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sukirichi · 3 years

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sweet lies [02]

His lies were way too sweet – and you were too addicted to make him stop.

cw. explicit smut, slight body worship, public sex, dirty talk, praising, toxic megumi, fwb dynamics, slight angst, body marking, sukuna bullying megumi, age gap, scratching, mentions of oral (m receiving) and mutual masturbation, the traditional unedited fic

note. choose your fighter, megumi or sukuna 😈 also UHM do you guys want me to make the ending angsty or fluffy? i wrote out two versions so LOL let me know what you think! we’ll get more of the megumi scenes on the next chapter though~

series masterlist | 01 | 02 | 03

Sukuna isn’t kidding when he said he’ll have you unable to walk by the end of this.

You’ve lost count of how many times you guys have fucked.

Once more in the stalls when you thought of repaying the favor by sucking him off, followed by him growing impatient and hauling you inside his car. Both of you were too tired to go for another round, but were still very much addicted for the other’s touch that mutual masturbation seems like the best option.

Thankfully, Sukuna’s cut his nails, so having three of his fingers buried knuckle deep in you feels like absolute heaven. He’s not complaining about your smooth hands wrapped around his shaft either, especially not when you’ve had enough practice with Megumi to know just how to make a guy lose his mind. By the time you’ve made it back home, Sukuna’s grown hard again, too impatient to make it to the bed before he just fucks you raw against the wall. You’re trembling at his hold, left with no choice but to trust his strength to drop you on his cock and bounce you to his pleasure.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it on the bed.

His digital clock reads a quarter at three in the morning, and for a moment, you worry about how tired you’ll be in class tomorrow when Sukuna’s large hands grips your thighs sharply.

“Goddamn,” he hisses through clenched teeth, chuckling at the irresistible sight of your breasts bouncing before him. Limbs tangled, minds controlled with the primal need to fuck, and moans shared with his deep grunts – you somehow end up on top of him, your thighs feeling like they’re on the verge of giving up as you continue to ride his thick length.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he slaps your ass and causes your hips to rut deeper, forcing that delicious curve of his cock to meld with your walls. You throw your head back, palms planted on his chest, focused only on that burning pleasure between your thighs. “I could fuck you all night long.”

Even though you truly have no wish to, you shake your head, fingers balling into a fist. “I have class tomorrow, need to wake up early,” you protest, the words falling into deaf ears as Sukuna thrusts up into you. He must’ve noticed how you’re growing tired and took matters into his own hands, feet grounded on the mattress to pound deliriously into you. You’re debating whether to be thankful or frustrated he still has so much energy even after hours of fucking, but it honestly doesn’t matter. You’re falling into his chest, arms slipping on your equally sweat-covered bodies. Right now, you just wanted to cum – once more, again, one last time! “Ah, Sukuna, t-too much!”

“Too much?” he laughs and tangles his hand to caress your scalp, the gesture too soothing that you almost forgot he’s fucking you into oblivion. “Want me to go slow?”

“No…”

“Thought so, sweetheart,” his grin is absolutely cocky as he bends his knees in a fold, pushing you until your back rests on his muscular thighs. Your mouth falls open at his hands wrapping around your threat, keeping you right there, hips flat and grinding on his cock. “Come on. Come for me,” Sukuna urges, tightening his hold around your neck a little harder.

That’s all you need for your vision to blur and see stars, your body’s shaking uncontrollable. He’s thrusting with all his power and energy that it feels like you’re nothing but a hole on top of him, tongue falling open in a wanton manner as your drool trails down your chin.

You look filthy, you feel filthy, and yet, Sukuna sees it entirely different.

“So – fucking – gorgeous, fuck. I woulda fucked you sooner if I didn’t feel weird about it.”

“What?”

“Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he smirks at your half fucked out state. Sukuna rolls his hips in such a mind numbing manner that you end up staring at the ceiling, trying your hardest to decipher the colors of his room to get a grip of yourself. But he feels so hot, cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, your puffy lips encasing him with a translucent ring of cum and it feels so fucking good you don’t really understand what he’s saying anymore. “Did you really think I never saw you in my dreams?” he slaps your ass again, the reflexive response of tightening around him pulling a deep groan from the beautiful man beneath you. “I have such a sexy roommate, I couldn’t help it.”

“Then why didn’t you – ah, right there, shit – tell me?”

“Cuz,” he snickers and finally lets you breathe, your pupils blowing wide from the sudden flow of air. Sukuna kneads your breasts greedily, never stopping his mind-numbing rhythm of ramming deep into you. Your body burns, your thighs ache, your pussy feels sensitive but you can’t find the energy to stop him. Instead, you fall prey, failing in your mission to keep him wrapped around your fingers because now you’re wrapped around his cock, and you were quite fucking addicted to it. “You’re my friend’s student. Felt so fucking wrong.”

“What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is,” Sukuna’s face contorts into something of discomfort for a moment before he leans forward, his sturdy grip homing in on your hips again. You feel his searing breath on your ear, so parching it puts the warmth of your pussy to shame. “Having you like this has never felt so right, and I’ll keep fucking you if you let me.”

“I-I’d let you,” you concede absentmindedly and capture his lips for a sloppy kiss, tongues giving up on a battle of dominance. You’re always so clingy when you’re about to come, something Megumi never fails to chastise you for, and you fear Sukuna might push you away as you wrap an arm around him, nails painfully scratching down his back. Red marks leave a trail on its wake until his blood pierces through the sheets, the pain manifested through the increasing roughness of his pace. Now it’s your turn to whimper in his ear, pulling the man close and tugging harshly at the ends of his hair. Gosh, were you actually crying? “Sukuna, I’m close! Yes, yes, right there!”

Sukuna groans at the erotic sounds you reward him with. “Come for me, that’s right, ohhhh,” he stills inside you, his seed spilling deep inside you. You wince at the burst of warmth spreading all over your belly and Sukuna chuckles at your bulging belly. He presses down on it to coax his cum to trickle all over his cock, and he’s fucking filthy – you learn easily – to watch you make a mess on his cock with a childish smile on his face.

You push yourself off him and fall to his side, him following suit not long afterwards. The room feels completely stuffed from your intense fucking, the bruises on your body and scratches on his back a huge attestment to that.

Your legs remain wide open as you clench around nothing, his cum oozing out like a waterfall. Sukuna (that damned pervert) dips two fingers into your hole for one last moment just to drench his fingers in it, his eyes lit up in wonder while he lets it web around his fingers. You snicker at his actions and roll to his side, eyes fluttering close from the wave of exhaustion that comes into full force.

The lingerie set you intended to wear for Megumi was now ripped at the other side of the room, discarded, forgotten – merely evidence of a moment that had never been given to him.

Oddly enough, you don’t feel bad, not even when Sukuna faces you, his cheeks squished by his soft pillows. “I’m spent. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired. My gym sessions can’t compare to this.”

“You go to the gym?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t born this gorgeous, you know. I had to work hard for this,” Sukuna gestures to his body. You can’t help but follow the gestures and admire the hard planes of his muscle ripped above one another, the smatter of dark hair leading down his hips adding to his already immense sexual charisma. It makes you want to jump on him all over again, and you have to bite your lip to resist that urge, rolling your eyes at him in favor of letting him know you could totally go for another round.

“Dork.”

“Got me laid though, was worth the effort,” he jokes, and you both laugh.

It’s actually…weird, to laugh so casually with someone like this. It might be normal for Sukuna in his past sexual endeavors, but it’s totally a different thing for you. You and Megumi had never even bothered with aftercare. As long as he’s satisfied himself, he’d clean himself off in the bathroom and wear his sweatpants, winking at you before he leaves you alone all over again. The memory – albeit not really a regrettable one – is still painful each time you’re reminded you’ll keep coming back to him.

But are things different now? Could you go back to Megumi? You only ever wanted to fuck Sukuna because you’re sad and horny, but it wouldn’t be fair to him, especially when your roommate has been nothing but nice to you. Besides, him being a little more decent doesn’t immediately equate he’s different than Megumi.

For all you know, you could just be another cheap fuck. Sukuna is older and sexier, after all, he’s clearly had a lot more experience than you do.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna rests his head on his palms, elbows flat on the bed as he turns to you. The expression on his face is unreadable, but there’s some sort of softness behind it – a softness you’re not really familiar with.

“Hey. I don’t exactly know what you’re going through, not everything, anyway, but whatever we have right now, I want you to know it’s not because I see just as a pretty pussy, okay?” he says with a straight face, but you really shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up because Sukuna smirks, mischievous eyes darting back and forth to your soaked pussy and bare breasts. “Although you do have a pretty pussy. Can I eat you out again?”

With that, you snatch the pillow underneath him and whack it straight at his face. Sukuna laughs at your protests, the sound growing louder and a lot more mocking the harder you hit him. “Gosh, Sukuna, shut up!”

You end up hitting him way too many times in the face that he can’t get his words through, and before you could react, Sukuna’s ripped the pillow away from you. He cages you in his arms and hovers over you once more, his boneless dick grazing the insides of your thigh. It’s not meant to be sexual, and nothing about his stance gives off anything that shows he wants to do it again, but you can’t help but feel aroused, shifting your legs up and down the bed as you squirm.

“Seriously though,” he repeats, “We can be casual, or this could be a one time thing. Card’s all yours to play. If you want to forget everything tomorrow, I’d gladly do it. Let’s just go back to the way we were-”

“Sukuna.”

“Yes?”

“Did you really think I was only using you to distract myself?”

Sukuna’s lips flatten into a line. “I’m not stupid,” he says somberly, “I could tell you were still thinking about him. Not that I mind, though, you can’t stop yourself from loving someone,” Faintly, you’re distracted by his thumbs rubbing at your pulse point. It’s so lulling you want to fall asleep, but Sukuna isn’t done talking. “My point is…you don’t have to worry about being weird with me. We could just be friends with benefits, if you want, and not the kind you have with your boy toy either. ”

His blatantly catches you off guard and your eyes widen before they narrow at him, trying your best to hide your embarrassment. If Megumi was painfully honest, Sukuna’s ridiculously blunt that his mere words make your heart do weird things you’d rather not feel.

Careful, you remind yourself, Megumi is the one you want. You have to keep reminding yourself that before your feelings get the best of you. It’s Megumi, it’s always been Megumi and it always will be Megumi. Sukuna is just your roommate who’s nice enough to take your mind off things. You only wish you weren’t lying too much in case he gets the wrong idea you’re leading him on, but then again, isn’t that what you’re doing?

Friends with benefits or not – you still have no plans on getting involved with this guy any longer.

It’s always Megumi. You just really needed a quick fuck, someone whose dick didn’t belong with the guy you’re so hung up on over. The change feels nice and you definitely feel a lot better than the last time you met Megumi, but this guilt…it tastes bitter on your tongue, too heavy to swallow and ignore. It’s always Megumi, you tell yourself again in an attempt to relieve your pain.

Though it doesn’t subside and you huff in exasperation, turning away from Sukuna. You can’t stand looking at him right now.

“I’m not,” you mumble weakly, but the tears – the guilt, the heartbreak of not being Megumi’s lover, the regret and the ironic need to be closer to Sukuna feels all so confusing – all threaten to burst through. You don’t want him to see you cry, that would be lame, so you scoot closer to him and kiss his shoulder as you shyly ask, “C-can we cuddle?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “You don’t have to sound too nervous to ask.”

“Sorry, it’s just-”

“He never does that?”

“…Yeah.”

“Well, I’m not him,” Sukuna answers confidently, surprising you when he grabs your ass to press you flush against him. You’re both sweaty and hot to the point it’s uncomfortable, but Sukuna smells so sweet with his lingering cologne that you can’t help yourself from planting your face in his neck, breathing in the little hums he makes. Sukuna kisses the crown of your head – which is a little too sweet than you’d like – while his other hand runs down your back in a slow, sensual manner. Hell, it feels close to body worshipping, and you hate that you silently want more of this. “I’d cuddle you every day if you asked me to.”

“You’re surprisingly sweet,” you voice with a smile. Sukuna’s chest rumbles from the low laughter, and like that, you cling to him like he’s the only sturdy pillar in your life. It’s pathetic, maybe even desperate, but if he doesn’t mind, then why should you?

However, the moment is quickly ruined when the bell rings. “Shit, I forgot he was coming over!”

Sukuna glares at the door and holds you tighter, almost possessively, and refuses to let you go even as you squirm under him. “At three in the morning?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to meet him right now,” you groan helplessly.

Sukuna shoots you a blank look after that, then shoots out of the bed in an instant. You watch as he quickly dresses up in a fresh pair of sweatpants, grabbing a random hoodie from the back of his chair, presumably to hide the scratch marks. You have to hide your smile behind your hand because he looks so drool-worthy with marks littered on his already marked skin, and the fact he lets you mark him is even hotter.

He pauses at the door for a moment, pointing a finger at where you peered up at him curiously. “Stay there. I’ll talk to him and say you went out or whatever. Just make sure to silence your phone in case he calls. Better yet, turn it off.”

Sukuna closes the door behind him, already on the way to the entrance just as you press your ears against the door to eavesdrop. There’s a slight shuffling before the door unlocks, then, “Why the fuck did you lock-” Megumi pauses in his words, and you can perfectly picture his infamous scowl painting his handsome features already. Gosh, you wish you could actually see it, but if Megumi catches you sleeping with someone else, he might totally lose interest in you. That’s not something you could afford to happen.

“Oh. You’re her roommate.” You snigger at his usual what the fuck tone – how Megumi of him.

“Hey, kid, it’s a little too late for a visit, don’t you think?” Sukuna taunts, and it takes everything in you to not burst through the door at that moment. You’re stuck between wanting to laugh and crying, mostly because you would love and hate for Megumi to get riled up. “Do your parents know you’re here? Kids shouldn’t be out this late.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, I’m in uni,” he defends, “Do you know where Y/N is? I need to talk to her.”

Deciding fuck it, you open the door by an inch, just enough to peek. As expected, Megumi is glaring behind Sukuna’s shoulders in search of you. Meanwhile, Sukuna’s completely calm, checking his nails boredly as if Megumi isn’t fuming in front of him. And boy, do you know how much Megumi hates being ignored. “Oh, I think she went out, I don’t know why though. House was empty when I got here.”

“She didn’t tell you where she was going?”

At Megumi’s imposing tone, Sukuna tilts his head to scrutinize Megumi. Now that you’re seeing them together, Sukuna’s twice the size of Megs, their height and shoulder width too different to start comparing. But knowing Megumi, he’s not going to back down from a tattooed guy twice his size, not even as he sarcastically remarks, “Ain’t you her friend? She should be telling you that kind of stuff.”

Truthfully, you expected he would put up more of a fight. The two of them share a heated staring competition before Megumi scoffs, the first one to look away. “Whatever,” he dismisses, “Tell her to pick her damn phone up. I’ve been calling for the past hour.”

“I think I should tell her to get better friends.”

“What was that?”

“I said get home safely,” Sukuna chirps. Even with his back turned to you, you could tell Sukuna’s just further pressing his buttons with a grin that’s not meant to be inviting at all. Just when you think it’s done, however, Sukuna finishes off with, “Kid.”

Megumi rages. His blue eyes flame into something feral, his fists balled at his sides. He’s always had a temper issue and you nearly reveal yourself to stop whatever fight is about to ensue, but Sukuna’s already closing the door, ridding any opportunity for the younger one to retaliate. At the sound of the door closing, Sukuna leans against the door, his smile still plastered on his face as if he knows you’re watching the whole time. He meets your eyes from the slight peep of his door, waving his hands sarcastically.

“Sukuna, you didn’t have to be so mean.”

“Sorry,” he isn’t apologetic at all. “Next time I’ll be nicer to your asshole crushes,” he adds with a slight roll of his eyes and you punch his chest playfully. You don’t stop him from grabbing your wrists to embrace you in a hug that doesn’t seem so platonic – but not so suggestive either. Sukuna rests his chin on top of your hand while he sways you both side to side, his voice muffled in your hair. “I understand why you’re attracted to him though. He’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, he is,” you agree sadly, thinking of how much it’s really all a waste Megumi has to be like that. “Just sucks his personality ruins everything.”

“A pretty face is always deceiving,” Sukuna suddenly pulls away and holds you an arm’s length away. “Hey, want to have early breakfast?”

“I think that would be late dinner,” you frown at him.

“Whatever, food is food,” he responds rather excitedly, and you watch as Sukuna rummages through the fridge. Now that you think about it, having sex so much really took a toll on you, and your stomach grumbles loudly. Sukuna hides his chuckles through the fridge but you hear him anyway, shouting at him that you’re not hungry. “Wasn’t asking, sweetheart. Now go get cleaned and changed, I’ll make something for you.”

If anyone were to tell you that a good fucking is all that’s needed for you to immediately form a new kind of friendship with your roommate, you’d call them weird. Sukuna isn’t necessarily out of reach, you and him just simply didn’t cross paths.

But now, you’re dressed comfortably in his boxers and the oversized shirt you stole from him, eating the slightly burn cheese sandwich he’s made, sharing conversation and laughing with him like you’ve been doing it for such a long time. Your sandwich is actually half forgotten on the plate as you whack your palms on the counter, “That’s how you and Prof Gojo met? I never would’ve expected you guys fought over a girl!”

“He was fucking annoying in high school,” Sukuna grumbles over an angry bite, “He was getting all the girls that when someone confessed to me, the hottest chick, no less, he straight up punched me in the face,” you laugh as you imagine the memory of a younger, already rebellious looking Sukuna getting smacked by the even more intolerable Gojo Satoru. Sukuna is lost in his own memories as well, shaking his head from around the last bites of his bread. It’s clear he hates the burnt crust judging from the way he turns a little green, but he’s bragged about his cooking skills so proudly that he has to save face in front of you. “Ah, such good times,” he muses before wincing at his own words, dropping his bread in disgust. “Damn, I sound old, don’t I?”

“You’re only like, five years older than me, it’s fine,” you giggle, “I like the maturity that comes with older people. You’re a lot easier to be with than guys my age.”

“Please,” Sukuna smirks, “Just say you like fucking older men. I won’t judge.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would be jumping over the counter to strangle your roommate who’s now running like hell, your laughter bursting through the once silent apartment, you would call them a liar. But now, you and Sukuna are panting on the floor, too tired from sprinting all around before calling it quits. Maybe it’s a lie – maybe this connection will never really be that much of a big deal – but as long as this lie and play pretend of friendship lasts, you’ll just enjoy every sweet moment of it.

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#sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna x reader romance #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader imagines #ryoumen sukuna imagines #sukuna imagines #sweet lies: part two

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write-orflight · 3 years

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Galileo: Chapter 5

**Gif Not Mine**

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Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Light smut, 18+

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Unedited because i’m sleepy. There’s a fic I read when I first joined the fandom that inspired some of this chapter. i can’t remember the name but if you do, please tell me so I can credit. Comment on this chapter only or message to be on taglist please.

Chapter 5: Saturn

There was a rare occurrence that happens sometimes in Space where a Planet will tilt off its axis and disrupt the order of things in the galaxy forever. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn't make it not possible. You had always thought about that phenomenon and how you never quite understood how so many scientists just blindly believed in that possibility with no proof. It wasn’t until that dance with Spencer that you believed in it. If you were the galaxy, that dance was the tilt in your axis.

Nothing could quite be the same again.

It seemed that Spencer himself was the disruptor.

Since that day, everything between the two of you was different. It was simpler. It was too easy to have conversations, to laugh at each other's jokes, to spit inane useless facts at each other. But it also became too easy to melt at Spencer’s bright smile, too easy to stare at his hands as he helped you with your math sometimes, too easy to flush whenever he paid you a compliment on your work.

Too easy to fall in love with him.

You didn’t want to think about that but you couldn’t help it. At first, you wanted to chalk it up to you not knowing how to differentiate your feelings. Maybe you just thought you were in love with him because he was the first guy to be nice to you since Jonathan but as the days went on you knew that to not be the case. None of this felt like how you were with Jonathan. With Spencer, it just felt easy. Just felt right.

It was the weekend so you had off work. Before you would always end up going into work anyway and getting some extra logs in but now you liked staying in and hanging out with Spencer. Right now the two of you were walking in the plaza near your home, fresh cups of coffee in hand. Spencer, at first, did not want to be out but after some convincing (which was just you threatening to leave without him, which he did not like) he was all for joining you out. The two of you stopped in a bookstore and you made a beeline for the astrology section. You hear Spencer scoff when you pick up a book to look through it. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?” You say.

“Astrology, really? Aren’t you a scientist?”

“Yea, an astronomer. I love Space, so while Astrology isn’t a proven science. It’s fun to think the stars have a say in what kinda person you are.” You shrug. “When’s your birthday?”

“October 28th.”

“Of course you’re a Scorpio.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Astrology isn’t real.”

“You must be real fun at parties.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, what’s your sign?”

“I’m a Cancer. Did you know that water signs are the most compatible? Especially Scorpios and Cancers.”

Spencer laughs out loud at that. You turn looking him in the eye. “What’s funny?” you say.

“That itself doesn’t tell you that astrology is bullshit?” He laughs. You narrow your eyes at him. “I mean, us, compatible? It’s funny.”

You try. You try so very hard not to look hurt by his words, you know Spencer’s a profiler and will see right through it. And he does by the sympathetic look he gives you.

“You’re right, maybe it is bullshit.” You say, putting the book down instantly. “Let’s go home.”

You and Spencer don’t talk the whole walk home, in fact you don’t talk when you get there. You’re about to just retreat to your room when you feel a hand circle your wrist.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“You didn’t do anything.”

“I hurt your feelings.” He says.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lied. “I’m just with you all the time. Sometimes I just need a minute alone. Is that okay?”

He lets go of your wrist. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

You nod and retreat to your room, blowing a heavy breath as you fell into your bed. Might as well take a nap. You thought as you let sleep take you over.

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Long, slender fingers found their way into your hair and yanked roughly. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that came behind it. You felt the lips that were sucking hard bruising marks into your neck smirk slightly. His other hand trailed your body lightly until they met their final destination at your sex. You gasp loudly when the digit rubbed soft circles around your clit.

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked, you nodded dumbly before moaning out loud when the first digit found its way inside you. Spencer smirked at you. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asked, you nodded and gasped again as he found that spot inside you. “Hmm, I don’t think you want it enough baby.”

You’re shaking your head immediately. “No. Ple-please fuck me.” You stutter. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

The smirk he gives you is almost devilish. “Alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says as you feel member pressing up against your sex--

You wake up to the smell of something burning and Spencer shouting expletives from what you assumed was the kitchen. You groaned, frustratedly. Since that day your mom came to visit, you dreamed of Spencer almost constantly. Today was no different. You couldn’t escape him in your waking hours and now it seemed you couldn’t even escape him sleeping.

You hop out of bed and run to the kitchen. The sight before is Spencer frantically waving the billowing smoke that was coming from your oven. You run to open your window and turn the oven fan on. You both look at the pan that had something that couldn’t even be described as food anymore by the degree of which it was burned. Spencer looked at you guiltily.

“You seemed upset so I thought I’d make you dinner but I was reading and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You smile at him. “Thank you for thinking of me but I wanted chinese tonight anyway, sound good?” You say, he nods gratefully.

Later the two of you are sitting at your kitchen table, eating chinese out of the takeaway containers. You were talking about nothing and everything until the topic came to College. You talked about how freshman year you did the whole partying thing before quickly finding out it wasn’t your scene and keeping to yourself for the rest of your college career. Spencer told you he never went to any parties in college.

“You never went to any parties?!” You asked, shocked.

“Well, I was 12. No one was really scrambling to invite me to frat parties.”

“So you didn’t do any traditional college games? No beer pong? No ‘Never Have I Ever’?” You ask, Spencer shakes his head. That’s when you get a fantastic idea. You get up and look in the cabinet above your stove which is where you kept your liquor and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Spencer sees this and immediately shakes his head.

“No.”

“Aww, come on. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” You smile. “If you’ve done the thing you drink.”

“I don’t want to play a remedial drinking game.”

You think for a second. “How about this? You’re a profiler, right? And I like to think I’m a little observant so how about this. We’ll take turns making assumptions about the other if the person is right, the other drinks and if they’re wrong, you drink.”

“I don’t know… it probably isn’t wise for me to be drinking. I’m supposed to be watching you.”

“It’s not like we go anywhere that’s not here anyway.” You say. “Plus, if you're good at your job, you’ll hardly have to drink.” You throw a pouty face on for good measure. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Fine.” He says standing up and snatching the bottle from you, walking to the living room. You giggle at him before grabbing two glasses to follow him out. “Just so you know, it’s wrong to peer pressure people.” He says.

“Well, what’s a college drinking game without peer pressure.” You laugh.

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

“Who’s starting?” You say as you watch Spencer pour your glass. The two of you are settled on opposite ends of your small couch, facing each other, your knees just almost touching.

“You can.” Spencer says. “I want to see if you're actually observant.”

“Okay.” You say, sitting up slightly at the challenge. “You’re an only child.” You say. Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, shocked you actually got something right, but drinks anyway.

Spencer looks at you for a second. “You have an older sibling you are not close to.”

You drank. “Yea I’ve got an adoptive older brother. There’s nothing wrong, it’s just he was already much older when I was born and we have nothing in common, other than our parents.” You look at Spencer for a second. “I wanna say divorced parents, but only raised by one.”

“You’re a lot more observant than I thought.” Spencer says as he drinks. “Dad left when I was 10.” He says offhandedly.

The game goes like this for a while, both of you confirming your beliefs of each other. You find out about Spencer’s mother's illness, Spencer learning you smoke when you’re stressed. Spencer was winning though, not that you had a problem with that as you wanted to drink, hence why you suggested the game. You were giving him a little bit of a run for his money. It was now your turn and the alcohol in your system must’ve turned off your filter because you say.

“You’re a virgin.”

You pause for a second waiting for him to drink when you realize he’s waiting on you to. You widen your eyes in shock but take your drink anyway. “I thought Maeve died before you got to meet her fully.”

Spencer nods. “She did.” He says, “The two don’t correlate.” He says, like it's obvious.

You hadn’t been expecting that. “You just didn’t strike as the hit it and quit it type.”

“And I’m not, but sometimes things are just temporary.” He says looking at you, deeply in your eyes. “You were upset today, in the shop because I said we weren’t compatible.”

You solemnly take a drink. “Why?” He asks.

“Hey, that’s not a part of the game.” You say.

“Please?” He adds.

You sigh. “I don’t know… I guess, it seemed like the idea of being with me repulsed you. And that was upsetting.”

Spencer looks at you with the most intense look in his eye. You had never seen that look before and you were glad you hadn’t because it was so heated that it was melting you where you sat. “The idea of being with you…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Doesn’t repulse me. Trust me.”

You knew you weren’t the best at social cues sometimes but that seemed like a pretty big one. You move closer to him, so that your faces were close but someone would still have to make that final move. You realize it’s your turn, so you think, Fuck it...

“You want to kiss me right now.” You say, looking Spencer in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow swig from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. He sits his glass down on the table next to him before saying.

“You want me to kiss you.”

You sip your drink, looking him right back in the eyes. You sit your glass down next to his and Spencer's hand catches your wrist on its way back. Before you can even get a good look at him, his lips are crashing on to yours. You groan in surprise before melting into it, your hands immediately going for his hair. His massive hands almost engulf your face as he tries to pull you impossibly close to him. He groans as he licks into your mouth, both of you tasting like the Jameson you had just drunk but there was also something under it that was just pure Spencer. You push him back until you are fully seated in his lap. His hands go immediately to your waist. Feeling risky, you experimentally grind your hips, causing Spencer to groan and grip you tighter. His hands slide up your shirt slightly, you moan at that.

“Fuck-” Spencer says as you suck bruises down his neck. “Fuck, w-we’ve gotta stop.”

You pull back. “Why?” you ask.

Spencer swallows, pushing you off his lap. “There’s this thing called transference. You only want me right now because I’m protecting you. You don’t like me.” He says. “We don’t like each other.”

You realized what Spencer was trying to say. You were both drunk and there, he didn’t really want you. It was being stuck together for so long that was making him attracted to you. You were foolish to think a guy would actually want you.

“You don’t like me.” You say. “And I read this situation wrong again. God, I’m an idiot!”

“I didn’t say that, Y/N-”

“No, you’re right. You only kissed me because I’m what you’ve been stuck with for weeks. You don’t like me. I can’t blame you no guy ever does.”

“No, Y/N, I just didn’t want to take advan--”

“I need to smoke. I’m going out.” You say, grabbing. “Alone.”

“Y/N, that’s not safe and you know it. Let me go with you.”

“I think we both need to be away from each other. I’ll only be out front. Please.” You plead to him.

Spencer doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue to go. You pull your pack and lighter out the kitchen draw and stomp out the door. As soon as you get in front of the building, you light the first cigarette as stray tears fall down your face. You were such an idiot to think someone like Spencer would want you. Sure you were both smart but you were arrogant and spiteful. Spencer was the sweetest person ever when you got to know him. It was stupid to think there was a world the two of you would work.

You frustratedly put your cigarette out and stand to head back inside to probably embarrass yourself some more when you feel it.

The hard slam to the back of your head knocking you out cold.

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

Taglist: @lokislilslut @spencerreidslove @evelyncade @ceeellewrites @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @eevee0722 @fiftyshadesof-reid @cielo1984 @differentkettleoffishalltogether @criminalmindzjunkie @bbygirlq2020 @quillanpie @themanwiththreephds @itshatertatertotblog @bihoeofmanyfandoms @baby-i-am-fireproof @graciehams @no-honey-no @capricornmashmallow @itsarayofsunshine @big-galaxy-chaos

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader smut #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #bau x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

💔Rotten Love💔 //Twisted Wonderland Yandere Idia Shroud X Yandere Eliza X Reader// Part 1

GIF made by the amazing @flowerofthemoonworld. Okay, so this story is really going to have a Persephone x Reader x Hades vibe to it. If we can get this to 160 likes before July 12 than I’ll release part 2. For now, my goal is to make it a 4 part story with a bonus 5th fluff chapter. Also for this story reader will be GENDER NEUTRAL.

WARNING: Gore, Angst

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

There was always a cold, nostalgic air in the Ignihyde dormitory, a sort of homey sensation that made Eliza's heart skip a beat. Sure the dorm was quiet and secluded, unlike the ghost kingdom, there was barely anyone to talk to. Most may have even described it as "lonesome" and "boring". But to princess Eliza who had waited more than five hundred years to be with her prince charming, it was unadulterated, homespun bliss. Of course, there was still something missing, a tiny puzzle piece that refused to fit in with the rest of its kind, a stubborn little piece it was, yet all too important to paint the picture of her perfect life. That mulish fragment came in the form of her newly wedded husband, Idia Shroud.

"Idia~"

The "young" princess sang as she skipped over to where her "husband" was sitting, his posture crooked, like that of a scrunched up cat's. His long slender fingers where typing rapidly on that bizarre rectangular device that he all too attached to. Way too attached to, for Eliza's liking.

Eliza nuzzled her visage into the crook of the bleached-skinned boy's neck, taking in his smokey, ash-like sent. Her icy colored arms wafted over his shoulders, enclosing them his a tight embrace. Her fingers dangled over where his heart was, feeling tiny fast-paced pulses that sent a pleased blush to her face. "Idia let's go for a walk near that river. Please, my love! You haven't left this room since the reception!"

The taller male barely turned to look at her, preferring to instead to keep his eyes locked on his glowing blue screen. "Still busy Eliza" his cold dead voice was always so sharp and monotone whenever he spoke to her. It felt like someone was reaching into her rib cage and squeezing her decaying heart. Her voice cracked into a thousand tiny shards, as she tried to form a comprehensible answer. He might as well have told her to die again and rot in the deepest parts of hell. He doesn't love me....he'll never love me. The relation was like a heavy chronic toxic gas levitating overhead. Easy to overlook but still there, always there. Idia didn't move, if Eliza's arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders feeling every breath he took, she might have mistaken him for a statue. No, not a statue, she thought, some sort of sculpture of an ancient Greek God. A divine being set in stone resting in an altar, waiting for reparations and benedictions. 'I'd gladly pray at your feet every day. I'd sacrifice everything I had just for you to smile that charming smile at me'. The ghost thought to herself.

For an endless minute, the darkroom fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Neither Eliza nor Idia moved both too scared of breaking some invisible glass wall they had put up around them. However, no amount of serenity could dispose of the awkwardness, and annoyance Idia was beginning to feel. "You know" the lord of the dead began "maybe you should talk to the principle about join the school full time. It would give you more to do than breathing over my shoulder" despite Idia's tone harboring no malice, Eliza still flinched in shock. Her body going rigid, stiffening as if she was going into Rigor Mortis again.

HE DOESN'T WANT YOU HERE!

The voice in her head screamed,

HE HATES YOU!

Louder...

WHY CANT YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE

"Please stop" she whispered

YOU DON’T DESERVE YOUR PRINCE!

"If that's what you want" she finally replied in a broken voice.

"I'm... I'm only saying it for your sake," he muttered in a coaxing tone.

Deep down a delusional part of her wanted to scream that he was only saying all those harsh things for her own well-being. But she was still lucid enough to not believe those fallacies, imaginary words...Eliza perceived that her beloved prince Idia saw her as nothing more than a nuisance. One that he was far too eager to get rid of.

She couldn't bear the conversation any farther. Painfully slowly she peeled her arms off from around her so-called lover. In that taunting minute, Eliza swore she could feel billions upon billions of sharp needles piercing every piece of her dead body. She lingered in place staring at Idia's glowing, blazing hair. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to spend every second of her dead life with him! Touching him, kissing him, loving him! But he wouldn't love her! Why didn't he love her!! Without a customary goodbye or any form of acknowledgment, Eliza flew to the door. Swinging it open just a crack, wishing to slam it so hard that the whole underworld dorm would feel it. But alas she was still royalty and there was a politeness beaten into her every action. In the end after much debating, she closed the damn door quieter than a mouse. With a broken heart and eyes full of tears, princess Eliza began to hover up onto the surface of the school grounds.

WHY DOESN'T THAT SELFISH BASTARD LOVE ME!

A simple blaring thought that reverberated through Eliza's nonexistent skull as she marched through the glowing green halls of Night Raven College. Unlike Ignihyde, the rest of the school still felt rather alien and terrifying to the girl. She'd only been in the cafeteria for a short amount of time. Only to finish up her official marriage to Idia. After the marriage -and much persuasion from his friend with grey hair and glasses- Idia had carried Eliza in the traditional manner a groom must carry a bride, to the hall of mirrors and straight to Ignyhde. Neither of them had left Idia's room since then.

It was a rather short memory but one that always placed a smile on Eliza's face. Rather than remembering the halls, Eliza had been all too bewitched by Idia's shy golden gaze, his bloody red face, and his kissable thin blue lips. Such a darling memory that she would always cherish within her rotten heart.

But as the minutes ticked away and Eliza passed hallway after hallway all identical to one another, she soon began to wish that she'd paid more attention to the whereabouts of the school's rooms and offices. The headmaster's office seemed to be missing from this endless maze. Behind every corner was the same tiled floor, candles lit by a mystical green light and windows so large they put the countless classroom doors to shame. Every few minutes a crowd of students would pass by, disappearing behind another wall withing second. No one noticed her, which was rather odd considering she was the only female in an all-boys school, her purple dress and feminine curves were proof enough of that. "I guess this is the result of being a ghost, wandering the land of the living" She whispered hopelessly to herself. "You're invisible when you're me..."

The eighth turn that Eliza took brought her to a small cluster of peculiar students. Some donning ears and tails like those of wild beasts, while the other had odd features resembling Ortho's limps. Metallic and reflective. They were laughing at something, attentions enclosed within their small groups. A measly thought flew into Eliza's head, why not speak up? Raise your voice and ask where she could locate the headmaster of this complex establishment.

"Excuse me."

“....”

Silence

None of the boys turned to her, they just continued with there chatter. Eliza opened her mouth to speak once more when she -rather unwillingly- picked up stray words from their conversation.

"It's not fair!" A tall lanky one with striped ears and tail whined

"Yeah! How come that useless shut-in gets to get married to a cute girl !" the second one was even taller, with thick furry grey ears that reminded Eliza of a wolf.

"Look man I don't know what Idia has that makes him so damn lucky! He's a useless wimp..." A Bold statement made by the one with metallic features.

Eliza was sure they continued bashing Idia but the phantom pain of blood coursing through her ears droned them out. How dare such hooligans speak ill of her beloved husband! Her fingers flexed in a robotic-like movement, stretching open than closing once more. Around her tiny flame-like spirits began to materialize, cute and cheery with big eyes and smiling mouths...until they noticed the distress of their mistress. the tiny things took a look around, grasping the situation from the loud words of the boys as well as Eliza's grim expression. Slowly the little flames began to merge with one another. Fusing into a large ax with a burning end. The weapon floated down to her hand, positioning itself smugly between her ghostly digits.

Eliza's eyes locked with the backs of the boys, she didn't know how this would work, could the ax could even harm the living? It may just phase through them as if nothing had happened....or it may price through there flesh and bones, tearing them in two. Hosting the ax up over her shoulder with both hands and taking a shaky step forward, Eliza lunged towards the first boy. In a swift flick of her wrist, the blade of the ax was pushing through the Ignihyde student's back. Splitting ceaselessly at the skin and urging past muscles until it reached the creamy colored bones. Eliza didn't stop there, her arms still pushing forward trying to get the heavy ax to break those pesky osseins. He had to pay for what he said! No one was permitted to speak ill of her one true love! A satisfying crack filled the air followed by a choir of screams. Only when the ax had finally resurfaced on the other side, covered in plasma and the remnants of organs, did Eliza turned her attention to the other two students. There eyes where enormous staring at her in disgust and fear...and something else. Something that -although it revolted her to her very core- she wished Idia would look at her with that same look in his eyes. A look of want, a look of need, pure lust, yet the welcoming sort ONLY if it was coming from the person you adored so much.

The blue-haired ghost didn't move, her semi existent body felt overworked. Everything hurt! Or at least she thought what she was feeling was the ghost equivalent to human pain. "Why.." her voice glitched at every syllable, like a broken cassette player. The two boys didn't answer instead taking shall strides backward. "WHY DID YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT HIM!" in a split second, anger over ran Eliza's boy once more, dragging her and the ax forward until the blade came in contact with one of the animal eared men's neck. Slicing it so it flung backward, crashing onto the ground with loud "thud" then rolling around in its own gore. The last man stand, the one with monochrome ears pushed his palms forward, a pathetic attempt of shielding himself from her wrath. "W-we..we d-d-did...didn't-t mean...mean any..offense...honest!" His voice creaked as tears gushed from the corners of his eyes. "You're...you're just so...so...pretty...beautiful even...and...and...Shroud well...we...well, he's a loser who w-w-wouldn't kno--" his words were left half-finished, as Eiza's ax severed through him diagonally.

Her heart was pounding much too fast, that it was beginning to make her feel sick. Her legs finally gave up, sending her crashing onto the blood coated floor. Her bare knees dug into the red liquidy substance, finding an odd comfort in the warm human ichor. Eliza didn't know what to do, or even where to go. If she went back to Idia like this he would surely use it against her, Ortho was too young to be introduced to such a carnage...and she didn't know anyone else! "I'm all so very doomed" she sobbed as transparent tears trailed down her eyes.

"Hey" A distant voice spoke up. "What's wrong with her?" another voice, this one more high pitch and raspy. Eliza tore her face from her hands looking up at a group of three strangers and a cat...no, not strangers, she recognized the orange and blacked haired boy. They both had tried to crash her wedding. But the other person was new, they had a gentle look in their eyes, a welcoming stare that the princess longed for. "Hey ghost bride," The orange-haired boy spoke up, "need some help with your mess?" Eliza nodded meekly. Her body still limp and voice still too frail to speak. The last person, the one that had unexpectedly piqued Eliza's interest extended a hand towards her. And with only a scrap of hesitation, Eliza gripped it.

"Come on, we'll help you out!"

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

Tags: @yandere-romanticaa @ghostiebabey @lovee-infected @mermaid-painter @firemelody4 also tagging @twstpasta and @delusional-obsessions cause I know they're huge Eliza fans.

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puredivinity · 4 years

Text

for you. (levi ackerman x reader)

word count: 1886

content warning: nsfw, odaxelagnia/biting, mentions of blood, brief blood thing

this also probably isn’t 100% true to vampire lore, but i had fun with it and i hope you do too!

this fic is @anlian-aishang approved, by the way

masterlist

You’d looked outside of the window, gawking at the people dressed in costumes beneath you. You wished you could join them—not that you couldn’t—but you’d rather be at home, snuggled up with your lovely husband of 143 years. Yep, you heard me: one-hundred forty-three years.

That’s a long time, especially when you’re a vampire. It’s even longer when you’re a human! You were a human years and years ago, before you’d met Levi. He, like most vampires, was initially repulsed by you, given that you were a human. His companions weren’t, however. Farlan and Isabel looked at you like one of their own, laughing and cracking jokes with you. You’d hang out with them all the time which allowed Levi to warm up to your presence, eventually regarding you as “not as shitty,” in his book. A win for you!

Levi leaned against the doorway, watching you stare outside of the window. He shook his head, smirking. “Hey,” he called out to you, locking your gaze once you’d turned to face him. “You can go out if you want, you know that.”

“I know,” you smiled, walking over to him and cupping his face in your hands. “I like spending the day with you and doing what we’ve done for the past century. If I went out, I wouldn’t get to spend it with you.” You pecked his nose, giggling when he scrunched his face in mock disgust.

His tongue grazed a sharp fang while his eyes searched yours for any sign of doubt; if you wanted to go out and have fun, he didn’t want to stop you.

“Okay, if you say so,” he sighed, pulling you in by your waist for a deep kiss, hands sliding down to your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. You squeaked, pulling away and slapping his chest.

“Levi, that hurt!”

“I know.”

—

You admired yourself in the mirror, happy with your outfit. You weren’t going anywhere, but you did like to dress up for the Halloween spirit. That, and to see how long Levi could keep his hands off you. It was quite a fun game and so far, you two were tied: you’d begged him to fuck you as many times as he’d lost control. You had to admit, the man was patient. You, on the other hand, not so much.

At least, not when he looks at you like that.

You were dressed up in a vampire costume, but with a touch of lingerie. A vampire dressed up as a vampire. Funny. Your fingers slipped under your stocking, twisting it around. It snapped against your leg and you gave yourself a once over before heading downstairs to join your husband.

Levi dressed up just to humor you, though he didn’t find it as enjoyable. He didn’t really see the point of it, the whole dressing up thing. But, it was something you liked and asked him to do, so he did.

He never got really creative with his costumes, and neither did you. Every year the two of you went as some variation of vampires: Levi wearing the traditional costume and you, being a sexy vampire. He never complained. Not that he had a reason to.

Levi stood by the couch watching you walk down the stairs. He gave your outfit a once-over, nodding in approval. He liked what he saw, not that you didn’t already know that. He motioned you over, inhaling the scent of your perfume once you’d reached him. He licked his lips.

“I take it you like what you see?” you smirked, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“Yeah sure,” He muttered in response, hungry eyes trailing up and down your figure. He wanted to take you right here and now, but then he’d lose, and you hadn’t even been down five minutes yet. His fingers slipped underneath your garter, gently tugging at it.

“Go put on the movie, I’ll make the popcorn,” he slapped your ass as he walked away, laughing at the noise you made.

—

You two were sat on the couch, you snuggled into Levi’s side and devouring the bowl of popcorn, while he had his legs crossed and sipped on the tea he’d brought from the kitchen.

You plucked another piece of popcorn from the bowl, holding it up to Levi’s lips. He chewed on it, taking a sip of his beverage right after. Levi didn’t enjoy the taste of human food very much but could tolerate it quite well. He didn’t stop you when you fed him, as long as it wasn’t in front of others.

The film ‘The Conjuring’ was playing on the flat-screen, both one of your favorites and a classic, from what you’d call your expert opinion. You and Levi watched this one every year since it came out, quickly becoming one of your favorites.

—

Your attention slowly deviated from the movie and fell upon Levi, whose hands were currently roaming your body and lips were on your neck, leaving burning hot marks. His touch lit you on fire; excited you like no other.

Your hands flew to unbutton his shirt, carefully undoing the buttons despite the urge to rip it clean off of him. You knew that if you did that, he’d withhold from you for a week—you found that out after getting a little carried away one time.

You also had to replace his shirt, but that was the better end of the consequence.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss, teeth colliding and fangs nipping at the other’s lips. You grinded against Levi’s hips, feeling the already growing bulge in his pants. He growled in response, untying your garments and allowed them to fall onto the floor, working his hands down to your bottoms.

You freed Levi’s erection from its confines, rubbing the pre-cum covered head with your thumb. You stroked it, using your other hand to help Levi unclothe you faster. Your panties were soaked and you wanted him deep inside of you, and fast.

Very fast.

—

Levi’s fingers rubbed your folds, coated with your slick. You keened, pleading eyes looking up at Levi. “Please,” you whimpered, bucking your hips at his very touch. The heat that pooled between your legs was almost too much for you to handle and you wanted him so badly; you craved him.

“I didn’t hear you,” Levi huskily whispered, breath tickling your ear. He slipped a slender digit into your hole, making you gasp at the feeling. A second soon followed, thrusting in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Levi,” you breathed, gripping onto his shoulder. “Please,” you swallowed, rolling your hips. “Please fuck me with your cock.”

He retracted his fingers, licking them clean before pushing your legs open a little wider, slowly sliding into you. He hissed at the hot feeling, watching as your core enveloped him. His face was nuzzled into your neck, sharp fangs grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck,” you breathed once he was all the way in, hard cock twitching inside of you. He filled you up and reached all the right areas, which was one of the many reasons you loved fucking him. He knew exactly how to pleasure you, making you orgasm multiple times without fail.

He pulled out, plunging back in with a force that rocked your body. His hips pounded yours, bringing you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. You’d already been halfway there before he even was inside, and you definitely weren’t gonna last much longer at this rate.

“Levi,” you cried out, pinching one of your hardened nipples. “Bite me, please.” He hesitated for a brief moment before he obliged and sunk his teeth into the flesh, sending a searing, white-hot sensation throughout your body. It felt so fucking good. Blood trailed from the wound down your neck and chest, and Levi lapped it up, holding your lust-filled gaze as he did so.

The knot in your core tightened as you were pushed closer and closer to your breaking point, head falling backward onto the plush arm of the couch. You reached your limit, crying out Levi’s name as you clenched around him. Your body convulsed as your orgasm overtook you, holding Levi tightly.

You came down from your high, panting softly. You weren’t finished yet, and neither was he. Upon looking back up at him, his eyes were glossed over and clouded with pure lust; desire, only for you. A droplet of your blood remained at the corner of his mouth, prompting you to wipe it with your thumb and lick it off.

Your breath hitched in your throat when Levi kissed you again, pulling you to straddle his lap. He wanted you to ride him in all your glory, and wanted to see you come undone, a second time, before his very eyes. His dark, firm blue eyes. You sank down on him, eyes locked on his. He made you feel like you were the most desired thing in the world, like you were the only girl in the world. He loved you fiercely, and showed that every time you did this.

You adjusted comfortably, legs on either side of Levi’s lap and your hands placed atop his chest, beginning to ride him. You moved slowly, trying to figure out a pace that was right for you; one that was easy to keep and felt good. You soon found your rhythm and bounced on Levi’s cock, staring intensely into his eyes.

He thrusted upwards, causing a gasp to fall from your lips and your movements to falter. The smirk appeared just as quickly as it left. His movements matched yours, creating a steady rhythm between the two of you.

As you continued, the familiar knot formed in your core. You were close; dangerously close. A shiver crawled down your spine, making your knees and thighs tremble. You leaned forward onto Levi for support, and he adjusted himself accordingly to make you more comfortable. His nails dug crescent shapes in your skin as his grip grew tighter and hips quickened, bringing both of you closer and closer to your release.

“Shit!” you screamed out in pleasure, body shaking as you reached your second orgasm. At the same time, you felt Levi’s seed shoot into you, a soft groan coming from beneath you.

The two of you sat there, coming down from your highs. You pulled back to look at Levi, finding him staring at the fang-shaped wound on your neck. It’d still been bleeding from earlier, and he was worried.

You brought your hand up to touch it, getting a bit of blood on your fingers.

“Maybe we should disinfect that,” Levi commented, making you giggle.

“It’s fine, honey,” you pecked his lips, giving him a smile that showed off your fangs. “Don’t worry.”

Levi was silent, eyes flickering from the wound on your neck to your eyes a few times, before nodding. “If you say so.”

You brushed some hair away from his forehead, peppering his face in soft, tender smooches. Something you always did after sex, regardless of the prior mood. You showered him in absolute love and affection, and that alone made his heart flutter.

Well, it would if it could.

For you. Only for you.

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #reader insert #modern au #vampire levi :D #literally in love with this au thank you #vampire au

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1-800-hellraiser · 3 years

Text

EWTBATF Vlahd x Teen!reader Oneshot

(!NOTE: THIS IS NOT A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE READER AND VLAHD, THIS IS A FATHER DAUGHTER TYPE RELATIONSHIP!

Hello! I made this oneshot for people with daddy issues who used to simp for Vlahd but now want him to be your dad. The reader uses they/them pronouns because I want everyone to be able to feel included while reading this.

Vlahd and Eddsworld The Beginning and The Friend doesn't belong to me! It's a fancomic made by Makenzie Matthews, Jaculynn Kristiansen, Alyssa Grissom and Brittany Clark. Eddsworld belongs to Edd Gould. If I use any art in this oneshot I will credit the artist and give their socials.

P.s: If this is well received, I might make a story about this, so stay tuned~

P.p.s: I know this isn't Creepypasta content, but I felt like doing something a bit different.)

!DISCLAIMER! This oneshot deals with a lot of gore, mental, emotional, and physical abuse, fighting, missing body parts, and swearing! If you are sensitive to these topics, I advise you don't read this oneshot! Also, some spoilers for the fancomic EWTBOTF, so if you haven't read it or haven't been reading it for the past few months, I urge you to do so. Not just for this oneshot, but the comic is also pretty good!

Tessellate

Word count: 3,569

Song: Tessellate - Alt J

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Three guns, and one goes off. Ones empty, ones not quick enough. One burn, one red, one grin. Search the graves while the camera spins."

The same thing happened every single day. You would wake up to screaming, try to shower and do your morning routine without being interrupted, spend the rest of the day your home trying not to get involved with your parent's marital issues, go to school, do chores, get screamed at for not doing something right, eat dinner, do homework, cry, then go to bed. This was your life since you were ten years old. Your biological father died when you were nine, then your mother got remarried a few months after your tenth birthday.

Your parents were very emotionally and mentally abusive. Sometimes they hit you, but would feign sorrow to try to make you feel safe around them. They continued this behavior for years, until you were thirteen. Apparently, your stepfather had gotten into some shady business with the infamous Red Leader. You had to move from your home country to England so your stepfather could work with the Red Leader. You were miserable, you had lost all of your friends you had in school. You had to go to a private boarding school, you never got picked on, but you found it hard to make friends. After a few moths, you finally got comfortable with your new surroundings.

One day though, that all changed for the worse. Your mom and stepfather got into a huge argument, apparently your mom was cheating on a man in the same army as your stepfather. He hit your mom, your mom left right after that. He then hit you really hard in the face, so hard that it left a mark. You burst into tears and ran to your room. You emptied out your book bag, and threw some clothes, hygienic products, your phone and charger, etc, into it. You quietly walked out of your room and out the front door while your dad wasn't looking. You walked down the streets of your neighborhood and out into the little town a few blocks away.

Popping your earbuds in, you listen to some music to try and calm yourself down. You walk around town for a about an hour before you passed a creepy alleyway. Unbeknownst to you, a man stepped out of that alleyway. He lightly tapped you on the shoulder. You stop dead in your tracks. You shakily turn around and take out your earbud to confront the man. A man with shaggy brown hair, an eyepatch, big eyebrows, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth stood before you. Its Paul, your stepfather's mate!

Paul asked why you weren't at your house and offered to take you back. You explained what happened and Paul was shocked and disgusted with your stepfather's behavior. He took you back to the Red Army base and let you stay there. You agree and he takes you to the base. As soon as you get there, Paul took you to talk with Red Leader himself. Scared, you explain to the Red Leader what happened with your mom and stepdad. Red Leader let you stay on base on one condition. You have to serve in the Red Army when you turn sixteen. You agreed because you had nowhere else to go.

It's been five months since your sixteenth birthday. You have been integrated into the Red Army, and you have made a bunch of freinds on the base. It's not so bad working for the Red Army. You even have a father figure now. Even though you'd never tell him you consider him a father figure, in fear of him not being ready to be a dad and pushing you away. Sargent Major Vlahd has been training you since you were fourteen. You started out being very skittish towards him. You didn't know what he would do to you. Eventually, you two have grown closer and closer together.

Vlahd has been teaching you Russian, and you have been working your ass off during training with him. He has taken you under his wing and now you live with him in an apartment Red Leader has for him. All of Red's most important people have their own apartment-type rooms. Vlahd's is built with a living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, and an entire ass library. Your room is right across from Vlahds. You have to do chores in your and Vlahd's apartment as well, but it's a small price to pay for a roof over your head and a non-toxic father figure.

"Y/n, ужины готовы (Y/n, dinner's ready)." Vlahd calls from the kitchen, you get up from your desk and decide to finish your studies later. You walk into the kitchen and see a big pot on the stove, whenever that big pot comes out, you know he's making borscht. You celebrate in silence and take a bowl from the cupboard. You spoon some borscht into your bowl, then you proceed to the dinning room table to sit with Vlahd. A little tradition you both started to do to make tou more comfortable around him. "So, how was your day?" You ask, to get a conversation going. "Все было хорошо, а как насчет твоего (It was okay, what about yours?)?" "Mine was pretty good." You say, spooning some borscht into your mouth.

"О, между прочим, Красный Лидер хочет, чтобы я нашел солдата, который недавно ушел из МВД. Так что завтра тебе не нужно тренироваться или учиться, у тебя выходной (Oh, by the way, Red Leader wants me to go find a soldier who has gone MIA recently. So you don't have to do any training or studies tomorrow, you have the day off.)." Vlahd finishes. You nod your head in understanding. "Who do you have to find?" It was often that soldiers went MIA to try and get out of the army and Red Leader's deal. Red is a ruthless man. "Мэтт, я думаю, его зовут (Matt, I think his name is)."

A small 'ohhhhh' left your mouth. Vlahd has had problems with this soldier before. He was not following orders, so Vlahd was ordered to contain him with any force necessary. That didn't go so well. Apparently, another person with Matt turned into a fucking horned beast and sent Vlahd to the medical wing for two weeks. He had broken two of Vlahds ribs and broke his leg. Finishing up your borscht, you bid Vlahd a goodnight, put your bowl and spoon in the sink, and return back to your room to finish your studies before you go to bed.

You awake to your alarm beeping at you. Sighing, you begrudgingly get up and put on your uniform and proceed to role call . After that, you take off your uniform and pick out your clothes for the day. If you're off duty, you don't have to wear your uniform. You pull out a f/c sweater and a pair of black jeans. You get dressed and go to the bathroom, Vlahd has already left, so you have the bathroom all to yourself. You take a shower and proceed with your morning routine. After you're done, you decide to make yourself some toast and have a nice cup of coffee. After you finish your breakfast, you clean up the kitchen and bathroom out of boredom. You pull out your phone and check the time. The digital screen reads 10:36 am, you groan out of boredom. Then, a wonderful idea popped into your head, you decided to take a walk off base.

You made sure to write a note for Vlahd and stuck it on the fridge if he returns before you're back. You also ask Red Leader if it's okay. He said that it was, so you go ahead and take a secret trail off base and into a huge, lush forrest. You stick in some earbuds and continue to walk into the forrest. From this trail, there is a small town on the other side. Usually when the base runs low on food, plates, utensils, etc, there is a store where you can buy things in bulk for cheap. You also know of a small café where you like to get drinks, they have really good tea and coffee. You arrive at Le Café de Campagne and enter. You order your favorite drink off the menu. You pay and sit down at the cute tables. The café was heavily inspired by France, with relatively French architecture and design.

Cute glass tables and tall chairs are scattered around the small café, a gorgeous mural is painted on the back wall near the counter and cash register. The mural depicts a beautiful countryside with a small cottage to the left behind a field of yellow and pink flowers. In the background, snowy-topped mountains and another cottage sit beautifully. The baby blue sky and fluffy clouds pull the entire piece together. Cute black vases hold pink and yellow tulips along with napkins, salt, and pepper. A display counter with delectable sweets ranging from Macaroons to Tarte Tatin sit in the window, ready to be eaten. On top of the display counter sits a miniature Eiffel Tower, and a bunch of other mini versions of popular tourist attractions such as the Louvre and the Notre Dame cathedral. The people who work there are pretty cool as well. You know most if the people that work there, such as Andrea. She's been working at the café since it opened three years ago. She's easily one of the sweetest people you've ever met.

"Y/n, you're order is ready!" Andrea's sweet voice calls to you. "Thank you so much, have a good day Andrea!" "You too Y/n!" She calls as you walk out the door. You continue to stroll through the tiny town, looking into windows of small shops. You stop in front of a small thrift store, you decide to look around. You start in the CD and DVD section. You found a CD of your favorite band, and a Smash Mouth CD, both for lest than a euro. Obviously, you decide to buy them. You go looking around in the long sleeve shirt section. You pulled out a cute blue-grey sweater that says "Big Dick Energy" on it in bold letters, as if it were school apparel. You look at the tag, it's your size and only five euros. You take that with you as well. Moving across to the pants section, you find a cute pair of high waisted black ripped jeans. They're your size and only seven euros, so you take it. You bring your items up to the cashier, you pay, then you leave.

You decide to walk more into the forest. You take a short cut through an alleyway between the thrift store and a small bank. You push past a few stray branches and step over some shrubbery. You walk along a naturally formed pathway, admiring the beauty of the nature around you. You keep walking until you feel a droplet of rain fall on your forehead, then a couple more. You take cover underneath a tree as rain pours from the sky. You slide your small f/c backpack off of your shoulders and pull out a travel sized sketchbook and a pencil case full of pencils and pens. You take out a graphite pencil and begin to sketch out some scenery infront of you. Rows upon rows of tall oak trees sit infront of you, along with a line of small bushes keeping the trees from growing onto that pathway. The dirt pathway is damp with rain water, some weeds and flowers have managed to grow through the pathway.

After you're done, you marvel at your sketch, you're definitely putting this on your wall later. You pack up your sketchbook and utensils. You also manage to fit your new thrifted items into your bag as well. You pick up the cup that houses the few drops left of your drink from the café. You quickly make it back to town and find a garbage can to throw the cup away. The rain is still coming down hard, and it's getting dark out. You pull out your phone and check the time. Your digital screen reads 16:57 (4:57 pm). You slip your phone back into the pocket of your jeans and hurriedly walk back to base. Almost slipping in mud a few times, you make it back to base. Once you enter your and Vlahd's apartment, You speed walk to your room and peel off your soaking wet clothes. You enter the bathroom and toss your clothes into the washer to clean them.

Slipping on the clothes you bought, you put away your CDs, wallet, sketchbook, and pencil case. You flop on your bed, now bored. You decide to re-read your favorite book, you haven't read it in a while. In the middle of you reading your book, you got a text from Vlahd. 'Подойдите к входу в большую базу, это срочно (Come to the big entrance, it's urgent.' The text reads, you respond with an 'okay'. You throw another pair of shows on that aren't soaking wet and speed walk to the big entrance in the base. That entrance is usually used for big shipments of cargo, you wonder what could have happened. Anxiety begins to catch up with you and so many negative thoughts run wild in your head. Your speed walking turns into a jog, which turns into a run, which turns into a sprint. You're dodging soldiers as you sprint down to the big entrance.

"Sargent Major Vlahd!" One of the nurses says in shock. You turn the corner just in time to see Vlahd, kneeled over. Your eyes begin to well up with tears. He's covered in blood, parts of his uniform are gone and replaced with huge gashes, his left arm is completely gone. He looks up at you, he sees you almost in tears, he tries to stand back up, but one of the nurses grabs his arm. "Take him to the infirmary, stat!" She says, trying to hustle him past the crowd that formed behind the nurses. Everyone is talking around you, can't hear anything though because of how shocked and overwhelmed you are. Vlahd tries to say something to you, but he's in so much pain that he cant speak. You have people step aside so the nurses can get through to make it to the infirmary in time.

You follow them to the medical wing, you try to follow them into the infirmary, but they won't let you. That's kind of understandable though, considering he needs emergency surgery to fix his arm, or what he has left of his arm. You see him through the infirmary window. Making eye contact with you, he gives you a weak smile before passing out from blood loss. You decide it's best to go back to your apartment, and wait it out. One of the nurses gave you her number to get updates on how Vlahd is doing. She knows how close you are with him, she could tell by the look in your eyes that you were devastated when he came back. You enter the apartment and go straight to your room.

You can't help but cry. You lost one of your father figures and you sure as hell aren't going to lose another one. In the middle of you sobbing, you get a text from the nurse, saying that Vlahds surgery was successful. He's going to have to stay in the infirmary for two to three weeks, but he's going to recover. You start sobbing harder out of pure joy. You hadn't even realized that you've been sobbing for almost two hours straight. The clock on your phone reads '20:37' (8:37 pm). You quickly go out to the kitchen and heat up some leftover borscht from last night. After you finish dinner, you go to bed. All of that crying made you exhausted.

Waking up was a but hard today, but you knew if you didn't show up for role call, Red Leader would be upset. Nobody want's to upset Red, he's terrifying when he's angry. So, you begrudgingly get up and grab an extra uniform you have. Walking into the bathroom, you remember about your clothes from last night. You take them and shove them in the dryer. You do your morning routine and then throw on your uniform half hazardly in a rush to get to role call. Making it to the role call room a bit early, you check your schedule for today. You have patrol with Paul today and that's it. Patrol is just you and Paul standing outside if the bases main entrance to make sure no one comes that isn't expected. Usually these are six hour shifts, but you only have to do four today. Thankfully its only a four hour shift today, you don't think you're mentally well enough to stay for six.

After role call, you met Paul by the main entrance of the base. You two greeted each other, then stayed silent. Until Paul spoke up, "I'm so sorry kiddo. I know this can be very stressful, especially when someone you're close to gets severely injured. It's really not fair what happened to him. Hopefully, he'll recover soon and things will go back to some sort of normality." You pull Paul into a tight hug. A few tears slip out of your tired eyes.You haven't had the time to really process this information. Now that you are on patrol, you can kinda marinate in your thoughts. You pull away from Paul's embrace, "Thank you Paul, I really needed that." You sigh, wiping away the tears that stuck to your flushed cheeks.

After Patrol, you go back to your apartment and change. You change into the Maroon sweater and jeans that are in the dryer. Before you head to the infirmary, you text the nurse to see if Vlahd is awake. Vlahd is a stong man, so the nurses and doctors had to use a lot of anesthesia to keep him unconscious during surgery. The nurse said he was awake, just a bit groggy. You thank the nurse and haul ass to the infirmary. You arrive at medical wing. The medical wing is confusing as hell to navigate. Its three floors, one is where the receptionist desk is, the waiting room, and all the machines like the x-rays, the cat scans, etc. The second one is used for less severe injuries, the third one is used for intensive care. Vlahd is on floor three, room number 108.

"Hello honey, what brings you to the medical wing today?" The receptionist asks in a heavy Jersey accent. "Hello, I'm here to visit Sargent Major Vlahd." The receptionist nods and types something on her keyboard. "Oh! You're Y/n, correct?" You nod. "Okay, sign this out for me please and write your name on this." She hands you a clipboard with a piece of paper you had to fill out in order to visit someone in intensive care. She also hands you a visitor pass that you stick on your shirt. Kind of like a name tag. You fill out the paperwork and pads, then you put the visitors pass on your sweater. You give the paperwork back to the nurse. "Alright sweetie, you know where Vlahd's room is right?" You nod. "Okay, have a good one!" "You too miss." You respond to the receptionist.

You impatiently ride the elevator up to floor three. As soon as the elevator opens, you speed walk to Vlahds room. Knocking on the door, you wait for permission to enter the room. "You can come in hon." The nurse says from the other side of the door. Proceeding to enter the room, all your attention goes to Vlahd. He looks miserable. "I'll leave you twonalone for a while, just hit the bed alarm if you need me." The nurse says then leaves the room. As soon as the nurse leaves the room. You sit down next to him, and try to hold in your tears. You dont want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. Vlahd tries to sit up, but you try to make him lay down again, he can't be straining this much. Although, considering Vlahd is a powerhouse of strength, you didn't get very far.

Instead, you gave up on fighting against him. Surprisingly, Vlahd pulls you into a tight hug. "Все в порядке, дорогая, все будет в порядке (It's okay honey, it'll all be okay.)." You broke down once again, sobbing into Vlahd's shoulder. You unknowingly grabbed fistfuls of his gown. "P-please don't ever leave me, I can't handle this, please d-don't ever leave me dad-" you cut yourself off has soon as 'dad' left your mouth. "I'm so sorry Vlahd, I-I didn't mean to- " "Y/n." Vlahd silences you. "Все в порядке. Я горжусь тем, что являюсь твоим отцом. Ты чертовски ребенок (It's okay. I'm proud to be your father figure. You're one hell of a kid.)." Vlahd states, you hug him once again.

"Thanks, dad."

#ily <3333 #ilysm <333 #<3 <3 <3 #<333 #eddsworld #x teen!reader #oneshots #tbatf vlahd #Vlahd x teen!reader #writers #writers on tumblr #eddsworld the beginning and the friend #ewtbatf

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: Slowly, more men are dancing on pointe, including in Seattle

Date: March 25, 2021

By: Moira Macdonald

The first time Ashton Edwards tried dancing on pointe, it felt like coming home. “It was just like magic. It felt beautiful on pointe. I felt like I could dance forever.”

Edwards, originally from Michigan, has been studying ballet since the age of 4, and is now an 18-year-old student in Pacific Northwest Ballet School’s professional division. Those tentative steps last summer, however, were the dancer’s first: Edwards is male, and in the world of classical ballet, male students traditionally do not receive pointe training. But he dreams of a future as a gender-fluid dancer, dancing all the roles he loves.

“I would love to do everything that would fit me as a person, not based on my gender but based on what I can do and who I am as a person, who I am as an artist,” he said.

For those who love ballet, the sight of a ballerina dancing on pointe is an everyday miracle; born from years of training that culminated in ethereal, otherworldly movement. But until recently, the idea of a man dancing on pointe was a rarity, mostly restricted to comic effect in narrative ballets like Frederick Ashton’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” or the all-male dance comedy troupe Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. In a world engaged in conversation about gender and inclusivity, however, things may be changing in ballet, just a bit.

A Bay Area company, Ballet22, was founded last year with the purpose of breaking gender norms, particularly in the ungendered use of the pointe shoe. James Whiteside, a principal dancer with American Ballet Theatre, makes viral videos of himself dancing — beautifully — on pointe.

And here in Seattle, Edwards is at the center of his own tiptoed revolution: He is the first male professional division student at PNB to take pointe technique classes. “He is quite remarkable on pointe and very committed,” said PNB artistic director Peter Boal. PNB faculty member Marjorie Thompson noted that while some male students borrow friends’ pointe shoes to play around, Edwards is different. “Ashton is a serious young person, and he has a serious desire and he is totally supported at PNB,” she said.

He’s not the only man at PNB who’s comfortable in a pair of pointe shoes. Joshua Grant, a soloist with the company, is a former member of Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo. As a Trock, Grant performed for five years on pointe, fascinated by what he saw as the company’s mission to “blur the lines of what is masculine and what is feminine.”

He’s currently choreographing a new work, called “Bright Young Things,” that will debut in June and feature Edwards on pointe — and that reflects his own love of the technique. For that work, he said, his thought process was simple. “I just wanted to put a boy on pointe! Why is it that women get to have all the fun, why don’t boys get all the fun, too?”

Pointe shoes have been around for a couple of centuries, originally born as a stunt. In her book “Apollo’s Angels: A History of Ballet,” dance historian Jennifer Homans explains that pointe work was first performed by early-19th-century Italian dancers — the first was said to be Amalia Brugnoli — who “blithely hiked themselves onto the tips of their toes and perched there for all to see.” The technique was soon refined by ballet pioneer Marie Taglioni (1804-1884) who smoothed the stunt into something more refined and elegant, darning the toes of her soft slippers to give support.

Later in the century, Italian shoemakers devised the pointe shoe with a hard toe box, made from layers of glue, paper and fabric; it was revised further in the early 20th century, with legendary Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova credited with popularizing a more modern pointe shoe with additional support at the toes and a hard leather sole. But it was nearly always women who wore them, achieving that magical elongating effect.

Grant remembers being fascinated by the soft thump of pointe shoes when attending ballets as a child. “I loved the sound the shoe made when it hit the floor,” he said. In his youth, he remembered watching ballets and feeling that “men always looked frumpy and dowdy, whereas women looked long and ethereal and weightless.”

When he finally saw his own foot in a pointe shoe, “it just took my breath away,” he said. “There’s something about putting on a pair of pointe shoes that gives me goose bumps.”

Men who want to dance on pointe face some challenges, the most significant of which is finding shoes that fit; men’s feet tend to be proportioned differently, and a woman’s shoe in a bigger size might not work. (It might be a bit easier these days: Two years ago, the first pointe shoe designed specifically for men became available, from the Russian company Siberian Swan.) And a taller, broader body might have more balancing issues — though, as Grant notes, there’s nothing natural about dancing on pointe, no matter what size you are.

Male students taking pointe class is new to PNB’s School, Thompson said, but a young man wanting to go on pointe would have been indirectly trained to do so through regular classes. The challenge is the structure of the feet, the ability to balance, to fully straighten the leg on pointe, to have enough abdominal strength to pull up rather than “sitting into the shoe.” All of these, Thompson said, apply as well to men as to women; some female students struggle with pointe due to issues with their feet.

“I think there’s a lot of misconceptions, that men are not flexible and can’t get on pointe,” said Theresa Knudson, executive director of Ballet22. She noted that in their company, “most of the men have better feet than I do.” At a high professional level, she said, “men and women are equal when it comes to taking class; the split is that the men are lifting and the women are on pointe.”

Edwards, who performed with Ballet22 for a digital show last year, was thrilled by the experience of being able to both dance traditionally female roles and contemporary new work. “It was just men, dancing equally as men on pointe, not trying to be women or trying to fit into any binary standard.”

Might ballet be headed toward a future in which roles aren’t necessarily dictated by gender? Tiny steps are being taken: At the English National Ballet in 2018, male dancer Chase Johnsey (a veteran of the Trocks) made history by performing female roles in the ensemble. Wendy Whelan, now co-head of New York City Ballet, commented at the time that “I don’t care what the body parts are, as long as artistically the dancer makes the choreography shine.” In that same New York Times article, she also expressed concern that ballet is already profoundly competitive for women, with men performing in traditionally female specialties presenting another hurdle.

But along with men dancing on pointe, women can learn what was traditionally called “men’s technique” — powerful jumps and leaps. American Ballet Theatre recently changed the names of its classes from “men’s” and “women’s” to simply “technique” and “technique with pointe,” to facilitate inclusivity, said ABT rep Kelly Ryan. Boal remembered a “legendary” men’s class taught at the School of American Ballet (New York City Ballet’s school) in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, regularly attended by the company’s ballerinas.

And PNB School managing director Denise Bolstad said in an email that female professional division students who request to take men’s technique classes will be allowed to do so, and noted that the school is “talking about mixing up the instructors going forward, men teaching women and women teaching men.”

Looking to the future, Grant thinks it might be a while before we would see gender-fluid casting in traditional ballets, but said it’s already happening in contemporary, nonstory ballets — “say, a plotless ballet with eight dancers, and you go on Friday night and it’s eight women, and on Saturday night it’s eight men.” He believes it’s the job of art to push boundaries, to get audiences a bit uncomfortable, “and then they can ask themselves why they feel uncomfortable. We’ve done our job by making them feel something. I think we’ll get there, eventually. It’ll be an interesting, turbulent flight.”

Meanwhile, Edwards keeps rehearsing, appreciating the support he’s receiving from teachers and fellow students — “all the girls are eager to help me!” And he’s imagining a future in which he might be able to dance “all my dream roles. I want to do Oberon and Titania [in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”]. I would love to explore all of the movement I can do, with no limits or restrictions. In a company, hopefully. Someday.”

#article #ballet #ballet dancer

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noxyfied · 3 years

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This, is Noxy/Noxyfied/Nox. This is the character I identify as online, and I want to tell you my story with this adorable Arctic Fox because it is one heck of a tale from not so long ago

Things did begin rough at the beginning of my persona’s history. I honestly can’t recall how I came up with it, only how I inserted my love for something and went with it.

From the early years of 2017 to 2019 I was all paper and pencil. Ah yes traditional art was my big thing for a couple of years during that era of 2013 to 2020. I had a time where I wrote stories about characters I made, and not much. No fan art, no nothing, I wanted to stick to my own original ideas at first before I took the step to do something that I did not own; it was a weird mindset I know, I couldn’t hold myself to want to be original and develop to be good enough to draw other things.

It took me some time to develop, hell even to this day I still am unsure of my own skills but I enjoyed trying new things. I don’t reject much criticism even if it comes harsh it still lingers in my head when received anyway. I needed someone to identify as online, a persona who I would have an identity through as I was moving forward on this hopeful career I want to make with my art.

Idea #1 draw my own self accurate to how I look

Scratch that...

Nononono, I am too bad at showing my face, even at that I don’t like myself.

So I had to come up with something else, 2019 was ending with my skills rising up to something neat. I had Fire alpaca and a wacom cheap tablet which I used time to time back then, and with how I moved foward I said “why not, lets draw a glaceon.

Not bad, not bad. I do enjoy anthropomorphic animals, and for a anthro Glaceon it wasn't so bad. Even back then I did not enjoy much of this picture but the idea sparked. I did roleplay around online a lot as a Glaceon. People always had referred to me as a Glaceon when talking, because furry friends tend to be like that and I don’t mind. It had definitely sparked the idea of identifying as one for my persona.

I had a hard time how I would draw this character, a more personalized Glaceon with my own flare of the art style I carry should be nice, should I make it tall? short? anthro? feral? the questions rose up. Even more as time passed, took some time unsure of it, Unluckily I had a Glaceon FURsona, not a persona. (Yes those were two separate things as I carried 7 fursonas as individual characters in their own stories).

But soon one day in class, my artsy self was bored and it just sparked.

This is it! yes! I love it! something about this just clicked for some reason, it was like nothing I had seen before I could not look away at it, this was it.

After class I went home and played some games. The idea was there but man am I tired. Things did go slow, but not for long as of January, the classes I took gave me the ability to better understand this Adobe Photoshop, an amazing tool for editing pictures but also... To draw?!? I have heard of using Photoshop to draw but was amazed to have the ability using such program. During my time 2019 I would doodle around on Photoshop in my school or at home (thanks to the campus giving me a cheaper prize to use it for assignments) Not bad, not bad, the program was for sure something nice to use. Look! I even drew my Fursonas there too, ain’t that nice

2019 was something for sure. It had just begun making 2020 quite the year as I took my wacom tablet, opened Photoshop, and on January there it was.

Oh how cute! I felt so proud of myself, firealpaca was nothing like how clean and pretty Photoshop was, I was amazed at this ability.

“I made this?” that would be what I ask myself everyday. Time to time I would, and still, look at my phone to my drawings and remember what I used to make some pieces, I will not forget how I used thick outlines with the line too from photoshop, added some depth on the eyes. But most importantly, I had a persona, and I introduced it

My friends loved it, I could not believe I am starting to do the shift, my days of traditional art were at a halt. Not at a complete stop since I do use traditional art for a few other things of course, this was just my main focus now.

This little creature was everything to me, cute, easy to make, helped me throughout a few months as I practiced with my digital art.

I also perfected it’s look, but something looked rather familiar about it. Could not put my finger to it, so I went on drawing it.

that was a few exceptions where I shifted the proportions for “it”

“It” “it” what was this thing supposed to be, I myself was unsure how to identify myself with this persona. Male? no, female? no. The issue was there, who am I really inside, who was my persona gonna be.

I still cannot tell you exactly what my persona was for the longest time. I at times felt lost and confused with my identity, it did not help that 2020 did its mumbo jumbo and a pandemic happened, it was a lot of time on my own at home just questioning really who I had been for the longest time. Classes were minimal so my free time was big around April and May.

I was always unsure of who I was exactly, through my early years late 2000′s I had in me that my body was uncomfortable for looking the way it did, 2010′s went silent but there was something in me I did not understand. why did I feel this way, why do I feel as I am not happy with who I am, and who I identify with.

This persona was the wake up call to who I really wanted to be. I saw it in me that I knew being a male was the main issue in me feeling unhappy. Throughout my life I did not enjoy masculinity as much as other kids, yeah I had some boy traits but it was rather minimal, I enjoyed other things more. I enjoyed a lot of things about being female it was something I had never seen before. as hard or confusing things tend to be from me to explain, its a rather hard thing for myself to explain. But that how it felt “confusing” I researched and looked for things and to my conclusion I had come to be, I come to identify as a MtF trans.

I felt relieved in me of it and I already enjoyed my days more after from it. The only issue is “who do I tell..?” I was timid to tell this to anyone, friends or even family. Especially family, those I come to admit they will never be told of what my decision was because of how hard headed they are. It is a tragic story to tell since most families are such closed minded people of rejecting others.

“My friends tho, my friends? I would feel bad if I told them” that was the mindset I had for a while before admitting to them time to time, one by one. This was a chapter in my life that had changed me early 2020′s but I felt a lot of joy in me to be who I wanted to be, I no longer took anyone else's guidance for controlling who I am, I just went with my own flow.

My persona was.... more comically confused, it could be either so I just left it how my mood wanted it to go for when drawing it. So, things went well, in 2019 with the money I got I found myself enjoying a lot of second handed games, with a game coming real soon that had me pumped for I had to get a console I wanted for so long

A PS4 for the the Final fantasy 7 Remake, I was so pumped waiting for the game, I got a used PS4 for it and even bought couple other games for it to get to know the console: Final fantasy 15, destiny, and later on this Persona 5 game a lot of people talked about. Hmm ok, well lets try it out and oh me oh my, a few days later:

The art style captivated me, can you tell I went all out to trying anything with my persona? I cannot believe I was my own guinea pig for these sorts.

Going around some friends and they will tell you that I used this pfp quite a lot back then, as well as updating it with a new oc I had come up with

A tale in due time will be told about this gal.

well, it was set and forth that this was me, my persona, this glaceon was who I was. People loved it, my friends really liked it, and I had a blast having this first pure year of digital art only. Meeting new friends, and admiring their art. Having old friends come back, and even losing a few others on the way. During the time of june, to July I was rapid about drawing my persona in many ways, short, tall, anthro, feral

even metallic.

But there come some time I did not grew tired of. But a little worried that I had to rely on a franchise for my own identity, of course there is nothing wrong for those doing it. But reflecting on myself, back then when I wanted this art career to happen, I wanted to go all out letting out my imagination with my own creations. I had to make the decision, it was time to move on...

...To a new art program and new drawing tablet

No, it wasn’t that. I had to branch out from this Glaceon, but keep my identity, my legacy of this persona in check, but with a new coat of paint of course. did not take a long time before choosing that I had to use a real life animal as inspiration for this change. Something at least close to it, ah yes of course! the inspiration of the Glaceon was an arctic fox, well those are some good stepping stones to begin with so what happened one day is that I began sketching, not before saying good bye to this old self that helped me begin. It was weird, this is me but it was old me?

Tested the new Brushes from this amazing program called Clip studio paint, and I gotta say I love the program. Sincerely the best choice I made to leave Photoshop for this.

At last, this is it. the new Me!

Familiar looking isn’t it,baby steps we can say.

I cannot blame the people for calling my new persona a “Glaceon-alike”

I headed to the right direction stepping away from it, but it was hard to let go

new program, new tablet, new me. the later half of 2020 went onto a lot of changes with myself, the chibi small version did not make me happy to make anymore, I was losing the touch and with the few comments I got of looking like a “powerpuff girl look a like” did set me off to do a drastic change I am thankful to do. This new me had some weird phases, don’t we all tho?

where else to brainstorm than back to the traditional old ways. Now, you may see this and ask what was I thinking when making this. the order of when i started and finish goes as: Top right: ok what if it was feral, nah nah scratch. Top left: Can I still make it cute with a round face and features I had from before? ew no! that looks scary Bottom right: lets make it more natural and wow hey! yes yes yes! this looks hundred times better. Bottom left: It is time I go all out and make it humanoid, it was how I found myself enjoying drawing most things but still did some anthropomorphic things. I was just not the best of it.

Back to digital and.... Amazing, I really out did myself this time, lets go for it, lets keep going with this

I even got a cool sword too!

My practice continued from here, the second half was great and fun. New persona got me in a place where I was happy with and through October and December I was having a blast with the more possibilities with it. I went on to practice with even more suggestive things after a life drawing class I took, proportions mattered to me and with this new persona I went out to make more better looking proportions that were attractive and stylish.

This persona was great, and I managed to make so much of it. even Drawing the more suggestive stuff had left me with an answer for this persona. Just make it gender fluid, my selection for this character being male or female made me so tired I did not know why I just made it gender fluid since the beginning. My mood swings for this character, and I can’t resist drawing it either way. Was I finished? of course not, this persona still had some work around to do. The hair became a pain to make to keeping up with consistently.

2020 ended, with a year of exciting new things coming for this new year. I went through quite a lot in my life and my art career took a shaken with this new digital life style, my persona became the identity I saw myself through, something im happy with drawing to represent Me.

That isn’t to say that I gave up on drawing Me Me.

I drew who I hope to be, and will use this from time to time, nothing fancy but something.

It has been a year already since I began identifying myself with this persona from last year from now. ever since I sketched that doodle in class, it has been a happy trip through memory lane writing it and I am happy how things turned out. 2021 is what I hope to be as good as 2020 was (by that I mean drawing only of course) In 2021 one more change was made that had made me just as happy to continue on with.

I got more hair! as crazy as it is yes. More hair, and a different front style has been to this day what I been using.

I even made a discord emoji for all the warm hugs to have with my fursona!

and my first ever animation I have ever done before!!

I am always experimenting new things, and i’m proud to be an artists to go out there and leave my art out there to be noticed by anyone. The love and appreciation friends and others leave me are the best thing I could ask. I look foward to see what is up ahead, for me, my career, and Noxy.

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darkmindsotome · 3 years

Text

Traditional Etiquette

Title: Traditional Etiquette

Fandom: Love365 Masquerade Kiss

Pairing: Kei Soejima x MC

Word count: 4,189

Warning: NSFW Smut

Written by: darkmindsotome

Summary: Your job leads you to being in attendance at the same festive location as your boyfriend. What will happen on this holy night when you are reunited with the man who turned his back on God and this holiday?

Tagging @voltage-vixen as requested. Prompt #1: Kiss me under the Mistletoe

---

Traditional Etiquette

There was a different kind of chill in the air compared to the winters back home. It probably had something to do with the humidity. The wind here felt cutting against your skin making any exposed part sting in the air.

Space heaters had been placed around the grounds of the immaculately decorated historic house in an attempt to keep guests as far from the wintery chill as possible. Pulling the warm cashmere shawl tighter around my shoulders I made a few calculations trying to decide on the best way to make my exit.

Currently tucked safely inside my garter was a necklace once owned by an Empress. A gift from her husband and currently missing from a collection on display in the London National Museum. On the verge of an international incident that could easily turn into something involving military responses, the EAC had been contacted.

Thanks to the new assignment any plans I had for the holidays were dashed. Curse of a spy strikes again.

Naturally, the fallout from such a disaster was something everyone wished to avoid but that did nothing to improve my mood. The officials and museum had put a truly incredible replica on display to buy some breathing room in order to retrieve the original. Time was unforgiving and it was an inevitable fact that eventually the fake would be found out. This was a race against the clock.

I could still remember the way Kei looked at me the night I received the call.

“Ha-ha, your face is a picture.” His apparent joy as he watched me and my inner turmoil felt completely out of place.

We were in his rooms at Raven in Tokyo, sipping brandy tea with some low music playing in the background when my phone rang disturbing the peace.

“Well excuse me.” Glaring at him, I ended up drinking the brandy tea in my hands almost in one go as I attempted to avoid his all-seeing eyes.

I knew my inner disappointment at how the holidays were already a disaster before they started was on full display but I was trying hard to hide it. I mean it's normal to want to spend the holidays with your partner, right?

While I sulked Kei chuckled, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

“Will you really miss me that much?”

The sound of fine china being placed on the coffee table forced me to look at him. There was a smile on his face that was far from innocent as he stood from his seat and drew slowly closer. Instead of simply moving next to me he lulled me into a false sense of security and circled around my back leaning over so his mouth was millimetres from my ear.

A move that had the world around us blocked from thought as well as my ability to process the information I just received from work. He was demanding my full attention, commanding me to focus only on him.

“Someone is forgetting something very important.” His voice was low and dripping in that sensual honey-like poison that instantly set my heart racing. Cool hands snaked over my shoulders treating me to a massage that felt far more intense than it really was. “No matter where you are, what you do, who you’re with… I am always right here.” The chilled digits slipped further, deftly circumvented the fabric of my blouse. The teasing patterns he mapped out against my hidden body had me warming to the slightest of touches.

“…Kei.” His name ended up escaping me in a near whisper. How easy was it to fall under his spell? Two could play that game.

Taking one of his hands I brought it to my lips kissing the flesh between his fingers, dragging my tongue across the knuckles before giving them a nip with my teeth. I heard his breath catch behind me. I couldn’t see how his eyes had darkened with lust but I knew he was feeling me and that knowledge was enough to thrill me.

He guided his now marked hand to my lips, brushing them with his fingertips before pushing them inside stroking my tongue and the inside of my mouth. My head naturally tilted back catching a glimpse of the awoken devil behind me. It was then that I knew this was only the beginning.

“That’s right. Be my good girl…”

I suddenly felt flushed with the memory of that night. It was the last one we spent together before starting this mission. It wasn’t as if we had specific plans for the holiday. If anything, it was a time of year Kei usually spent avoiding the celebratory atmosphere. We might not share the same associations with the festivities but it didn’t mean I didn’t still want to spend time with him.

The idea of him sitting in his rooms at Raven. Large fire crackling, spiced cider in hand and the way the light would settle on him as he quietly read. It was a comforting image that brought a smile to my face.

Looking around the glamourous gathering with the twinkling lights and elegant festive decorations I suddenly felt very lonely. I wanted to leave, to get a flight out of here as fast as possible. The weight of precious metal and gems concealed under my dress was a reassuring reminder of a job well done. Still, it wouldn’t do to be so close to the end and have it all fall apart because I let my guard down too early.

Glancing around to make sure everyone was suitably distracted I made my move only to then bump into someone behind me.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” I instantly apologised. Curiosity rose as I wondered who could have moved so near to me that I didn’t even sense them.

“Completely my fault, Miss.” An all too familiar voice speaks up before I had a chance to even look.

“Kei?” His name comes all too easily to me. I instantly end up looking to see if anyone else had heard my faux pas.

“My apologies I was drawn to you and found myself at a complete loss of words.” Kei casually covers for me whilst treating me to his Princely performance. “Where are my manners? Kei Soejima at your service.” With a half-bow he scooped up my right hand, placing a featherlight kiss to the back of it.

“Lily Dunaway, a pleasure to meet you Mr Soejima.” I greet him with my alias and a smile that expertly hides any of my surprise at finding him here of all places.

Kei is far from stupid. He both knows I am on a mission and also what my alias is for work. I watch as he gracefully takes two glass flutes from a passing waiter.

“Champagne? Or were you perhaps looking for something else?” Narrowing my eyes at his suggestive comment for a second, I then accept one of the offered glasses.

“Champagne would be fine, thank you.” Playing the part of the perfect agent I timed my sip to his. “I have to wonder what small miracle would bring such a distinguished guest to me.” I ask in part as a curious agent but also as his girlfriend.

“Miracle? Well, I suppose it would be the season for it.” His smile was as ambiguous as his answer. Taking another sip from his glass I watched as the alcohol coated his lower lip like a gloss. It was a practically mouthwatering image.

We have an agreement not to interfere with work. Both of us stood there in our own private world sizing each other up, playing one suggestive comment for another. Reading between the lines as our little game continued.

“I wonder if you might grant me the opportunity to dance with the most beautiful lady at this rather stuffy affair?” He says with a slightly dramatic flair that felt like it overlapped with a Prince in a fairytale.

“Stuffy affair? Is that really how you would describe this event?” I can’t help but giggle in response.

“Attend one charity gathering at this time of year sadly they all seem to blur into one. All worthy causes, but the crowds sadly are nearly always the same.” His face takes on all the charms of a puckish little boy which only serves to cause my heart to flip.

“In that case, I would love to dance. You almost make it feel as if you are saving me from impending boredom.” I give a light and breezy reply hoping he can’t see how easily he has me bending to his commands. I’m still on a mission.

“Ha-ha, the pleasure is all mine I assure you.” Elegantly taking my glass from me, he placed it on a passing waiter’s tray along with his own. Slipping an arm around my waist he then began to lead us in a waltz that guided us deeper into the gardens away from the grand house and guests.

The music became fainter as we lost ourselves in each other’s eyes and embrace. His body moving perfectly in sync against mine was a sinfully chaste motion. It left me wishing for more contact than the minimal required to dance. We are so close yet so agonisingly far apart. He planned this, didn’t he? It is a very Kei thing and yet I still can’t get a clear read on the guy even after dating him.

I pondered this idea while maintaining eye contact with my boyfriend. His unreadable eyes reflecting only me while he continued to smile and move us in time with the muted tune. A large golden ornament hanging from a set of trees that made up the entrance to another part of this lavish historic garden caught my eye. I swear rich people…

For all my inner protests about flashy displays of money, there was no denying its beauty. A refreshing scent filled the crisp night air around it. It was a set of five golden hoops, wrapped in evergreens and fresh herbs with what looked like an ornate fruit bowl trapped inside. To finish it all off this spherical link cage had a familiar white berried plant hanging in a tumbling bunch beneath it all.

“So pretty.” I ended up expressing myself honestly and feeling a little childish in the process. I’d attended lots of luxurious events in the line of duty and here I was looking at a giant decoration like a cat that had found a room with a glitter ball in it.

“A Kissing Bough.” Kei didn’t seem to mind he just turned his head acknowledging the oversized ornament. He inclined his head after turning back to me relaxing his arm around my waist putting an end to our dance. “You aren’t familiar with it?”

“I think I saw something like it once on a European period drama but up close it's even more beautiful.” No point in lying at this point. We were alone and even if I didn’t account for Kei being able to see right through me, I couldn’t deny that tonight of all nights I didn’t want to lie to him.

“Well then allow me to explain. You are familiar with the tradition of Mistletoe?” He naturally straightened his posture in preparation for his impromptu lecture. I actually love it when he does this although I have no idea if he knows that or not.

“Yes, you are supposed to share a kiss under it.” I nodded and answered ever the perfect student causing him to smile warmly before he continued to fill in the finer details.

“Exactly but traditionally it was slightly more than that. It was part of the celebration in ancient Greece during Saturnalia that there was an act of kissing involving the plant. It is associated with fertility, peace, love and friendship. Druids are thought to be some of the first to bring the Mistletoe inside believing it to also imbue good luck and ward off evil spirits.” He was talking as if he were reading a story from one of his collections of old books.

His breadth of knowledge was really something. Kazuomi wasn’t joking when he said Kei was something of a know it all, able to hold conversations about anything and everything with ease. I imagine it is what makes him such a good diplomat.

“It has a long history then?” I chimed in encouraging him to continue.

“Yes, Romans used to settle agreements and conflict under it. Even in Norse mythology, you can find this little parasite. Did you know there was a time when it was not only frowned upon as a decoration but it was on a list to be banned from adorning a church? The idea didn’t take.” He whispered the last part in my ear as if sharing a secret which gave me goosebumps on my neck.

“How did it get to be such a well-recognised holiday decoration then?” Attempting to maintain my composed mask of an elite spy I casually brought my shawl higher up and tucking myself in tighter. He wasn’t fooled for a second and only chuckled seeing me react to him. Still, he didn’t touch me just continued with his history lesson.

“Well now in the UK it is connected to the Yule season but that isn’t the case in others. You could argue that the origins of this quaint little custom as we know it came from England in the 1700s but it was far more popular by the Victorian era. Before we had the tradition of a tree as a symbol of the holiday there was this.” He pointed above us at the hanging festive orb. I followed his reach and looked up.

I felt something shift but was not fast enough to react. Something about Kei always seemed to render me sluggish with my reactions. He had a way of making every movement of his feel like it naturally just belonged. Warmth pressed against my back and I felt his arms circle around mine.

His fingers located the back of my hand that was holding the shawl tight against myself. His long fingers began to stroke the skin there. Tracing the veins, following the lines to my inner wrist and back again in lazy slow patterns. He continued to speak, his voice low in my ear making it impossible for me to think of anything other than his sultry voice and touch.

“You said you are familiar with the tradition of kissing under Mistletoe but are you aware it is, in fact, a very poisonous little plant? Such a symbol, shrouded in all this romance. Providing a dash of poison to the whole affair.” His lips brushed against my ear lobe. The soft kiss made me shudder sweetly in his arms. “There are actually two traditions involved with this plant. The first involves plucking a berry from the bunch for every kiss stolen.” He reached up and stolen a single white berry from the greenery, balancing it in the palm of his hand in front of us. “When the berries are all gone so too are your privileges.”

Spinning me around in his arms so I couldn’t avoid his darkened gaze a devilish smile crept over his face. It felt like I was pinned in place while his fingers now at my back began tracing my spine through the fabric of my dress. I had never wanted to curse such a thin barrier between us more.

“The other follows a more common route. Anyone under the mistletoe that refuses a kiss will suffer from a curse of bad luck. What are you thinking?” He was seriously unfair. He knew exactly what I was thinking and insisted on teasing.

“That I’d very much like to avoid that curse.” At some point, I had begun to feel like I was floating, bound in his gaze the only thing in my world was the sound of his voice, and the temptation of his sinful lips.

“Well then. What do you say, ‘Lily’? Shall we escape the madding crowd and explore this little tradition for ourselves?” Taking my hand in his he led me through the tree entrance and into a walled garden.

It felt like I was following him through a magical world, the scents of the flowers blooming in the winter mingling with his natural musk kept me firmly in a dreamlike stupor as my body trailed along automatically with his guidance. I really would walk through Hell itself and fear nothing of it with this man. Where is the perfect student and spy now?

The house and its guests were hidden behind the high walls covered in the fragments of trailing plants. A thick frost had covered the world around us making it feel as if it was frozen in time.

Suddenly Kei came to a stop glancing around us briefly before pushing me into the shadow of some of the immaculate large topiaries. It put distance between us, breaking the spell.

“Kei?” The loss of his touch even for the briefest of moments had me searching for him again. I hated to admit it but this was part of me. A neediness I never knew I had. It was something he accepted and encouraged, drawing it out of me.

“I told myself I wouldn’t go this far. But then… you had to look at me like that. When did you become so cruel?” Kei was standing in the moonlight whilst I was covered in shadow. The way the shadows danced over his perfect face made his pained expression look so very lonely. His eyes were wavering as they looked at me. That devilish smirk on his face was unmoving as he took in every inch of me.

“I wasn’t—mmm!” My protest was cut short by his remarkably fast movement. I barely had enough time to catch my breath before his lips crashed repeatedly into mine stealing it away leaving me light-headed and almost limp in his arms that held me caged in the dark.

“You forgot your lesson again. You looked so lost and alone… standing there…” He continued to speak in a pitifully pained voice as he peppered me with kisses. His arms holding me up as his hands ran over the confines of my dress.

“You were watching me?” I could hardly speak above a breathless whisper. My mind was telling me to keep it together but the way he was robbing me of oxygen and the way his hands were running over me had my heart hammering so loudly in my head I couldn’t focus on anything but him and how he looked so hurt.

“Only since the second you arrived. I only ever see you and yet you teased me by following THEM.” The way he spat out the final pronoun had me remembering the disdain he had for Boss. He was clearly feeling a lot of emotions right now and knowing Kei couldn’t pin down one strong sensation above another.

“I’m on a mission Kei you know that.” I raised my hand to his cheek trying to get his eyes to focus on me and not the memories he had that was causing him so much pain.

“Yes, I do but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. You know that even if you wanted to leave me, I would never let you go.” He stopped his movements with his hands. There was a fire in his eyes that could have melted the polar ice caps. The shawl slipped from my shoulders exposing my flushed skin to the night air. I would have shivered had it not been immediately chased away with his burning hot lips as they glided over my collar bones.

Soft cashmere wrapped around my free arm from behind, locking it to my side as his grip around me tightened. Grabbing my raised hand by its wrist he gave me a stinging bite to the inside of it.

A crimson flower bloomed on the pale flesh and he dragged his tongue over it. Past the love bite and up the palm, wrapping it around several fingers before giving them little nibbles on their tips. All of this without once taking his eyes from mine. Those glass-like doll eyes, dark with lust.

I licked my lips before finding strength enough to pounce. I forcibly covered his lips with mine trying to suck out all his pain and confusion. A poison that had no place alongside the honeyed darkness we shared.

“Mm… Mc?” He hummed against me. I placed my unbound arm around his neck as I leant in to whisper my sweet nothings in his ear. He stiffened with the pressure of my body against his. For a second it seemed he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So don’t. Take me, mark me… hold me. Make me yours--.” I tried my best to coax him into moving but he stood still as a statue. I didn’t know if he was still struggling to organise his feelings or if he was simply teasing me.

“Someone said she was on a mission.” He sounded amused even as he chastised me for my failing work ethic.

“I am.” I walked my fingers up his check finding the edge of his bow tie and pulling it loose. The sight of his perfect image becoming undone at my hand thrilled me and I found myself urged on to start popping the buttons at his collar.

“You don’t sleep with targets when you are working.” He raised a hand to stop me going further. Ever the one to prefer to remain covered even at times like this. As much as I respect that I also found it extremely unfair that I was always the one to be stripped bare while he wasn’t.

“You aren’t the target. I already took what I wanted from THEM. Now I want something from you.” I was past the point of playing, the fire building inside me was his creation and I was damned if he was going to keep me waiting any longer.

“So greedy. You know? You’re so incredibly sexy when you are honest with your desires. My girl…” He chuckled in a deep voice as he finally seemed to cave to demand.

As our body temperatures rose in the wintery climate our hands roamed over each other eagerly seeking out the next sensitive point. Before he could bind my other arm to my side, I found his jacket pocket by chance. My fingers removing what was hidden inside.

“Mhm… ngh… Kei what is that?” He pulled back enough for me to see what I had in my hand. A small sprig of greenery with white berries.

“I thought I’d twist tradition a little.” He said conspiratorially. Holding my hand in his while raising it above us so the Mistletoe was over our heads.

“Oh?”

“A berry for every time we--.” His free hand slipped through a gap he created in my dress without me realising. Plunging low, attacking me at the apex of my legs over my underwear. The pressure of the heel of his hand rubbing as his fingers stroked along the fabric covering me was blissful torture. Releasing my hand he took the opportunity to loosen his belt as he raised the hem of my dress.

“Mmm Kei…?” I bucked my hips against his hand as the cold air hit my heat. It wasn’t enough to put out the fire. He continued rubbing me over my underwear even as he kissed me, pumping his hardened desire in his other hand a few times.

“Gah, shhh… keep your voice down. Unless you want us to be caught.”

I bit my lip pleading with him using my eyes to hurry. This was so risky and so unlike us that it felt overwhelmingly good. The thrill of location and the way he was possessively pursuing me was doing a number on how hard my heart was pounding. The perfect Prince was gone.

Pulling the fabric covering me to the side he pushed into me filling me up and moved his hands to support my hips whilst I wrapped my legs around him.

“Such a naughty little spy… my bad girl.” His words bled into my ear as he brought himself closer to me removing all light between us as he plunged deeper.

In the shadows of a garden attached to a historic house in England. During a party intended to celebrate a Holy night. Here I was finishing up a mission in a less than professional manner and I couldn’t care less.

As our bodies moved together in the shadow of the topiary, our muffled cries and moans were lost to the night. This wasn’t exactly how I saw our holiday going, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

I still had to hand over the jewels tucked inside my garter but right now all I could think of was the man in front of me. My wonderfully sinful, “bad” boy. My prince, my Kei.

---

#'tis the season for smut

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

ok sorry but how many people do yall think rog has ever slept with cos i’m guessing four figures no lie

okay, i don’t normally respond to messages like this because, frankly, i dont really feel like its my place to speculate on roger’s sex life. Theres a difference between writing a fiction story with a character named after and inspired by him and discussing his actual personal life which i have no real knowledge about. What he gets up to in his free time is between him and the women he does it with. but i didn’t really feel able to ignore this one. please don’t take this as me telling you off or shutting you down or anything like that. If you want to speculate about roger’s body count thats up to you, go nuts with it. and i love when you guys message me and I don’t want to discourage you from feeling like you can talk to me or just send me your random thoughts or whatever about any subject. But I feel like I need to address why I disagree with this sentiment. Also so I can ask ya’ll to please stop asking me questions like this.

So firstly, just to get this out of the way. 1000 is a lot. even 100 is a lot. I think if rog had slept with 1000+ people he’d have a least a few illegitimate kids and probably would have been checked into rehab for sex addiction (not to mention STIs and such because lbr people in the 70s specifically probs werent the most careful especially if drugs were involved). I mean even if we were going to say Rog got lucky with a different woman after every show we wouldn’t reach 1000. According to google, Queen played around 700 shows in their entire career. If we add shows played by The Cross thats only another 67 odd shows (according to wikipedia).

now, i think there are 3 things that contribute to this idea of roger as especially promiscuous. 1. His attitude/demeanour/general way he sells himself. 2. the generally held conceptions about rock stars and rock star behaviour. and 3. what i’m going to call fandom dumbassery (but i mean that with a lot of love)

So lets start with the man himself. Roger Taylor is loud and opinionated and not particularly humble. He knows he’s talented and attractive though for at least some time he was a little self-conscious about how feminine he looked. He’s always up for a laugh, likes to party and has admitted to enjoying his drink and his women. He’s had kids with two different women, who’s relationships “overlapped”, and is currently married to a third. At least that’s the perception we can gleam from his interviews, behind the scenes videos, and other public appearances.

It’s easy to see how that image leads to accusations of being a womaniser and a cheater and basically a bit of a slut lmao. But here’s the thing. I think Roger, in part, markets himself that way. The thing is, if you look at his solo songs and the relationships he currently has with his kids and their mothers, and things other people have said about him/his relationships over the years, I think it’s fair to say he also has a bit of a romantic streak maybe? idk if thats the best way of describing it...he’s self confessed to not being a fan of marriage and the like but he’s not opposed to writing and singing love songs and seems to believe in ~love~ as a concept/power. He certainly cares deeply for those closest to him. Whether or not that translates to an agreement with monogamy I can’t say for certain. It’s hard to draw conclusions here because a lot of what we know of his personal life was fed to us through magazines and news paper gossip column articles and they were never looking for the truth, they were looking for scandal and sensationalism.

For instance the whole thing with the overlapping relationships. I think most people who have read anything about roger and dom and debbie realise that it’s not as cut and dry as “he was cheating with debbie and left dom for her” even though that was the story being sold by the press at the time. The reality (or at least the version closer to reality since obviously no one outside of them and whoever they were closest with knows all the nitty gritty details) is that rog and dom had already split when they got married. it was a marriage of convenience to make sure her and the kids would be looked after financially etc even after he’d moved out. So while it looked to the public like he married one chick and 30 odd days later was spotted with another, there really wasn’t anything untoward happening. I’m not saying he never had casual hookups or one night stands and i’m not saying he never cheated, but I do think some of it’s been exaggerated, whether by him to encourage the rock star perception or by newspaper/magazine articles.

Now, obviously, we have stories of rog, particularly in the late 60s and into the 70s, being with multiple women. There’s that bit in the Interview with a Queen “Groupie” (which is a fantastic read and i defs recommend checking it out if you havent already) where she talks about roger being a chick magnet and says that, at the time, it was pretty common to sleep about. But, she also says she didnt notice him doing it more or less than anyone else and seemed to mostly be with Jo (his girlfriend at the time). This is the same Jo that got a mention in the Queen in 3D book (”i think we all had the feeling that these two were together for life, but it was not to be”). Conversely, we have that quote (which i cannot find rn but i’ll link it when i do) about roger sometimes having one girl upstairs while another waited in the garage for them to be finished. I think it was about Rog in the mid-late 60s in Truro but whatever. Obviously he wasn’t anywhere near celibate and it’s likely was sleeping with people outside of his relationship(s). But one has to assume that as he got older those kinds of antics stopped happening, at least as frequently.

There is one potential story that I remember reading somewhere along the way about Roger cheating on Debbie while she was pregnant. But, take that with a grain of salt because I can’t find the article again and also I think it was from like The Sun or something equally as rubbish. The press was notoriously always printing mean shit about the boys and that might have been another thing they published to create scandal. Even so, if we assume it’s legit that is still only 1 story. Not to throw him under the bus but Brian is the one with multiple confirmed affairs, who literally wrote songs about it all. So why is Roger the one with sleazy reputation?

This is where my second and third points come in. There is a pervasive idea about what it means to be a rock star. The whole trashing hotel rooms, sleeping with groupies, passing out drunk every night thing. And I’m sure that Queen was like that to an extent. I think it’s pretty common knowledge that all of them got up to shit on the road. Between innuendo laden interviews and songs, videos and accounts of their parties, stories CT has put online, and other stories like the one of Roger bringing out lines of coke as dessert when he was having dinner with motley crue. They definitely embraced the rock and roll lifestyle. And I think with Roger’s personality being what it is, it’s easy to link him to those traditional rock star tropes and say it was all true all the time. I also think Roger has done nothing to counter those beliefs. He’s been open about how he wanted to be a rock star since the minute he picked up a guitar, he’s labelled himself as a great lay in magazines, he’s joked about girls pulling their tits out over dinner in interviews (though he said he didnt take her home), he’s written songs like One Night Stand and Dirty Mind and Airheads which explicitly mention his preference for women and alcohol. I think it’s fair to say he’s kind of encouraged that view of himself. Whether it was just a side effect of being part of such a well known band and having such a boisterous demeanour/personality, or whether it was intentional as a version of promotion i don’t know. maybe a mix of them? I mean I’m sure it didn’t hurt sales and stuff. it’s the whole guys want to be him, girls want to be with him thing, right? Maybe that’s just me being cynical though lmao.

Anyway, the fandom brain has taken all of that and compressed it into memes and jokes about rog being the band slut. Which i’m not complaining about, lord knows i’ve made the same jokes and reblogged the same posts and used those tropes in my fics. They’re funny and lend themselves to interesting fic concepts. Plus, i think roger is the sort of person who would probably laugh about most of it. But it’s an idea that keeps feeding into itself through fandom, perpetuating what is probably a misguided view of his personal life.

Again, I am sure he’s had his fair share of fun and I’m not trying to make out that he was always perfect or whatever, but I don’t think he’s been with as many women as the popular discourse would imply and I certainly don’t think he’s in the 4 digit numbers.

#i7558vjvug #please god dont let this start anything #im just here to write smut and have a good time

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Text

Empty Pages - R. Mendes (3)

NOTE: well if you saw my last post then you know how this chapter is going to end but if you haven't, well, get ready *cue evil laughter* also let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list by messaging or replying to this post, thanks!

PROLOGUE // PART ONE // PART TWO

Raul was not expecting to put that much effort into the drawing, really. Half of the hard work was already done, thanks to Lily and Mrs. Basel discussing most of what the work’s finer elements were right in earshot of him. The boy thought by the time he was finished sketching out the rough design in number two pencil, going as far as to outline it in black pen exhibited enough effort. But he knew it was lacking in its message and persuasion. The anger only the red colored pencil glaring at him from the unopened box buried beneath the healing pile of past schoolwork on his desk could portray to his audience. His fingers twitched and finally, his body caved and leaped up from his bed and to his desk where he reached for the box of perfectly sharpened, untouched pencils.

He was tentative with his color choice, and even more cautious when blending the different shades and allowing movement across the piece. No weights nor frivolous purchases of ripped jeans and leather jackets would come to be quite as cathartic as scrubbing the colored lead furiously back and forth across the paper. A full two hours had passed when Raul finally conceded to his completed drawing and set the dull pencil down. His hands were cramping, and various splotches of blended wax tainted his palms and knuckles like bruises, but he felt okay with it, strangely.

“Hey, Raul do you—” Shawn’s voice made his brother’s head snap up from the drawing to look at him. “Woah, dude…that looks great.” Shawn slowly approached his brother’s work with caution, afraid to lift even a finger in fear of Raul reaching out to snap it. “And I thought you were going to cheat off of me or Pete.” He chuckles, eyes continuing to study the slogan and illustration encompassing the destruction of routine and tradition. “You came up with this yourself?”

Raul bit his lip, now becoming irritated with Shawn’s wandering eyes. “Did you need something?” The older asks, rising up from his bed so his frame could shield the paper. Shawn’s eyes grew wide and he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I was just gonna ask if you still had that drawing stuff. You know, the stuff that mom gave you that one—” Shawn’s ask was interrupted with a sharp “oof” when Raul shoved the box of pencils against his chest.

“Anything else you need?” He quirks a brow to his brother. Shawn sets his lips into a firm line and shakes his head, before sending Raul a quick ‘thanks’ and retreating back into his own bedroom. When his bedroom door is shut once again, Raul heaves a sigh and lets his tired hands into the river of curls say on his head. The heap of gel he applied to his hair this morning made the dark locks a little less smooth than what he had imagined. Turning back to face the paper with a sigh, Shawn’s unanswered question continued ringing in his ears until he slid the paper into his folder and the folder into his backpack.

“It’s just a project. Just a project…” Raul repeated this mantra to himself that night until he fell asleep.

The following morning, Lily waltzed up to her teacher’s desk with the best smile her fatigued state could muster, propaganda in hand ready to hand in.

“Here you are, Mrs. K.”

“Oh, no sweetie. You’re going to be presenting them.” Her eyes flicked away from the digital attendance sheet on her computer screen and to the young woman. Lily notes that her eyes never even glanced over her work, meaning other students must have had the same idea of turning it in.

“Oh…everybody?” Her smile begins faltering. The teacher hums and sends a small nod, cueing Lily to walk to her desk with crushed expectations. As she sank down into the chair, the sight of a brooding form drenched in black caught her site. She tilted her head to the right, spotting Raul Mendes early and eager in his chair. Had Raul not been adorned in the shirt with burn holes near his collarbone and eight years younger, there was no doubt Lily would be on the edge of her seat beside him, drumming against the wooden desks with their no. 2 pencils in anticipation.

But Lily would say she overall felt a riveting urge in her stomach to make a beeline toward the school clinic and bluff her anxiety with a stomachache. Mrs. K completed attendance as the girl continued to gnaw on her lip.

“Alright, let’s begin!” The instructor announces, reading down the line of various names. Finally, she reached ‘M’ and beckoned Raul up to stand before the rows of desks and share his work. Normally, Raul would prefer his brothers (mostly Peter) to be in the same class as him, in order for time to be stalled even longer for any assignments the oldest might have missed the night previous. Raul, however, lacked a single complaint in his mind as he let his black sneakers steer him to stand in front of his English class with a tantalizing smirk.

“I title this piece: Breaking Tradition.” Silence followed the boy’s introduction due to the overwhelming surprise his peers felt that Raul not only completed his project within the given time limit but did so marvelously. Some lips parted in appalment--Mrs. K’s included—while others gasped. The initial silence was not long-lasting, however, and the proof lied in arbitrary whisper’s floating around the cinderblock building, all discussing Raul’s piece.

But one voice remained silent through the tirade of talk. Her jaw was too busy clenching furiously. Her teeth were grinding together to the point where they might have ground one another to dust but Lily could care less. That was her idea on his paper. That was her design she discussed with Mrs. Basel only a day prior, which was displayed gloriously on Raul Mendes’s paper. Even worse, it looked better than hers did, despite the hours she spent through the night blending and measuring and lettering every word on the damn slogan to perfection.

And the man stood to the front of the class just sat with an accomplished smile and dazzling brown eyes, as if he thought he deserved the credit. Her heart began thrumming in her chest, drowning out some of Raul’s syllables amidst his explanation which Lily was certain mimicked her presentation verbatim. Her fingers curled and twisted against her palms, the nails she would bite everyday subconsciously now digging broken crescents into her skin. Mad was one emotion Lily never found herself yearning to express—unlike Raul, who found no trouble allowing his to show a swelling bruise against Connor’s cheek—but this anger surging through her veins and rampant pulse appearing at her temples in seconds felt multiplied. The girl was furious.

As her sight of Raul began to become tainted with red, she detected Raul’s eyes in one, continuous spot. They remained on Isabella’s seat for the duration of his speech, though his target was not trying her hardest to reciprocate. From Lily’s seat, one could see the artificial light graze the girl’s profile like a brushstroke. Her jawline was slim and sharp, yet her lips portrayed a soft, childlike pout as she gazed adoringly down at her recently manicured set, coated in only the most overelaborate-named polishes, like “Harp Seal Silver Fur” or “Black Kyoto Pearl”. If it was not her nails, it was the new string of text messages her and Connor were participating in more often than class discussions if the teacher was too enthralled by the symbolism Orwell disguises so carefully, or how the human brain makes up an entire two percent of your body weight.

Unfortunately for Lily, she was also seated beside Isabella in their anatomy course, very much against her will.

“Brilliant job.” Mrs. K mutters to Raul upon him handing her his work. He returns the compliment with a taller smirk than he was holding before as if he was not staring into the woman responsible for questioning his attendance only two days prior. His eyes flickered back to Isabella and remained on her throughout his journey back into his desk seat, absorbing her from every angle, and allowing his footsteps to slow in their stride.

“Lily?” Her head snapped away from the spot Raul was just occupying, to Mrs. K, heartbeat rattling her ribcage like a xylophone out of tune.

“Huh?”

“It’s your turn…” The teacher informs.

“Oh…uh…” Her cheeks were aflame but thankful for her shoulder-length hair to curtain them as she tilted her head down to the open binder. Her work glared back at her, yearning so badly to be picked up and bragged about, but how was she to repeat the last five minutes of class in a different body and less adequate art piece, and not expect consequences. Judging by Raul’s unbridled confidence, Lily doubts he would come clean about his plagiarism. Even worse, he would not hesitate to manipulate the situation to fixate the blame on Lily, instead. It was not hard to do with the golden honey encapsulated in his irises and pair of choppers he has since been exchanging for a fine smirk. The point is that, though she had an honest reputation, so did Raul Mendes—for the most part. And who was she to allow that to possibly deteriorate within a matter of minutes over a school assignment?

It would be the mature thing to do, sure. But this was high school, and an eighteen your old Raul Mendes has made it clear that playing dirty in order to appease this newly constructed figure of his was less than bothersome.

“I guess…I-I forgot.” Lily murmurs quietly from her desk, closing her binder to remove the work from her sight. “Sorry, Mrs. K.” There was a tingling sensation against her right cheek from Raul’s speculating pair, but the feeling faded from her profile seconds after Isabella’s presence was invited to the front of the class by the instructor.

She would find a way to avenge the assignment soon. Little did her privy classmate know that Lily Mirray could play dirty when fate beckons for it. And fate’s call was Isabella standing up from her seat and strutting towards the whiteboard, skirt swishing in each step.

Raul’s fascinated stare remained on Isabella’s form throughout her entire presentation.

And so did Lily’s.

TAGLIST; @fanficshawn @lonelyreputation @shawnmendez @fan-of-many-bands

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes au #mendes triplet au #mendes triplets #raul mendes #peter mendes

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stovetuna · 4 years

Note

Stony for 30 or 40? I LOVE U SO MUCH UR FICS GIVE ME LIFE 💛💛👏

AHHHH YAY LIFE!!! you and an anon both requested #30, so here’s some classic tony!angst and protective!steve :3 — I PROMISE THERE IS A VERY MUSHY, VERY HAPPY ENDING

#30: “You’re not worth it.” (TW: child abuse, references to alcoholism, Howard being a shitty human being [but what else is new])

***

It’s Wednesday, and Wednesday means movie night at the mansion. A time-honored tradition that goes all the way back to the Avengers’ inception, back when Steve was still finding his way out of the ice—literally and figuratively—and Iron Man and Tony Stark were two different people.

It’s been a long time since those early days, Tony thinks, watching the new team assemble on the couches, loveseats, beanbag chairs, and blankets strewn around the in-home movie theater. The screen isn’t excessively massive, per Steve’s wishes, but the sound is as good as it gets, per Clint’s; Tony updates the hardware year over year to keep up with the times, especially as film goes the way of digital (much to Steve’s chagrin).

But tonight is Steve’s pick for movie, and Tony wonders if it was planned that way the moment Luke Cage asks what they’re going to watch and Steve gets that glint in his eye. The one that Tony can recognize from a mile away now without even trying, the one that screams “Steve Rogers is a little shit” and that very few people seem to be able to hear.

Tony groans the moment Steve grins and says, “Home movies!” while revealing two armfuls of reels from behind his back, some of which are so dusty and small, Tony wonders if they’re Steve’s.

The team settles in with enough snacks to put a rhino in a coma while Tony and Steve head to the back of the room where the vintage projector Tony pulled out of storage for the occasion awaits.

“Next week, you can pick the movie,” Steve whispers conspiratorially, bumping Tony with a friendly elbow. Tony has to hold himself back from leaning into Steve in response, the way his body feels primed to do and has done for literal years, ever since—god, since always. But Tony knows his interest and affections are very much one-sided, and Tony doesn’t need to flagellate himself over it any more than he already does with everything else in his life. Plus, watching Steve with each of his girlfriends is more than taxing enough.

He’s had years of practice keeping his feelings for Steve from the man. He can handle an elbow and a wink. That shit’s practically child’s play.

“If footage from my sweet sixteen made it into this lineup, we’re watching all three Die Hards,” Tony replies with a saccharine smile that makes Steve blanch.

“Tony, no.”

“Tony, yes.”

“The last time we watched Die Hard, Clint wouldn’t stop talking with a fake German accent for a week.”

“I know! It was hilarious, and I want to get it on camera this time so I can send it to Alan Rickman. He’ll hate it.”

Tony giggles at Steve’s huff, which is really a laugh disguised as exasperation, another one of Steve’s tics Tony knows by heart. The pain and joy of knowing that secretly splits Tony right down the middle—the joy of knowing Steve is a much bigger troll than anyone realizes, the pain of wanting to grab him and kiss him for it—but he hides it all with an elbow to Steve’s ribs and a muttered “jerk” under his breath.

He’s spent the past ten years and change like this—halved by a love that makes him feel whole, which is an equation that shouldn’t work, but does, because Tony’s math is always right—so what’s one more night? In the grand scheme of things, not much, and every second of it is more than Tony could have ever hoped for.

Together in the darkest part of the room he and Steve work in tandem to load the first reel onto the projector and let it run: it’s early footage of the first Avengers team, recorded off of a news broadcast. Down in front, the rest of the team throws popcorn and jeers, laughing themselves hoarse at the costumes, the villains, the dialogue—“‘He’s a real ball of fire!’” Clint wheezes from his beanbag before Natasha pelts him with Milk Duds—while Steve and Tony sit back behind the projector, shoulder to shoulder, running their own private commentary all the while:

“I miss that armor.”

“Shut up, no you don’t.”

“It’s true! Anyways, isn’t vintage all the rage these days? You should bring it back.”

“I’m not bringing back Pointy-Faced Iron Man and his Roller Skates of Doom, Cap.”

“Not even for me?”

Tony slides Steve a look out of the corner of his eye, face still directed toward the screen, a classic are you fucking kidding me? if there ever was one. Steve bats his eyelashes in response, because of course he does. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony is mostly immune to that tactic by now.

Mostly.

“Let us watch Die Hard next week and I’ll consider it.”

“Ugh, Tony…”

“Hey, heart-eyes! Next reel!” someone (see: Bucky) shouts. Not for the first time, Tony’s glad to be concealed in relative darkness back here—even Steve’s enhanced vision won’t be able to make out the blush Tony’s knows is all over his face right now. He also gets a reprieve from sitting so close to Steve, hyperfocused on his warmth and all of the sensory trappings of home that come with it, while he swaps out the old reel for a new one. New-er, rather. He doesn’t look at the case or look at any frames before feeding it through the projector.

“Alright, you rabble-rousers, pipe down,” he shouts as the image on screen flickers to life.

“‘Rabble-rousers’?” Steve quirks an eyebrow at him as he sits back down. Tony folds his arms over his chest and shushes him.

“Don’t start.”

“Ooh, is that you, Tony?” Wanda coos from her place on the loveseat next to Vision.

“Look at all of that hair! Danny Zuko’s got nothing on you, Stark,” Clint laughs. Tony nails him with a popcorn kernel right in the ear.

The footage unspools, harmless—albeit embarrassing—at first: it’s a home movie from when Tony was young, no more than eight or nine. He’s wearing what looks like the remains of what was once a nice suit, something his parents forced him into, probably, but devolved into undershirt and slacks and suspenders hanging down past his knees. He really was a gangly kid, wasn’t he?

Tony laughs along with everyone else, warmed by Jarvis’ voice offscreen telling “Young Master Anthony” to show off his latest invention for the camera. He feels Steve’s eyes flicker over to land on him whenever young Tony smiles at the camera or laughs at something Jarvis says, but Tony ignores it. Mostly.

“He reminds me of Steve,” Bucky tells the room when young Tony is shown with a replica of Cap’s shield, posing triumphantly to the sound of Jarvis’ delighted laughter. Jess aww’s.

“He does, kinda, doesn’t he?”

“How have I never seen these before?” Steve whispers, leaning closer as he does. Tony swallows hard against the shiver that ricochets down his spine hearing that low voice in his ear.

“A lot of things of mine you haven’t seen, Cap,” he replies, too late to stop the innuendo from slipping out. He looks at Steve after he says it and almost, almost lets out a gasp: when did Steve get so close? And why is he looking at Tony like that? All intense and considering?

“Oh, here’s someone else I remember,” Bucky laughs. Tony turns away from Steve, grateful for the excuse, and starts to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

It gets caught in his chest the moment he sees himself filling up the screen, young Tony standing alone in Howard’s office, having perched the camcorder on the big oak desk to record himself with Cap’s shield—the real one this time, not a toy. On screen, Tony has his back to the camera, the vibranium shield clutched in his too-small hands. He has to perch it on the floor, its weight just enough to counterbalance Tony’s, but holding it…even now, he remembers the thrill of that first time. The cool touch of vibranium humming under his fingers, the knowledge that he was holding his hero’s greatest treasure…his adult fingers clench against his thighs at the memory.

But then, the image shifts into a sharper memory still, and Tony feels something old and awful claw its way from somewhere deep in his chest, remembering all too well what comes next. It tastes like bourbon and cigar smoke and the metallic taste blood leaves on the tongue after you’ve been smacked in the mouth. Tony’s hands fly out to clutch the sides of his chair and stick there; he can’t move them to stop the projector in time. It just keeps playing out, each frame worse than the one before.

Of course he remembers this moment. He remembers it perfectly, because it was the first time Howard really hurt him. Not with his hands, although the bruises did linger longer than usual, after.

This was the moment when Tony, so tender and impressionable even at that “advanced” age, learned what his father really thought of him.

That old, awful feeling feels a lot like drowning when he thinks of Steve seeing what’s about to happen, let alone the rest of the team.

“I’m Captain America and I’m here to save you!”

“You’re not saving shit, boy.” Howard stumbles into frame like a bad Vaudeville performer, slurring Tony’s name like an expletive. “Put that down, you fucking brat. You’re not worth it.”

The blood rushing in Tony’s ears drowns out the sound of voices past and present. All he can see is Howard filling the frame in that horrible tan suit, gripping a bottle of bourbon by the neck. The image catches on young Tony’s terrified expression, the way he hides behind the shield that’s almost as big as he is. He watches his own mouth move—Cap will save me, he’d cried, so confident, so certain that his hero would come and put Howard through the wall and carry Tony away to safety—and then down the bottle comes…

“Turn it off! I said turn it off!”

Something hits the projector hard enough to not only knock it off the table it was sitting on, but send both hurtling across the room. They smash to pieces against the far wall with a noisy clatter that almost stops Tony’s heart in his chest.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the thwap-thwap-thwap of film smacking the floor as the reel spins on and on until coming to a feeble stop. He can hear breathing, heavy and labored and sliding quickly toward panic, and he realizes with a shuddering gasp that it’s him making that sound.

Tony looks up and sees Steve standing where the projector once was, cradling his bleeding hand. The man looks stricken, pale and horrified, worse than if he’d seen a ghost; behind him, the team has inched closer, all of them wearing varying expressions of distress and pity and guilt and sadness, and suddenly Tony can’t bolt out of his chair fast enough. He can’t get away fast enough. He follows his feet out of the room into the corridor and down, down, down to the workshop where it’s safe, where he can’t get in, no one can, not unless Tony lets them.

Someone is calling his name, but Tony disappears down the stairs before he can figure out who. He bursts through doors he can’t see and staggers over to the closest workbench, sucking in deep, ragged breaths like he can’t catch up to them. Is that a screw loose in his chest cavity, he wonders, gasping, because that rattling sound seems to indicate something has come undone that shouldn’t have. Howard’s dead, Tony reminds himself, over and over again. It’s a fact as true as any algorithm, so why won’t it take?

JARVIS’s voice moves gently through the noise in Tony’s brain: “Sir, Captain Rogers is asking permission to enter.”

Steve.

Tony can’t decide if the thought of Steve seeing him like this helps or worsens the rattling in his chest. Either way he feels like shit, but only one of those ways ends up with Captain America pitying him, or worse.

He’s so caught up in thinking about all the ways this could backfire he doesn’t realize JARVIS has let Steve into the workshop, regardless of Tony’s feelings on the matter. The realization sets in when Steve’s voice appears close to his ear, soft and low with a frisson of urgency, like he too is slightly out of breath.

“Tony, it’s just me. It’s okay. I’m going to put my hand on your back.”

Warmth spreads from Steve’s fingers through Tony’s shirt and into the skin high up on his back between his shoulders. Steve can probably feel how fast Tony’s heart is racing, but spares him his overt concern and instead keeps telling Tony what he’s going to do before he does it: a hand on Tony’s forehead, an arm around his back, asking JARVIS to turn the lights down to thirty-five percent.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

Tony sags into Steve’s touch, his large, warm hand cradling Tony’s head like something precious; the deeper dark quiets the room around them, makes it less overwhelming, less full of ghosts waiting to cast their own opaque shadows on the empty walls. Tony and Steve are left standing in a dim light Tony knows makes him look sallow; he wavers on his feet, left to borrow from Steve’s strength because he can’t find his own. Lucky for Tony, Steve is right there, braced and ready for anything. Like always.

The rattling has settled somewhat, but Tony still has to rely on Steve to tell him when to breathe and how deeply. He forgets, sometimes, that Steve has experience dealing with panic attacks, which so often came before an asthma attack. Steve once told him that even years removed from his sickly days, he still remembers what it’s like to lose that grip on reality, feeling the heart too acutely as it beats against too-brittle ribs.

While Steve draws on those memories often enough with others on the team, it’s a rare occasion for Tony to be on the receiving end of Steve’s nursing hand like this. Jokes or angry silence over cuts, breaks, and bruises, sure, but this? Tender hands and a voice pitched low and soothing, lullaby-soft, speaking words of gentle encouragement? Tony’s head feels light with it.

“Do you want to sit down?” Steve asks. Tony shakes his head against his palm. “Okay,” Steve whispers, his voice the only one in the room, which makes for a funny kind of one-sided conversation. Then, before he can think better of it, Tony turns toward Steve, wraps his arms around the man’s impossible waist, and hugs himself close to Steve’s radiating heat. He’s too gone for shame, and too weak; a soft, gentle Steve is hard to resist, even on good days. And this just became a no good, very bad day.

Fucking Howard.

Steve, for his part, takes the hug in stride like they do it every day. Tony likes to imagine it, touching Steve like this whenever he wants to, but that’s all it is—a fantasy. Just like being with Steve is a fantasy, one Tony has entertained for far too many years to count. He satisfies himself with Steve’s friendship, tells himself it’s enough, and if he happens to sleep with the occasional look-alike, that’s nobody’s business but Tony’s (and JARVIS’s, and in one deeply unfortunate instance, Pepper’s).

Strangers want Tony Stark, the celebrity; Steve wants Tony as a friend and teammate. That’s all. So Tony steals his nice, platonic hug as he trembles and breathes his way out of a panic attack, being careful to avoid nuzzling the soft notch at the base of Steve’s throat the way he wants to. Badly.

He’s so preoccupied with holding all the disparate parts of himself together and hiding them so Steve can’t see, he doesn’t notice Steve’s hands start to rub his back in long, soothing strokes until Tony is half-melted in his steady arms, weak-kneed at how comforted he feels. Steve doesn’t say anything—just keeps moving his hands, up and down Tony’s back, across his shoulders, along his arms, and over again. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, without motive, ulterior or otherwise; his skin feels warm down to his toes.

“Better?” Steve murmurs. Tony nods against his chest. He doesn’t let go. Neither does Steve, who seems to fold himself over Tony until they’re more like one person than two, standing there breathing together in Tony’s darkened workshop.

Slowly, thoughts of Howard, of hurt, start to melt back into the shadows. In their place is Steve, filling up all of Tony’s empty spaces with light, even some of the ones he didn’t know he had. For such a strong man, Steve is unbearably gentle, handling Tony the way he might handle spun sugar or thin glass. Tony has never felt so genuinely cared for, and the fact that he can’t pull back and thank Steve with a kiss smarts a little in the face of it.

That is, it does, up until the moment he feels Steve brush a kiss against where Tony’s hairline meets his forehead, soft and uncomplicated, but lingering, like Steve wants to stay there. To do more. Tony knows that move because he’s imagined doing the exact same thing to Steve, god, thousands of times.

Tony wants so much. Too much. Asking Steve for this would tip things precariously toward the latter. But the question is taken out of Tony’s hands the moment one of Steve’s perches itself under his jaw and tilts his face up.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

“It’s ancient history,” Tony replies, maintaining eye contact through sheer willpower when all he wants to do is look at Steve’s mouth, now so close to his.

“Not to you, it isn’t,” Steve counters, and there’s not much Tony can say to that. “I’ll talk to the team. They might have questions, and you shouldn’t have to answer them. Not tonight, anyways.”

“I know you’ve got big shoulders, Steve, but you don’t have to take on my baggage on top of everything else.”

As they talk, their bodies never move an inch apart; chests pressed flush against each other, Steve’s fingers splayed along the side of Tony’s neck. All of it—the proximity, the tenderness, the intimacy—feels as natural as the breathing they just did together. Ten-plus years of friendship will do that. But then, the way Steve is looking at him doesn’t really scream friendship.

It kind of screams I love you.

Steve gives him that little smirk and says, “Maybe I want to.” Tony scoffs, flicking one of the shoulders in question for good measure.

“God, how are you still such a horrible liar, Cap? Is there something in the serum that makes it impossible for you to keep a good poker face?”

“This is my good poker face,” Steve replies, and there it is again, the same look Steve gave him earlier before the night spun out like a race car with its wheels blown off: intense, considering, and so, so close.

Tony swallows nothing but air. Steve, never breaking eye contact, cards his fingers through the hair on the back of Tony’s head and holds them there.

“If I kiss you right now, will you have another panic attack?” he asks quietly. Not even a blink. The part of Tony’s brain—a scant centimeter, at best—that isn’t currently blasting a hundred sirens at full volume is actually kind of impressed.

“I doubt it,” Tony replies evenly. “I’ll probably just pass out.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown grin. Steve squeezes his other arm around Tony’s lower back and hums, deep and resonant, in his chest as he leans down to brush his lips feather-softly against Tony’s.

“You fall, I’ll catch you,” he whispers before dipping in for a proper kiss that floods Tony’s head with incandescent light. It’s chaste and measured and burning with mutual restraint, tastes faintly of the buttered popcorn Steve ate earlier, and the only way it could be better is if it never ended.

Tony tightens his arms around Steve’s waist, and when Steve pulls away to speak, he doesn’t go far, seemingly content to stand there in Tony’s embrace in the middle of the dimly lit workshop.

“Still breathing?” he asks. Tony smiles; Steve smiles back.

“Takes a lot more than that to knock the wind out of me, Cap.”

The way Steve’s eyes darken at that little remark is definitely something Tony intends to investigate further, later. For now, he leans into the hand now resting on his cheek and sighs.

“We’ll test that theory another time,” Steve husks before leaning forward to press a kiss to each eyelid. Tony hums happily, sinking further into Steve’s arms. “Can I carry you to bed?”

Tony gives him a look. “I’m heavy,” he says.

Steve just smiles, kisses Tony like he’s been doing it forever, and replies: “You’re worth it.”

- - -

see? happy endings. fuck howard.

#I'm sorry it's been so long!!!#work has been bonkers and then travel happened and now I'm trying not to get sick #so here's fic #stevetony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers #616 fic #howard stark is an asshole #young tony stark #avengers movie night #prompt fic #responses #rachel writes fic

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paths-of-my-childhood-candid · 4 years

Text

Lover Conquers All

By: Mark Sutherland for Music Week Date: November 4th 2019 issue (published online on December 13th 2019)

She’s the world’s biggest pop star, but despite her global success, Taylor Swift is also the music industry’s greatest advocate for artists’ and songwriters’ rights. And, with a ground-breaking new record deal and a bold new album, Lover, she’s not about to stop now. Music Week meets her to talk music and business...

Around this time of year, the Taylor Swift anniversaries come at you thick and fast. Nine years since her third album, Speak Now, every note of which was written entirely by Swift, hit the shelves. Five years since she released her mould-breaking pop album, 1989, and went from the world’s biggest country star to the world’s biggest pop star overnight. Two years since her Reputation record saw her become the only musician to post four successive million-plus debut sales weeks in the United States. And so on.

But today, Swift’s mind is drawn further back, to the 13th anniversary of her debut, self-titled record, and the days when her album releases weren’t automatically accompanied by mountains of hype and enough think-pieces to sink a battleship. Her journal entries from the time - helpfully reprinted as part of the deluxe editions of her new album, Lover - reveal her as an excited, optimistic teenager, but also one with a grasp of marketing strategies and label politics way beyond her years, even if she was reluctant to actually take credit for her ideas.

“It always was and it always will be an interesting dance being a young woman in the music industry,” she smiles ruefully. “We don’t have a lot of female executives, we’re working on getting more female engineers and producers but, while we are such a drastic gender minority, it’s interesting to try and figure out how to be.”

And, of course, when Swift started out she was, as she points out, “an actual kid”.

“I was planning the release of my first album when I was 15 years old,” she reminisces. “And I was a fully gangly 15, I reminded everyone of their niece! I was in this industry in Nashville and country music, where I was making album marketing calls, but I never wanted to stand up and say, ‘Yeah, that promotions plan you just complimented my label on, I thought of that! Me and my Mom thought of that!’

“When you’re a new artist you wonder how much space you can take up and, as a woman, you wonder how much space you can take up pretty much your whole period of growing up,” she continues. “For me, growing up and knowing that I was an adult was realising that I was allowed to take up space from a marketing perspective, from a business perspective, from an opinionated perspective. And that feels a lot better than constantly trying to wonder if I’m allowed to be here.”

In the intervening years, Taylor Swift has released six further, brilliant albums, growing from country starlet to all-conquering pop behemoth along the way. She takes up “more space”, as she would put it, than any other musician on the planet: a sales and now - having belatedly embraced the format with Lover - streaming phenomenon; a powerhouse stadium performer; an award-garlanded songwriter for herself and others; and a social media giant with a combined 278 million followers across Instagram, Twitter and Facebook (which would make the Taylor Nation the fourth most populous one on earth, after China, India and the US).

But her influence on music and the music industry doesn’t end there. Because, over the years, Swift has also become a leading advocate for artists’ and songwriters’ rights, in a digital landscape that doesn’t always have such matters as a priority.

In 2015, she stood up to Apple Music over its plans to not pay artist royalties during subscribers’ three-month free trials (Apple backed down immediately). She pulled her entire catalogue from Spotify in 2014 in protest that its free tier was devaluing music, sending Daniel Ek scrambling to justify his business model. When she returned in 2017, it was a crucial fillip for the streaming service’s IPO plans.

More recently, her ground-breaking new record deal with Republic Records contained clauses not only guaranteeing her ownership of her future masters, but also ensuring Universal Music will share the spoils of its Spotify shares with its artists, without any payments counting against unrecouped balances. And when her long-time former label boss Scott Borchetta sold Big Machine to Scooter Braun’s Ithaca Holdings, taking Swift’s first six albums with him, the star publicly called out what she saw as her “worst-case scenario” and stressed: “You deserve to own the art you make”. She may yet re-record her old songs in protest.

In short, Swift has, for a long time now, been unafraid to use her voice on industry matters, whether they pertain to her own stellar career or the thousands of other artists out there struggling to make a living.

All of which makes Swift not just the greatest star of our age, but perhaps the most important to the future development of the industry as a more artist-centric, songwriter-friendly business. Hers is still the life of the pop phenomenon - she spent today in Los Angeles doing promotion and photoshoots (or, in her words, “having people put make-up on me”) as Lover continues to build on huge critical acclaim and even huger initial sales. But now, she’s kicking back with her cats - one of whom seems determined to disrupt Music Week’s interview by “stampeding” through at every opportunity - and ready to talk business.

And for Swift, business is good. The impact of her joining streaming, and the decline of traditional album sales, may have prevented her from posting a fifth successive one million-plus sales debut, but Lover still sold more US copies (867,000) in its first week than any record since her own Reputation. It’s sold 117,513 copies to date in the UK, according to the Official Charts Company.

Even better, while Reputation - a record forged in the white heat of a social media snakestorm over her on-going feud with Kanye West - was plenty of show and rather less grow, Lover continues to reveal hidden depths. Reputation struck a sometimes curious contrast between the unrepentant warrior Swift she was showing to the outside world and the love story with British actor Joe Aiwyn that was quietly developing behind closed doors, but Lover is the sort of versatile, cohesive album that the streaming age was supposed to kill off.

It contains more than its fair share of pop bangers (You Need To Calm Down, Me!), but also some gorgeously-crafted acoustic tracks (Lover, Cornelia Street), some pithy political commentary (The Man, Miss America & The Heartbreak Prince) and the sort of musical diversions (Paper Rings’ irresistible rockabilly stomp, the childlike oddity of It’s Nice To Have A Friend) that no other pop superstar would have the sheer musical chops to attempt, let alone pull off.

“Taylor’s creative instincts as an artist and songwriter are brilliant,” says Monte Lipman, founder and CEO of Swift’s US label, Republic. “Our partnership represents a strategic alliance built on mutual respect, trust, and complete transparency. Her vision is extraordinary as she sets the tone for every campaign and initiative.”

No wonder David Joseph, chairman/CEO of her long-time UK label Virgin EMI’s parent company Universal Music UK, is thrilled with how things are going.

“Love Story was a fitting first single release for Taylor here - she’s loved the UK from day one and has engaged so much with her fans and teams,” says Joseph. “She really respects and values what’s going on here creatively. To see her go from playing the Students’ Union at King’s College to Wembley Stadium has been extraordinary. Taylor is an artist constantly striving for perfection, and with Lover - from my personal point of view, her most accomplished work to date adore working with her and whilst it’s been more than 10 years this still feels like the start.”

And today, Swift is keen to concentrate on the present and future. She has a starring role in Cats coming up (and a new song on the soundtrack, Beautiful Ghosts, co-written with Andrew Lloyd Webber) and, after a spectacularly intimate Paris launch show in September, festival dates and her own LoverFest to plan (UK shows will be revealed soon). Time, then, to tell the cats to calm down and sit down with Music Week to talk streaming, contracts and why she’s “obsessed” with the music industry...

Unlike with Reputation, most of the discussion around Lover seems to have been focused on the music... Absolutely! One of the ideas I had about this record, and something I’ve implemented into my life in the last couple of years is that I don’t like distractions. And, for a while, it felt like my life had to come with distractions from the music, whether it was tabloid fascination with my personal life or my friendships or what I was wearing. I realised in the last couple of years that, if I don’t give a window into distraction, people can’t try to look in and see something other than the music. I love that, if you really pour yourself into the idea that an album is still important and try really hard to make something that is worth people’s attention span, time and energy, that can still come across. Because we are living in an industry right now where everyone’s rushing towards taking us into a singles industry and, in some cases, it has become that. But there are still some cases where clearly the album is important to people.

Does it matter that some new artists won’t get to make albums the way you always have? It’s interesting. Five years ago I wrote an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal and said, maybe in the next five years, we would see artists releasing music the way that they want to. I thought that each artist would start to curate what is important to them, not just from an artistic standpoint but from a marketing standpoint. It’s really interesting to see different release plans, if you look at what Drake did and then what Beyoncé does, incredible artists who have really curated what it is to drop music in their own way. We all do it differently, which is cool. As long as people dropping just singles want to be doing that, then I’m fine with it, but if it feels like a big general wave that’s being pressured by people in power, their teams or their labels, that’s not cool. But I do really hope that in the future artists have more of a say over strategy. We’re not just supposed to make art and then hand it to a team that masterminds it.

Were you worried about putting an album on streaming on release day for the first time? Well, there are ways that streaming services could really promote the [whole] album in a more incentivised way. We could have album charts on streaming. The industry follows where they can get prizes. So you have a singles chart on streaming services which is great but, if you split things up into genre charts for example, that would really incentivise people. It’s important that we keep trying to strive to make the experience better for users but also make it more interesting for artists to keep wanting to achieve. But I really did love the experience of putting the album on streaming. I loved the immediacy, I loved that people who maybe weren’t a huge diehard fan were curious and saying, ‘I wonder what this is like’ and listening to it and deciding that they liked it.

You’d resisted streaming for a long time. Have you changed your mind about the format now? I always knew that I would enjoy the aspects of streaming that make [your music] so immediately available to so many people. That’s the part of it that I unequivocally always felt really sad I was missing out on. There wasn’t ever a day when I woke up and I was like, ‘Oh, I’m really glad that multitudes of people don’t have access to my music!’ So I always knew that streaming was an incredible mechanism and model for the future but I still don’t think we have the royalties and compensation system worked out. That’s between the labels and their artists and I realised that me, to use a gross word, ‘leveraging’ what I can bring to cut a better deal for the artists at my record label was really important for me.

How big a factor were things like that in you signing to Republic/Universal? That’s important to me because that means they’re adopting some of my ideas. If they take me on as an artist that means they really thought it through. Because with me, come opinions about how we can better our industry. I’m one of the only people in the artist realm who can be loud about it. People who are on their fifth, sixth or seventh album, we’re the only ones who can speak out, because new artists and producers and writers need to work. They need to be endearing and likeable and available to their labels and streaming services at all times. It’s up to the artists who have been around for a second to say, ‘Hey guys, the producers and the writers and the artists are the ones who are making music what it is’. And we’re in a great place in music right now thanks to them. They should be going to their mailbox and feeling like they’ve got a pension plan, rather than feeling like, ‘Oh yay, I can pay half my rent this month after this No.1 song’.

Did you have more creative freedom making Lover than on your previous albums? In my previous situation, there were creative constraints, issues that we had over the years. I’ve always given 100% to projects, I always over-delivered, thinking that that generosity would be returned to me. But I ended up finding that generosity in a new situation with a new label that understands that I deserve to own what I make. That meant so much to me because it was given over to me so freely. When someone just looks at you and says ‘Yes, you deserve what you want’, after a decade or more of being told, ‘I’m not sure you deserve what you want’ - there’s a freedom that comes with that. It’s like when people find ‘the one’ they’re like, ‘It was easy, I just knew and I felt free’. All of a sudden you’re being told you’re worth exactly, no, more than what you thought you were worth. And that made me feel I could make an album that was exactly what I wanted to make. There’s an eclectic side to Lover, a confessional side, it varies from acoustic to really poppy pop, but that’s what I like to do. And, while you would never make something artistic based on something so unromantic as a contract, it was more than that. It was a group of people saying, ‘We believe in what you’re making, go make what you want to make and you deserve to own it too’.

You’re obviously not happy about what’s happened at Big Machine since you left. But will the attention mean artists don’t find themselves in this situation in the future? I hope so. That’s the only reason that I speak out about things. The fans don’t understand these things, the public isn’t being made aware. This generation has so much information available to them so I thought it was important that the fans knew what I was going through, because I knew it was going to affect every aspect of my life and I wanted them to be the first to know. And in and amongst that group, I know there are people that want to make music some day. It involves every new artist that is reading that and going, ‘Wait, that’s what I’m signing?’ They don’t have to sign stuff that’s unfair to them. If you don’t ask the right questions and you sit in front of the wrong desk in front of the wrong person, they can take everything from you.

Songwriters are in dispute with Spotify in the US over its decision to appeal the Copyright Board decision to boost songwriting royalties. Do writers need more respect? Absolutely. In terms of the power structure, the songwriters, the producers, the engineers, the people who are breathing magic into our industry, need to be listened to. They’re not being greedy. This is legitimately an industry where people are having trouble paying their bills and they’re the most talented people we have. This isn’t them sitting in their mansions going, ‘I wish this mansion was bigger and I would like a yacht please’. This is actually people who are going to work every single day. I got into writing when I was in Nashville and it was very much like what I read about the Brill Building. You would write every day, whether you were inspired or not, and in the process I met artists and writers. Somebody would walk in and someone would say, ‘Oh, he’s still getting mailbox money from that Faith Hill cut a couple of years ago, he’s set’. That’s not a thing anymore. Mailbox money is a thing of the past and we need to remember that these are the people that create the heartbeat that we’re all dancing to or crying to.

You were clearly aware of music industry machinations from a young age... Reading back on the journal entries, I forgot how obsessed I was with the industry as a teenager. I was so fascinated by how it works and how it was changing. Every part of it was interesting to me. I had drawn the stages for most of my tours a year before I went on them. That really was fun for me as a teenager! A lot of people who start out very young in music, either don’t have a say or don’t have the will to do the business side of it, but weirdly that was so much fun for me to try and learn. I had a lot of energy when I was 16!

Are you doing similar drawings for next year’s LoverFest? Definitely. And that’s why it’s still fun for me to take on a challenge like, ‘Oh, let’s just plan our own festival’. Let’s create a bill of artists and try and make it as fun as possible for the fans. I’m so intrigued by what that’s going to be like.

Finally, when we last did an interview in 2015, you said in five years’ time you wanted to be “finding complexity in happiness”. How has that worked out? That’s exactly what’s happened with this album! I think a lot of writers have the fear of stability, emotional health and happiness. Our whole careers, people make jokes about how, ‘Just wait until you meet someone nice, you’ll run out of stuff to write about’. I was talking to [Cats director] Tom Hooper about this because he said one thing his mother taught him was, ‘Don’t ever let people tell you that you can’t make art if you’re happy’. I thought that was so amazing. He’s a creator in a completely different medium but he has been subjected to that same joke over and over again that we must be miserable to create. Lover is important to me in so many ways, but it’s so imperative for me as a human being that songwriting is not tied to my own personal misery. It’s good to know that, it really is!

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