in a strangled voice, trying to keep a moan in. He hummed so you’d speak, moving to another spot on your neck to leave another love-bite. “We need to— fuck” His right hand had moved to your back and slipped downward to grope your ass.

He trailed kisses down the exposed part of your chest, sighing contently on your breasts. “We need to fuck?” he teased.

“We need to talk about what you said,” you were able to get the words out before moaning again when he bit down your neck only to soothe the sting with his tongue.

Humming, he searched for the hem of your blouse. “There’s nothing to talk about,” his lips touched your skin as he spoke, “I love you, she needs to get it through her head.”

You grabbed him by the neck. Damian allowed you to lift his head, gazing at you. Inching a hand up to rest it on his cheek, caressing his bottom lip, you told him, “I love you too.”

Turning his head, he kissed your palm. Moving lower, he kissed your wrist.

You cleared your throat. “What are you doing?”

He smiled on your wrist. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “I like your skin.”

You huffed a laugh. He moved both of you away from the wall, pulling you onto the couch.

You shifted in your seat, resting your legs on his lap. Damian placed his hand on your calf, absentmindedly rubbing circles on your clothed skin.

He slowly trailed his hand up, reaching your thigh. Breathing in, he searched for your eyes. “Are you staying today?”

You shook your head.

Damian huffed.

“Don’t get grumpy with me.”

He withdrew his hand, messing with his hair instead. Sitting up properly, you expected him to say he wasn’t mad, he often understood how busy you were throughout the week.

Instead, he decided to avoid your face while speaking, eyes on everything but you. “I meant the other part too, you make me really happy. I adore you, I want to spend more time you!”

“You will,” you promised, placing your hand on his thigh in assurance. “I have a lot of things on my plate right now, that’s not your fault, I know, but I’m doing my best.”

He dropped his hand on top of yours. You feared he would push it away, childishly so. Damian gave your hand a squeeze, lifting it off his lap to kiss your knuckles.

You smiled, puffing air out through your nose in relief. Feeling him smile against your hand, you allowed yourself to believe things would work out just fine.

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