#(and this line was the very first thing I thought of when I read that xD)

[cottonlemonade]

Hello! I hope you’re having a good day/night can I order off menu B. I would like a cherry juice with a matcha roll please! Sitting next to either Oikawa or Iwaizumi please ^-^

Secret Admirer

word count: 1086 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: Iwaizumi x chubby!Reader feat. Oikawa

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, secret admirer with crush Iwaizumi, as manager

____________________________________________

You paused when you unzipped your bag and after a moment’s confusion looked around. The last few stragglers of the team just left, laughing and talking, racing each other to the showers. Turning back to your bag you fished out the two folded pieces of paper that lay on top of your books. One was a simple sheet of gridded paper, seemingly torn from a notepad. One side was a little crumpled like it had been ripped rather hurriedly. The other one was neatly folded into a square, the four corners each adorned with a little heart in red ink.

You unfolded the first, plain looking paper and read. With each line your eyes grew wider and you felt your heart pounding all the way up in your throat. A love letter! No, a love note - as it was rather short. At first you thought someone must have made a mistake - this was most likely supposed to be for someone else - but it said your name at the very top. It described how the author of the note had been in love with you since you gave Kyotani a piece of your mind for not working well with the rest of the team and causing injuries with his recklessness (upon which the wing spiker had mumbled an apology and bowed half-heartedly to the other players).

It ended with a simple declaration of calling you “cool and pretty” and then apparently, whoever it was, didn’t think it necessary to sign a name. Still giddy from the first, you opened the second letter. Now this one was… a bit more out there. You frowned as you read. It was undoubtedly written by a boy judging by the handwriting but the hearts and cute little doodles along the page confused you. Maybe it was a first year? But this one also had your name at the top and even written on the back so there was no doubt that it found the right recipient. However, it felt a lot more like a joke which made you doubt the authenticity of the first letter. What if some first years thought it would be funny to tease the chubby manager with thoughts about not just one but two secret admirers?

Your mood darkened and with a sigh you crumpled up both the notes and tossed them into the trash on your way out.

The next day you tried to push the whole thing out of your mind. Chatting with your friends over lunch you told them about the notes and they agreed that it sounded like a dumb joke and you did the right thing by throwing them out.

In a free period, the third years went to the gym for cleaning duty. Hanamaki and Matsukawa made a competition out of mopping the floor while Iwaizumi and Oikawa took out the trash after cleaning the volleyballs.

Iwaizumi furrowed his brow as he lifted the wastepaper basket at the door to pour its contents into a large trash bag . He spotted a bit of paper with hearts and your name in the middle of them. Covertly, he picked it out between the rest of crumpled balls and, making sure his friends were far enough away not to see, turned his back to them to smooth out the note. He recognized the handwriting immediately and gagged at the letter. This sounded like it was written by a middle schooler at best! And what was with all those hearts and was that supposed to be a teddy bear drawing?

Iwaizumi glanced back into the basket, panic rising in his chest and sure enough, another note on familiar paper was also crumpled on top.

“Hey!! Shittykawa!”

“Don’t call me that, Iwa-chan!”, Oikawa whined but jogged over to his friend, “What did I do now?”

Iwaizumi boiled with anger as he lifted the cringey letter up to the setter’s eyes.

“Oh no, she threw it out? I really worked on that.”, he pouted.

“Why- why are you writing love letters to her in the first place!? You don’t like her like that!”

Oikawa gave him a superior smile, the kind he whipped out during games when he knew he was three steps ahead of the other team.

“I was helping you, Iwa-chan. You said you don’t know how to confess and you scoffed at my confession letter idea. But I know you wouldn’t want to wait until graduation, so”, he took the letter from his hands, “I decided to write one for you. - It’s a shame she didn’t like it. But then, one can’t help their taste. Evidently, since she picked you over me. - Ow! Iwa-chan, that hurt!” The captain rubbed his arm where Iwaizumi had punched him.

“I did write her letter.”, Iwaizumi pressed out from behind clenched teeth.

“… oh. And how did that go?”

The ace held up the second disregarded paper.

“Hm. She didn’t like either of them? Weird.”

“No, you idiot! She probably thought someone played a prank on her.”

The following squabble was interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat.

“Everything alright?”

Iwaizumi let go of Oikawa and bowed to you immediately.

“Sorry, y/n-kun. We just-“

He stopped when he followed your line of sight and noticed how you stared at the two notes still clutched tightly in their hands.

The two boys waited for your reaction and were surprised when you laughed nervously.

“Oh no, you guys saw those? Can you believe what the first years do for a laugh?”

Oikawa frowned and put a hand on his hip, “You really think first years could produce this kind of quality poetry?”, he waved the heart adorned letter in the air, then thought for a moment, adding in a mutter, “I mean, okay, maybe Iwa-chan’s wasn’t really- Ow! Stop kicking me!”

Iwaizumi glared at him to be quiet then turned back to you. Your embarrassed expression turned to confusion then to incredulity.

“What do you mean… “Iwa-chan’s”?”, you asked slowly.

Oikawa made a gesture like a waiter directing a guest to their table, pushing Iwaizumi forward with the other hand.

The ace stumbled for a second, then caught himself at the bottom of the few entry steps to the gym. He was close enough now that you saw the dark pink of his ears as he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes.

“Was it really that bad?”, he mumbled and when he finally looked at you found you beaming up at him.

____________________________________________

a/n: special thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for supplying me with the perfect ending! And thank you for the request ^^ I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone has seen Ouran High School Host Club, for Oikawa’s attempt to help Iwa I had the letter in mind Kyoya and the twins wrote in Haruhi’s name in episode two xD

[babeeangel]

a polaroid love

For Christmas, Isagi got a polaroid, and you best believe all his 10 polas would be of you, his muse.

smut – 4k words🧍. Isagi x fem!reader

DO NOT READ IN PUBLIC unless you’re a brave soul wwww. Mentions of sex, slight chocking, p in v, cum.... yadayada. Characters obvi aged up.

inspired by someone here on tumblr ! Who's user i forgot so if you know pleassssse tell me !! Their fic was something along the lines of: where the bllk boys would keep their dirty polaroids. I feel so stupid for not finding it again... Anyway enjoy my first long fic ! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

ꕥ

For christmas, Isagi got a polaroid with 10 pictures to take. He did not ask for that, neither had he ever thought about getting one, let alone actually using it. But he figured, now that it’s here, might as well make a good use out of it. 

His muse was obviously the one and only you. It wasn’t necessarily his intention, but his first and last pictures would be of you. At first he asked you when to take pictures, if you considered they would be worthwhile. Over time, he had his own sense of photographic art. The very first one was his idea though. 

1rst pola: a picture of you two. 

When he got it, he instantly said that the first picture he wanted was one of the two of you, to put in his phone case. Therefore the first picture ever printed was you two hugging in front of the christmas tree. You’re looking at the camera, smiling, his hand on your waist, your head nuzzled in his neck. You were wearing matching christmas sweaters if it matters, yours red, his green. He had asked Hiori, who gifted him the polaroid, to take the picture and choose the settings. And it turned out perfect ! Not over exposed, centered. Isagi was so happy with the results… As promised, he instantly put it in his clear phone case, hiding the dollar bill that was already there. It’s a happy memory you are glad has been immortalized. 

2nd pola: you at a café

His second picture was at a café, not much after the first pola. He had almost forgotten the existence of his camera, until he saw it sitting on his shelf and thought your upcoming coffee date was a great time to take a pic. He quickly put it in his bag and carried on. When you were finally seated he asked you to pose and ! Flash and all, the picture was getting printed. It came out a bit too bright ‘cause he didn’t master the settings yet, but he was happy nonetheless. “Pretty for my first polaroid, isn't it?” “Your model did all the work”, you answered, kittenish. 

3rd pola: you fixing your hair

For his third polaroid, Isagi had decided he wanted to have a candid moment, not a perfected pose. So when he saw you getting ready to go to run errands, he thought “this is the typa moments i want to capture, my lovely day-to-day”. He turned the polaroid on and sneakily took a picture of you fixing your hair in front of the mirror. The flash surprised you so much, you turned around and couldn’t help but to smile at his contented face. To be fair, the picture turned out great. The yellow bathroom light almost gave it a retro vibe. and the composition, for something that was taken so fast, was surprisingly good. Had it been digital, it definitely would have become your insta profile picture. 

4rth pola: you at the beach

The fourth film was used at the sea. You and your boyfriend were on a beach vacation. That definitely was a good place for pictures, had he thought. In the suitcase it went. Isagi was definitely not the type of guy to “save things for the perfect moment, a moment that ultimately never came so you ended up never using said thing''. He was a firm believer in “use it as soon as you feel like it, or else it would end up unopened 5 years later when you are no longer interested in it”. So whenever he felt like taking a polaroid, he did it, not thinking about its price or anything else. Obviously, a vacation in a paradisaic landscape was the place he wanted to have physical memories of. As soon as you guys had arrived at the hotel, you put down your suitcases and stripped down to put your swimsuit on – a baby blue and white striped bikini – and ran to the sand. Isagi did the same, only taking his polaroid with him and a bit of cash cause he knew you would want ice cream. Just as he planned, you first ran up to the water, went in until your claves got wet, turned around, splashed him a bit, laughed at him and exited the water, until you saw the ice cream vendor with his cart, and looked at him with puppy eyes. You didn't even need to say a word, he was already holding your hand as you walked towards the man. You chose your always flavor, Isagi did the same. He had the routine memorized, so he knew the next step would be you tasting your ice cream and immediately asking to taste his before even finishing experiencing your own flavor. “Sure” he said as he brought his cone to your face. Just as it was close enough for you to lick (you were staring at him right in the eyes), he pushed it a little more, until it hit your nose leaving a bit of ice cream on it. You smiled really hard, til the corners of your mouth reached your ears. He stepped back, and clicked the perfect shot. Beautiful you in a beautiful outfit with a beautiful sea behind. And a cute moment. Maybe his favorite pola as of this far. 

5th pola: you flashing him at the supermarket

When the time came for him to take his 5th polaroid, half his shots, you wanted to make things more interesting. Isagi had been so sweet to you these days, especially during these beach vacations. He told you he wanted a more casual souvenir, one in a random place. So the local mini supermarket seemed perfect ! He told you to stand next to the soda bottles for a colorful background. So you did. But you were feeling a little mischievous and also wanted to give your lover a special gift. You were all reddish from the sun, your freckles stood out and your hair was curly from the salt. You looked effortlessly innocent, maybe that was why Isagi loved you so hard perhaps. Since you were coming back from the beach, you still had your tote bag on your shoulder, your mini shorts on, and sand on your knees. Oh and you weren't wearing anything under your shirt. So after making sure you were right where Isagi wanted you in the frame, you hit a pose. “Are you ready ? One, Two, Three !” Right as he said three, you shook your peace signs away to grab the bottom of your shirt and lift it up, showing your beautiful boobs to the entire supermarket. Luckily, it was empty and no one saw it. Clueless, Isagi put down his camera and waited for the film to come out. Perhaps from the small window thing on his camera, he hadn't seen what you did. So he was there, blissfully unaware, looking at the white yet undeveloped polaroid. “Okay, we can get moving now ! As always, the picture’s gonna show up in a few minutes so let’s buy what we have to buy”. Isagi started walking in front of you. As you guys grabbed snacks, you could see him peeping at the picture. Getting chips, he peeped. Getting fruit, he peeped, longer this time. Getting chocolates, he peeped and looked confused, bringing the pola closer to his face. While grabbing chewing gum at the cashier, you could see him getting redder and redder, though he didn't say a word. He quickly put it in his pocket, and asked for the total, stuttering. You could feel he was avoiding your eyes. So to tease him even more, you got up to him and grabbed his arm. You could feel how hot his face was, it was so cute. When you passed the automatic exit doors, he looked at you: “Y/N ! Why did you do that !” He wanted to sound mad but you knew he was just flustered. “Why, are they ugly ?” “No – don't say that ! They are way too beautiful, that’s the problem. I’m gonna cherish this pola, it will be mine and only mine to see”. You laughed and laid your head on his shoulders as you walked. “Don’t play tricks like this on me again, y/n…”

6th pola: a facial

The sixth pola was taken the same day as the fifth. I guess all these emotions had him excited. When you guys went back to your hotel room at the end of the day, you put down your stuff and headed straight for the shower (you hated the feeling of sand in your hair and salt on your skin). As you started singing a tune under the shower head, you heard the bathroom open, but you paid no mind to it as Isagi often entered to take random items and exited as if he was never there. So you continued singing “yeogi pale blue dot, ooh hoo ohh…” When you heard the door close, you sang a little louder as you tried to wash away the shampoo from your hair. But you soon heard the shower curtain wrinkle and water droplets fall on the rug. You barely started to turn around to see what was happening when you felt Isagi’s hand on your waist. His touch felt a bit slippery as you still had remains of foam on you. “What are you doi–” you giggled but he stopped you from finishing your sentence, interrupting you with a kiss. From there on everything went literally steamy, as you guys locked yourself up in the bathroom for quite some time, stopping all the vapor from ventatiling. It did not stop at a kiss, and when you guys finally decided to exit the bathroom, it was only to continue in the bedroom. You had your high quite a few times, so did he. It ended when he came on your face for one last time. You looked at him with lustful eyes, shiny from tears, cheeks flushed pink. You were so beautiful. So much so he wanted to remember your beauty forever. Without letting go of your throat –that he had been holding as hard as you liked– he turned around and grabbed the polaroid that you guys had thrown on the hotel carpet since you were in such a hurry to free up the bed. Because one hand of his was busy, he had to pull on the lens with his teeth, to turn the camera on. As soon as it was ready, he chose the right setting and flashed your eyes almost blind. He did it so swiftly you barely had time to realize it, let alone change poses. You still had your innocent expression on, face dazzled with his milky cum. He took the picture that was coming out and laid it on the bed. He finally unclenched his hand on your throat and with his thumb, rubbed off some of the cum you had on your nose to spread it on your pouty lips. You licked it off and finally smiled, like you regained your spirits. “Did it turn out great ?” “How couldn't it ? You’re so photogenic”. Once the pola had fully gotten his colors, he looked at him before showing you. You were lying in the bed sheets when you took it from his hands. Beautiful. Your big eyes, the eerie white flash on the white hotel sheets, his veined hand, your breasts with pointy nipples and obviously, Isagi’s artistic streaks all over your face. “Are you putting this one in your phone case, Isagi ?” “Want me to ?”. You chuckled. 

7th pola: your wet pussy 

I think at that point you guys had hit the point of no return. Every pola he’d take from now on would not end up in a family photo album. The 7th was taken back home. The vacation had ended and neither of you had wanted to take a pola, maybe nothing was memorable enough to take a pic. So the 7th one happened in your house actually, after a match. Isagi had played against a random nugu team, but somehow had made very beautiful plays. Maybe it was because you, for once, made the effort to go see him. To be fair Isagi was having a really bad season and you kept on taunting him about it. It’s understandable that you didn’t particularly want to see him barely run on the field. But that day you went because you had nothing better to do, and you guys arranged an at-home date, so it was easier if you went home together. You didn't warn him you were coming, you just parked your car and sat in the VIP lounge, close enough to the field he’d notice you fast. Damn had he been good for once in a hot while. He was very lively, made beautiful feints, and memorable goals. He was so attractive when he played… The way his muscles tensed up, how he constantly wiped his sweaty face with his jersey, revealing his abs… Yeah you were no better than a fangirl. Actually you were the fangirl. But to top it off, really tie the knot, something that, unbeknownst to him, physically made you wet… He got mad at other players. Ah, so embarrassing for you but how down bad you were for him shouting at his teammates, borderline pushing the opponents, cussing himself when he missed… You could feel your pussy throbbing all throughout the match, getting more flustered as he began bad mouthing more and more the opponents cause he was winning. When people tried to talk to you, you stuttered, afraid at the idea they could read your mind. Oh the things you were imagining right now. When the match finished, Isagi went directly to you, and changed moods like nothing happened (he was never mean to you like that, to your discontent…). “You came to see me, angel ?” “Yes I figured I’d spare my boyfriend some of my precious time”. You went and kissed him, tasting the salty sweat on his face. You loved him like that, but again, it was a secret. Your kiss was unusually passionate for just a ‘hello’ kiss. Isagi stepped back and looked down at you, chuckling. “Thank you for coming. Let’s go home ?” “Yeah”, you answered as he took your hand and walked to your car.

You were driving when you talked about the match. “I think I went overboard with the rudeness today on the field”. “You think ? I think it was okay. Plus it made them tense, so I guess it worked.” “Tense ? Wait, you could hear them too up where you were ?” “... No, I just, I’m just guessing”. You could feel your cheeks getting redder. “Soooo you know how I am on the field ? Why’d you never mention it ? This is so embarrassing for me y/n…” Isagi closed his eyes while you were pretending to be focused on the road to avoid looking at him. “No it’s not actually. I find it… sexy”. Your cheeks were now hot. “Sexy ?! What do you mean ?! I’m plain spiteful !” “Yeah… that’s kinda what I like. I thank you for not being like this with me cause I’d be constantly horny”. Big blank. Isagi paused as you turned left into your driveway. His mind was working double (So she knew about it ? But she likes it ? Does she like being disrespected or is it just me ? What does she mean horny, if I push her she’ll kiss me ? If I insult her she’ll moan ? What the flip ?) ((Yes I'm convinced Isagi genuinely says that)). You turned the car off, took your keys and opened the door. “Forget about it, I’ve said too much and lost my dignity ‘till the end of our relationship”. You look at the floor sheepishly. “Are you fucking crazy ? You’re so weird y/n !” Isagi looked at you, angry as he caught up to you. You didn't react and went for the door, but Isagi blocked you, putting himself between you and the lock. “Answer”, he forced your chin up with his hand, making you look him in the eyes. Finally you could see the playful spark in his eyes. You smiled. “Yes I’m ‘fuckin crazy’. Cause this is enough for me to want to take my shirt off”. “Damn that’s… crazy. I adore crazy. So when you said wet, you meant… wet ?” “I’m pretty sure I left my seat back there drenched”. Isagi finally let you unlock the door and as soon as you closed it behind you, he picked you up from the floor, taking you straight to the bedroom. “Let me see”. He threw you rather carelessly on the mattress, making you laugh at how everything turned out. He unbuttoned your jeans and took them off for you while you kept laughing. As he threw them on the floor you heard him fulfilled: “it IS true ! You’re so wet only from me ?” You hide your face with your hands, still giggling “I ammm”. As Isagi looked up to see your face, a wide smile on his face, he saw his pola sitting on his shelf. “I am so proud – wait let me show you !” He removed his hand from your inner thighs and stood over you, hands on the bed, stretching trying to reach his camera. When he grabbed it, he looked down and looked at you in the eyes. Your faces were so close to each other. He snapped out of it and went back to business. He touched your wet pussy and tugged on one lip, revealing its pinkish color. Your panties were so stretchy, and so thin, even with fabric, all its topography was clear. And your wetness made the fabric stick even closer to your beautiful inner lips. Your panties were DRENCHED. You didn't lie when you said it made you feel things. Actually, had he looked, even your jeans were humid. He stroked your pussy quickly, and spread your legs slightly more with one hand, as he framed the shot, looking through the small camera preview. “Looks good”. He clicked and you heard the shutter go down. He took the picture and jumped back up to tower you. He looked deeply into your eyes “when you said you loved all of me, you did mean it” “i did, i do”. He kissed you passionately. The polaroid eventually showed its colors. A close up of your beautiful pussy, half of it revealed by Isagi’s fingers, and almost all your panties soaked. “You better not use this kink I have as a secret weapon during our fights from now on, babe”. What a use of a polaroid. 

8th pola: your hands on his dick

The eight pola was the result of a game. Basically you guys went to an arcade and you had set a rule: you would count the winner of every mini activity you did, and the one with the most wins could have a wish realized, any wish. In the end, you ended up winning. And your wish was simple, you wanted a pola that you could keep for yourself. With the satisfied grin you had when you told him what your wish was, he directly understood this would not be a polaroid like the first one you took. You really hesitated for what exactly you wanted to capture, so you thought to yourself that you would see how the night would go and you’d choose the right moment. Isagi looked really really cute, cute enough for you to want to take the picture multiple times. Honorable mentions of when you really hesitated to take the pic: when he took his belt and jeans off, that’s a classic but always has its effect on you, when he towered you, shirtless, and finally when he was eating you out. But you settled on perhaps your second favorite thing ever of Isagi, after his sweet personality: his cock. When you were giving him a blowjob, it really kicked in that, yes, damn his dick was beautiful. So you had him come but forbid him from spitting his cum anywhere but his abs or right up in the air so it’d fall back on his tip (usually he loves cumming on your thighs). So bam, his penis is covered in his own cum, and your beautiful hands –with a fresh manicure mind you– are stroking his dick. “Isagi stay like this. This is how I want the pola”. He looked at you almost embarrassed, he wasn't used to you being the one giving orders, especially in this context. “Can you take it for me ? I love your artistic vision better than mine”. Okay that was already too much for him so now he felt straight up humiliated. “Uhm, sure…” “A bet is a bet, angel”. Now you were using HIS pet name for YOU, TURNED AGAINST HIM ? He was the one who called you angel usually… He pouted, cheeks started to flush from embarrassment and he reached for the polaroid. “Make sure to leave your balls, your abs and my hand on the frame, angel”. He did not answer, he just kept pouting and pressed the button. When he was done you wiped the cum on his dick with your hand, cleaning your hands on his abs. “Good boy” you purred. You kissed him and grabbed the picture. It turned out perfect. “This one’s gonna be in my phone case”. 

9th pola: your naked body

The second to last, 9th polaroid was taken the same night. Had he been honest, Isagi would’ve admitted it was for revenge and to remind you who was in control. But he just said that “the camera was his after all, so he could take pics whenever he wanted”. As soon as you admitted being satisfied with your wish, Isagi pushed you lying on the mattress and pinned you down. “Let me show you a prettier sight”. He edged you for minutes on end, fingering your tight pussy. At the end, when he finally let you cum, you were left breathless and tired. That's when he grabbed his camera back, and took a picture of your naked body, bright flash on, leaving out your face. You could see everything in the picture, your boobs, your pretty hands, your shiny pussy from your own cum, your cute belly, and even your underwear that was still tossed next to you. “I’m the only one who knows it’s you because your face is left out, but I know every detail of you, even the heart shaped mole on your hips”. It was a cool pola to be fair. 

10th pola: his dick in your pussy 

The very last polaroid of the 10 item refill was thought through carefully. Isagi wanted something memorable and quintessential of his photographic journey. So he hesitated quite a long time between a genuinely innocent picture of the two of you, a selfie perhaps, or a nasty, dirty, filthy intimate scene. He was an advocate for the first one while you preferred the latter, that's why he decided to choose while playing rock paper scissors… Guess who won ?? Yours truthfully, obviously !! You shouted in joy and jumped around, hugging him from behind and teasing him. “I know what I want already, babe, something that is fair to the both of us”. You whispered in his ears: “let’s photograph a creampie”. He snickered. I’ll leave it up to your imagination how everything unraveled, but the last pola was very pretty indeed, showing equal parts of you and Isagi. 

A/N: Y’ALL MY 1RST SMUT WAS IT GOOD OR NAH ? I fear it’s not even that smutty but idk, I find fics describing graphically everything boring, like I'm creative enough to imagine which dirty words my delusionalship would say to me… This was longer than anticipated, but I gotta say I'm quite proud ! Plus I wrote it in like 3 days, which is unusual for inconsistent me. I lovvveeee isagi sm, this felt illegal writing cause I was always in my family living room kkkkk. And I was also inspired by my current polaroid I dusted off from last time I used it in 2017 bahaha.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Deuce, Sebek: Like a Flower, Forever Blooming

Why does it look like Deuce is proposing to you with a tray of donut rings— WEH 😭 The birthday boy looks so handsome and gallant!! (Not usually the kind of comment I make for Deuce cksbsksnw) For some reason I tend to really like Deuce’s birthday cards…

His groovy is kinda funny too; Deuce looks like he wants to fight Alice… Interesting, because Ace acts in Alice-like ways, and he and Deuce are constantly bickering www

A Tale as Old as Time.

A girl found herself wandering into an enchanted garden. She was a tiny thing in her blue dress and pinafore, smiling sweetly at the colorful blooms surrounding her. They bore faces, those flowers—eyes, noses, and mouths, their expressions varying from curious to snarky.

The sunshine of the girl’s long locks, a youth sparkling with sensibility. They were a familiar sight.

It’s something straight from a story back home, Deuce thought.

He scrounged around for a smart comment to demonstrate his wit, his maturity. At last, he settled on: "I had no idea there were so many different looking flowers. I can barely name a few kinds.”

A dismissive grunt sounded.

"Hmph! You hail from the Queendom of Roses, don't you? And Heartslabyul is famous for its roses as well. You should be more familiar with the flora!" Sebek scolded him with a frown. "Have you no pride for your country or dormitory?! Truly, your behavior is beyond the pale!"

"I just never really paid much attention to the flowers before... I'm not the kind of guy with a green thumb. The most I do is paint the roses when the dorm leader tells me it's my turn."

"Unbelievable!! You disparage the noble perennials with that flippant attitude of yours!" Sebek shook his head. “Were you to lay your gaze upon Briar Valley in the springtime, you would surely come to appreciate them."

“Pere-what?”

“Perennials!!” Sebek folded his arms. He lifted his chin. “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of what they are! You must not be very well-read, human!!”

“O-Of course I know what they are!” Deuce stammered. “Wh-Who hasn’t heard of a para-knee-old before?!”

His fellow first year casted a doubtful look at him.

“… Okay, maybe I don’t,” Deuce admitted. His shoulders deflated along with his defiance.

“Perennials,” Sebek smirked triumphantly, “are flowers that return year after year. Roses are among them, but there are many others that fall into the category.

“When they bloom in the warm season, it is a scene to behold, a feast for the eyes! Then, come fall and winter, they wither and fade… and in spring and summer, they are born again! It is a most glorious, never-ending cycle.”

“Ah, so they live and die, then they’re brought back to life. Over and over… Endlessly?”

The gears in Deuce’s head slowly turned. Their teeth clicked into place, sparking a realization, a light in flickering on in his face.

“Oh?" The smugness in Sebek's voice was front and center. "Have you been swayed already? It certainly didn’t take much to persuade you.”

“I think I get it now, Sebek. Flowers are cool after all!” Deuce slammed a fist into an open palm. “Growing, getting older, dying, and coming back to life again… They’re like phoenixes!”

“In what way are flowers like phoenixes?!” Sebek bellowed, his volume shaking the paintings lined up on the walls. His words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I wanna be like that too!! As tough as a flower that bounces back year after year!” Deuce passionately declared. “If I get knocked down, I’ll just get back up again! There’s gonna be no stopping me!”

He paused. "... Do you think I should add some flaming flower decals onto my Magical Wheel?"

"You've failed to take to heart a single insightful thing I've told you!! I would hardly consider this a revelation!" Sebek groaned, a hand upon his temple.

Typical foolhardy human, he surmised with a scoff. But still, he could sense a fighter when he saw one. The determination in Deceus's eyes was unmistakable. A blue-green as sharp and as clear as a cloudless summer's day, like a sword cleaving the heavens in half.

He had seen it many times over.

It was the look of a warrior.

"Listen here, human! There are a great many number of opponents in this world whose power may rival or even exceed your own. When you should encounter such strong foes… I hope you stand your ground. To betray your own promise would be disgraceful!”

“You saying I’d go back on my word?! No way! I definitely won’t run. That’s a coward’s way out.” Deuce grinned daringly—dangerously. “No matter what comes my way, I’ll own up to it. I’ll take it all on!”

[dira333]

It is what it is - Tendou x Reader x Ushijima (platonic)

Another one of my "this is my boyfriend and this is my boyfriend's best friend" fics. This has been going round and round in my head the whole weekend, I hope I could put all the feeling into this that I felt about it. Tell me what you think.

Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and @satorisoup because in a way, it's Tendou

“Aren’t you worried people are going to call you out for this?” Satori asks, teasing lilt in his voice. “Flying all the way to Paris for a haircut?”

“I don’t care,” Wakatoshi exclaims, bathing in your joyful giggling and Satori’s amused snort.

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you after work, okay?” The redhead brushes a hand over his buzzcut before leaning over to kiss you - Wakatoshi averts his eyes on instinct.

“See you later. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hold Satori’s hand all the way to the door, watch him step into the elevator before you turn back.

“Alright, now that we’re on our own. What do you want me to do with your hair? Some color? A buzzcut?”

“The usual,” he asks, closing his eyes when you pat his shoulder. 

There’s so much understanding in your words, your action, the simplest touch.

Oh, how he’s missed you.

-

“Wakatoshi, stand straight,” his mother orders. His father’s hands are warm on his shoulders as he stiffens, posture perfect now.

“This is my good friend,” she explains just seconds later and Wakatoshi can see it, in the harsh lines and the absence of a smile.

“And this is her daughter. It would make us very happy if you two would marry one day.”

“Love-” His father says in that tone he uses when he asks his mother to change her mind on something. She rarely listens.

“Of course, nothing will be settled until you are older,” she speaks over him yet again. “But I am sure you two will be fast friends.”

The adults leave them alone after that, with nothing but a plate of healthy snacks and glasses of water.

You are nice to look at, he thinks. Unlike your mother, you’re curves and softness, eyes glittering as you shyly ask what he likes to do in his free time.

“My father plays Volleyball with me sometimes,” he explains, “Or I read.”

“Could you show me?” You ask, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you wait for his answer.

“The books or Volleyball?” He asks, not really understanding. He’s not good at reading between the lines, as his mother calls it. He hopes you won’t mind.

But your face lights up at his question, a sight he wants to see again.

“Both?” You ask and when he nods and turns to show you to his room first, your hand shoots out to curl into his, warm and small and soft.

He can’t remember the last time he held someone’s hand, but he squeezes yours like his father used to do with his and your smile tells him what he did was the right thing.

-

“Is this okay?” You ask, soft voice floating around him as you drag a comb through his hair.

“It always is,” he answers, stilling as you move to assess your work.

“It looks good,” you decide finally, smiling as you grab a mirror, making a show of presenting it. “You look good, Toshi.”

“You look better,” he insists, but it sounds foreign in his mouth. 

He’s not one to compliment someone’s appearance and he can see the surprise in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately, “It’s something I heard Satori say.”

“I thought it sounded familiar,” you agree easily before patting his cheek. “I sometimes lend sentences from him as well.”

“Pray tell.”

You smile, handing him the mirror again. “First you have to tell me how it looks.”

“Perfect,” he says, because it is. He looks the way he’s used to, the same haircut he’s had for years. You embrace routine as much as he does. Maybe that’s why the two of you clicked so well.

“Now,” you smile, “I’ll make us some tea. I’m sure I still have some sweets hidden where Satori won’t look if you want them.”

“I’d rather have something healthy,” he admits and your smile doesn’t flicker, it grows.

“Like the old days,” you agree easily.

It warms his heart that you remember the beginnings of your friendship as well as he does.

-

“Are you leaving?” Satori asks, looking up from his Shonen Jump.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi agrees, tying his shoelaces. “I will be back before lights out.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Satori laughs, “I’m curious. Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting with a friend.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, you don’t know her.”

The surprise is loud on his face, dark eyes widening.

“A girlfriend?” Satori gasps, hands pressed against his lips in excitement. 

“A friend that’s a girl,” Wakatoshi corrects. For a second he stills, doorknob in his hand. “Do you want to join us?”

Satori blinks. Once, twice, three times.

“Are you sure?”

“No. But I think she might like you.”

“In that case… give me five minutes.”

“I’ll inform her that we’ll come in later.”

“We won’t be late if we run,” Satori sings, diving into his closet to pull out something to wear that doesn’t wear the Shiratorizawa emblem.

.

Wakatoshi is usually blind to social cues, no matter how much he studies them. He still can’t read between the lines, but he can’t say he’s given it much thought lately.

He’s good at Volleyball and he’s excelling in his studies. What else is there in life?

You’ve never complained about him missing something either, clearly content with the state of your friendship. And if there’s someone’s opinion he cares about, it’s not his mother's, it’s yours.

But he can see it now, written in bold letters on your face, your eyes, the shiver of your hesitant smile.

You look at Satori like the girls from his class look at him before he begins to speak.

Your hand twitches as if to hold his but you hesitate.

He turns to look, surprised to see his only other friend just as changed.

Satori is supposed to be the confident one. Loud and unapologetically himself.

This Satori, however, is blushing, staring at the tips of his sneakers only for his eyes to flicker upwards and back to you for only a second before looking back down. 

Is this, Wakatoshi thinks, a little dumbfounded that it’s happening in front of him of all people, is this falling in love?

-

It’s cold, even for Spring in Europe. You curl further into the warmth of your jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets to keep warm.

The day had been bathed in a grey light that’s now dimming fast, street lamps and the warm glow of shop windows battling against the coming night.

Wakatoshi’s hand reaches out without a thought, folding around yours like he used to when you were little.

You look up with surprise and he’s not sure if he should regret this or not.

“You’re worried,” you tell him, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “I can see it now. I was wondering what was wrong, but you wouldn’t say and I didn’t want to push.”

He opens his mouth to insist that he’s fine, a lie he’s been telling himself for weeks now, almost mastering to make himself believe it.

“Don’t lie, Toshi,” you ask and it’s the nickname that unravels him, a memory from long forgotten times resurfacing.

“I love you,” he admits, words spilling out of him like Volleyballs out of an upturned cart. They’re unstoppable, now that they’ve been set free.

But your smile doesn’t fade and your hand only squeezes his.

“I know, Toshi.”

His eyes flicker to the dark asphalt and back up.

“But Satori-”

“You don’t love me like Satori loves me, do you, Toshi?”

Your voice is warm and comfortable, like a blanket he wants to curl into.

“I don’t know,” he admits, because this is you. He’s always been honest with you.

“But I do,” you tell him softly, reaching up to cup his cheek with your other hand. “You’ve never looked at me in that way. We both know it, Satori and I, we both know you. What is worrying you?”

The question hits him like one does a tuning fork, everything in him vibrating to the point he fears he’ll fall apart. 

“I miss you,” he says, his voice carrying something he cannot begin to describe.

Hurt, loneliness, despair, insecurity. Will I ever be enough?

“Oh Toshi,” you rub your thumb under his eye, catching a tear that must have slipped out. “We miss you too. But we love you, okay? And even though it feels like that sometimes, you’ll never be alone.”

He considers it, smoothes it over the open wound inside of him like one does with a balm.

Another voice pops up, cuts through the noise inside his head like a warm knife through butter.

“There you are. I was looking for you.”

They both turn and Wakatoshi isn’t sure what he anticipates to see in his best friend’s face.

Anger, maybe, or betrayal. 

Not this kind of soft worry he isn’t used to.

You say something in French he doesn’t quite catch and Satori steps closer, wraps one impossible long arm around his shoulders, and curls into him.

“Can’t fool us, big boy,” he says with a voice so warm it feels like hot chocolate tastes, “Knew something was up when you asked to travel all the way here for a haircut.”

It might look strange to someone looking in, the three of them hugging in the cold night on the middle of the sidewalk.

But it’s not strange to Wakatoshi.

He should have known. These are his friends. His family. 

His home away from home.

-

“Is this really okay?” Satori asks, kneeling on the floor next to Wakatoshi’s bed. “You’ve got to be honest with me here, okay?”

“I am.”

“I am going to marry her if you let me, you know this!”

“I’d be happy if you did,” Wakatoshi insists. “If she wants you, that is.”

Satori snorts but it sounds more like a sob. “You think she likes me?”

“She said so, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” the word is more a dreamy sigh than anything else. Satori puts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. 

“I didn’t know people like her existed,” he says, voice far away. Wakatoshi turns to look at him. 

“Girls?” He asks, a little confused.

“Kind people,” Satori explains, “with a good heart. Who don’t judge about someone’s looks.”

“Did that happen to you?” Wakatoshi asks, thinking about himself and his mother and you.

There’s something in Satori’s eyes, something vulnerable and open that he hasn’t seen before.

Wakatoshi pats the bed next to him before he can pull himself away again. Satori is nice. He wants to know him.

“Tell me about it?” He asks.

.

“You’re not good with social cues, are you?” Satori asks one day after lunch, walking back to Class.

“No.”

“The girl that was talking to you, she wanted me to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because she likes you. She wanted to be alone with you.”

Wakatoshi stops, freezing in place.

“What?” Satori asks, walking back to him. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you want to be alone?”

Satori understands immediately. “Sometimes, yeah. But I’d tell you that, you know? Right now we barely manage to hold hands without our faces combusting. And I like having you there. She does too, I know.”

“How?”

“She said so,” Satori pulls out his phone, drags his thumb across the screen for a minute before he holds it up for Wakatoshi to see.

It’s an entire conversation he’s not been part of, your blocks of texts interspersed with the emojis Satori likes to use.

But he can read it, black letters on a white background.

“Wakatoshi is the most important person in my life.” It warms his heart like hot chocolate on a cold night.

“And since you’re my best friend too,” Satori singsongs, “You’re not getting rid of either of us.”

“Good,” Wakatoshi nods and repeats it once more for good measure. “Good.”

-

“Poland is not that far away,” you point out over morning coffee. Your hair’s a mess and you sit in Satori’s lap, leaning back into him every few minutes to remind him to feed you one more bite of the croissants Wakatoshi bought on his morning run.

“It’s not France.”

“Yeah, but the French team sucks,” Satori exclaims, “You’d lose all happiness playing for them just to be close. The Polish team sounds good if you ask me. And it’s really not that far. You could come over once or twice a month depending on your schedule.”

“I’ll think about it,” he agrees, buying himself some time with a sip from his coffee.

His wound is still open, though it has stopped bleeding.

“Do you think I’ll find someone,” he asks, yet again unable to keep the words inside before he has thought them through.

Satori and you both turn your heads to the side as you think, a habit that started with one person but he’s no longer sure with whom.

“Maybe you will,” you say, “maybe you won’t. You can be happy either way.”

“Don’t lose sight of what’s important to you,” Satori adds, “because it can be easier than you think. To give up on a boundary just because you think you have to.”

He considers that for a second.

“If I’ll never find someone-” Your hand finds his before he’s able to finish the sentence, squeezing as hard as you can.

“You’ll never be alone,” you insist. Satori’s larger hand wraps around yours until again, you are three.

- - -

The French Countryside is not a bad place to retire.

“Look what I found,” Satori raises a basket full of fruit, each looking better than the last, “everything from our own garden.”

“I thought you wanted to work less,” Wakatoshi comments, picking a plump apricot from the basket and biting into it. It’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“Ah, this isn’t work,” Satori insists, but he puts the basket down, pressing a hand to his back for a second. “I just need to slow down a little.”

“You should,” Wakatoshi agrees, but makes no move to pick up the basket himself. His back is even worse than Satori’s.

“Boys, boys,” your voice comes from inside, “Leave the hard work to someone younger. I’ve made coffee and tea, what do you want?”

They turn and walk inside, Satori singing yet another made-up song about the market in the village.

When he reaches you, he kisses your temple first and then your lips, squeezing your hips under the apron.

Wakatoshi has gotten used to the sight after decades. He’s more interested in his coffee and maybe the morning paper.

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” He asks, squinting down at the paper. 

Satori laughs. “On your head,” he tells him, but stays where he is, glued to your side.

It’s like this everyday and if someone would dare to ask, Wakatoshi wouldn’t mind living like this for another decade or two.

After all, one hasn’t lived before turning one hundred.

My Kofi if you'd like to tip me

[jadeslayter]

𝝑𝑒 ࣪ 𓈒・ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ᐟ.ᐣ

★☆ --  MeanDom! Toji x Fem!Reader ☆★ -- In which Toji uses your mouth after you've ran it all day.

☾ ⋆ ｡ 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. :

 nsfw content . slow burn, face fucking, degradation (a lot...), praise, dacryphilia, condescending Toji (ofc <3), slight dumbification, huge power dynamic, subtle suggestion of infidelity, dub-con, slight aftercare, pet names 'Honeycomb' 'Baby', oral (M receiving) w a plot twist :P

𓈒 ᶻ 𐰁 ﾟ˖ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐍𝐓. :

-- four-point-six thousand +

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐃 as he strummed his fingers against the leather steering wheel, warm hide underneath calloused hands. Agitation lingered between the two of you. "You know I love you, baby," the man starts, and now it's your turn to sigh. You got tired of hearing the same line-- the same bullshit. His words always seemed to work a nerve only your mother could hit. 

"Toji, please," Your voice came out a harsh bite. "Don't give me that—that bullshit." A stammer passes you throat as your eyes lingered to the scar on his lip— a slit the length of a quarter— while it twisted in movement; a taunting smile. Out of all fairness, who was Toji if not a whore for agitating you; flustering you. 

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, tepid like pollinated spring air. 

The belly of his truck grows eerily silent, radio muted; the lull of it all engulfing you, overwhelming your senses. "Bullshit," He repeats, easing his heavy boots off the brake pedal when the stoplight changes. "My love for you is bullshit?"  Your lovers expression read opposite of his retort, a cunning grin plastering his face. 

Even under the dim hue of the streetlights, you could make out the intention behind his roguishly sly smirk. He was toying with you; pushing your limits to see how far he could get. How far you'd let him get. 

"That isn't very nice, sweetheart, is it?" He shares his gaze between you and the lane ahead of him, stealing glimpses of your puffed cheeks. "You never take me serious," You groan in frustration, tears pricking at your eyes as the tips of your ears grew warm in anger. 

It agitated you how easily things rolled off his back; how immune he was to your attitude sometimes. It wasn't intentional, that was just how your lover was. That was his persona. Toji leaned forward in his seat, his heavy hands thumping up against the blinker bar. The bulb flickered as he merged into the left lane, slowing behind the flow of traffic once he merged successfully. 

"What?" He chuckled, his eyes squinting at the corners as he reeled his head back in disagreement. "I don't take you serious? Listen to yourself, Baby."

Every word he spoke dug his grave six feet deeper. It's was almost as if he was oblivious to your inclination. The bare thought of it boiled the blood in your veins. You hated how indifferent Toji presented himself when it came to situations of vulnerability; down to his place of work. 

He wasn't much of a talker, by default, but it seemed like he wasn't much of a listener, either. 

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore, Toji." You breathed bitterly, dancing around your words carefully as to avoid prying. 

But Toji hadn't pried any more than you allowed, only shrugged his shoulders. Indifference, once more. He raised his brows, corners of his mouth winding in a quick and dismissive frown. "About what?" 

Toji pulls the width of his truck into the incline of your apartment complex, punching the entry passcode into the number-pad before proceeding behind the metal bars. His bright headlights reflect off the matte black of the gate, blinding you temporarily as you pass. 

The entrance of your complex was all too familiar, and you wished for your bed to simply engulf you whole. You were the happiest in your moment of relaxation. It hadn't taken you long to flop face-first down into the plush of your pillows, relishing in the cotton sheets. 

Though you had asked for your space, Toji lingered in the back of your mind like the aftersting of an ant bite. A leech you were unable to get rid of. He wasn't demanding per se, and that was the issue. He dismissed you on account of your behalf. If you say you wanted space, he would give you space. It was at his discretion when he decided he had given you enough. 

A heavy thud; Toji's boots. They hit the hardwood with a *clunk*, reverberating through the hallway. Footsteps follow suit, trailing to the far left side of the complex. The kitchen. The apartment is silent for a beat, constant hum of the air-conditioning unit buzzing through the air vents. 

The water tap hisses to life; Toji was getting himself a glass of water. Silence again, and then footsteps. Approaching footsteps. His weight causes the floorboards to creak underneath him as he emerges from the depths of the living room, tone, muscular body slanted against the threshold of your bedroom door. He only stood, observing silently; disregarding to conceal his presence. Merely surveying you as you lay motionless. 

Toji sucks in a huff of hair, filling his lungs before speaking. "Anyone home?" A chuckle passes his throat as his knuckles rap at the soft wood adorning the threshold. "Brought you some water-- you know, cause you yelled for fifteen minutes.." His words trail as he examines you. Toji would be a fool to say you were anything but gorgeous-- regardless how subjective beauty was supposed to be. 

You were the embodiment of it, no matter the circumstances. He never got tired of looking at you, watching how your smile lines wrinkle at every joke that spills from his lips. He hated that you were upset with him, but he hadn't understood why. He only wanted to make you happy; he wanted to make you feel special. 

A muffled chuckle passed your lips, the pillow swallowing it. In an effort to display your slant, you're sure to keep your body plank board still. You hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of earning a giggle out of you. Call it petty, call it dramatic. 

"Idontwantit," Coyly, you mumble your resolve, face buried within the silk of your pillowcase. Toji was the incarnation of double standards, yes, but he knew right from wrong. It'd be uncivil for him to have accepted your spurn, knowing you two had just left off in this exact situation. If he were to act as if he hadn't cared, it'd seem as such. In any event— with any other person— that'd be okay. 

He knew you were vulnerable, whether you allowed him inside of that vulnerability or not wasn't up to him. He could only aid the process. Toji sighed heavily, his chest sinking as he breathed. "Baby, could you just work with me?" He sat the glass upon the dresser top, seating himself at the foot of the bed as he looked at you. "If my throat was hurting, I know yours was, too. So please, do the both of us a favor, and drink." He wasn't stern. His tone only wavered as he spoke to you in hopes of enunciating his resolve. 

You hesitated whilst Toji breathed beside you, his angular orbs gazing around the bedroom. You hadn't wanted to press him too much, regardless of how unforgiving you had been prior. You received no enjoyment from beating a dead horse; it was obvious Toji had no longer wanted to entertain the cat and mouse game— he only wanted understanding.

Your arm rose from its idle position before extending towards the stationary glass of water. You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows, before wrapping your slim fingers around the cup and pulling it closer to you. "Good girl, such a good girl." He coos, his rough knuckles caressing the supple skin of your thigh as you drink down the liquid, the coolness of it aiding your throat. Toji pecks your shin as you oblige his command.

As much as you hated to admit it, Toji was right. Unfortunately. And you despised it. 

You downed the rest of the glass quickly— to which your lover observed with a Birds Eye, staring as you drunk down the beverage with haste. "So thirsty, Baby. I knew you needed some water. See, what would you do without me, Honeycomb." He purred. It wasn't a question, he was stating himself; boasting, of sorts. 

You sat the empty glass into your lovers open palm. He took it, standing from his position before shuffling over to set the cup on the nightstand where it once rested. Toji returned to the foot of the bed; his footsteps dragging against the carpet.

You slumped your head against the cool of your pillow, eyelids shutting. The silk felt so heavenly against your skin— your senses felt so heightened after such a long, dull evening. It was apparent Toji was at the edge of the bed, but it didn't shift with his weight. He was merely hovering once again. 

Toji's hands trailed from the individual cuffed hems of your shorts down to the underside of your knees, squeezing at the skin between his hands. "You're just a lost puppy," He chuckled as he kneaded the skin, his hands leisurely streaming down your calves, to finally your ankles. "You wouldn't know how to get by." His words oozed with subtle animosity, and you weren't able to comprehend why. He was speaking to you as if you were below him. 

You mind was beginning to wonder, though. He knew you enjoyed being degraded, but you were unsure if he was being ungenuine. Did he really view you as vulnerable as a puppy? And if so, what did that make him? His complex made your eyes roll. Though he was acting quite the cunt, you weren't able to hide your indefinite arousal. It made you thighs clench— nasty girl. 

Your attitude had became harder to mask under his probe, but you hadn't minded. The sensation of his large hands exploring your curves had felt too good. Too real. Still, you remained silent. The bright overhead lights were beginning to beam through your eyelids, casting an uncomfortable orange static hue. It was unusual for the lights to irritate you as much as they were. In response, you shifted your face away from the light, aiding your sensitive eyeballs some relief. 

Toji noticed your stirring. You hadn't reacted to his previous statements, which intrigued him. You were the combative type, and he used that against you in the best circumstances. Fundamentally for his own enjoyment. For you to dismiss his lure was unusual. The only instance you'd do so would be if you happened to fall asleep. 

Toji hadn't wanted you to sleeeeeppppp. He wasn't finished toying with you. Your sudden lose of energy upset him. His lips downturned at the corners. How could you just sleep, after such an intense conversation? After he went out of his way for you? If you fell asleep, Toji'd have to get himself off, and that just wouldn't do. 

You owed him an apology, anyways. He'd get it one way or the other. 

His heavy hands latched around your ankles, the grip boring into your flesh. In one fluid motion, he yanked your mass to the edge of the bed, your torso planked and slack against his sudden jerk. Your hands instinctively flew above your head, your fingers clutching onto the quilt beneath you in surprise. Your eyelids shot open immediately; overwhelming yellow and white light blinding you. 

"Toji—?" You gasped, craning your neck quickly to look back at the man holding you above ground by your ankles, your breasts spilling halfway over the edge of the bed as you lay upon your arms. He released you just as quickly as he seized you— the weight of your lower half plummeting to the shag below. 

Toji took his place on the edge of the bed once more, watching motionlessly as you scramble to your feet, discombobulated by his sudden mistreatment. Toji seemed irritated and impatient, his body language wavering. His hands groped your waist primitively, the cotton of your shirt bunching underneath his fingertips. "You can't sleep for this, sweetheart," He sighed, running his rugged hands underneath the trim of t-shirt. "I apologize. Though you're the one who should repent."

Toji's warm hands skimmed the flesh of your hips, his fingers kneading at the doughy pudge. "I try my hardest to take care of you," His voice reverberates in his throat as a deep grunt, your lovers words thick in your ears. "Treat you like a princess— you know. Pay for your pretty nails," Fingers trail from your lower spine to the middle of your back, shivers kissing your skin. His hands wrap around your wrists. Slowly. 

Like snakes, entrapping their prey.  You were prey. 

Toji's calloused hands hold your wrists firm in place, entrapping their loot in a tight-knuckled prison; his grip imprinting the swirls of his fingerprints upon your skin. If one thing was certain, it was Toji's inability to withhold his emotions— especially when it came to you. He was a fountain. Overflowing with adoration; ovation deep-rooted in every sliver of his being. It was unethical for you to assume anything other than, Silly Girl.

"Spend my last dollar on fitted lingerie, tailored to one woman's curves," Dark green, intimidating jade bores into you, searching your worry filled eyes for the tiniest reaction; a sparkle of dirty acknowledgment. Lust. 

He was determined to get something. 

His intense grasp begins to leave handprints on your wrists, the flesh bruised from his subtle animosity. It was obvious his temper was rising fast, filling his tin bucket before it reaches its brim. A time bomb set to detonate. 

The man's tired eyes wrinkled at the corners as he observed you for an uncomfortably long amount of time, taking in every feminine detail of your pretty face. The pretty face he couldn't wait to fuck. Ruin, ruthlessly. 

Your heartbeat was consistent in your ears, heavy thumping against your chest reverberating in waves of intoxicating confusion. It wasn't unlikely that the silk lace of your panties— specially tailored LaPerla thongs, firm above your v-line— wasn't stained in your filthy arousal. How shameful you must feel, Toji would say, soaking through your underwear. And it was. Undoubtably so. 

One minute you hate his guts, the next you want him inside of yours. Thrusting his kids into them. It was pitiful how easily you submitted under his will; putty in his large, caring hands. The hands that yanked you into his lap in one fluid motion, startling you from your foggy high. 

Your face crashes into his chest as your legs buckle under your weight— and Toji's ready for your descent. His knees spread instinctively, the grip on your wrists guiding you to your knees. Your perfect perch, right where you belonged. He'd keep you locked between his legs all day if he could; using your mouth as a hole to fill as he pleased. 

"Course, that couldn't be you, right?" He spat, releasing your wrists and replacing the emptiness in his hands with your chin, gripping it tightly between a curled index and hard thumb. "You couldn't be the woman I come home to every night, could you?" A chuckle— guttural and tantalizing. 

His words melted in your ears, fizzy in your bloodstream like drugs; addicting. Toji was a bastard, that was for sure. But he fucked you damn good, and no amount of ADAC could cure your addiction. His arrogance radiated off of him like poisonous smoke, and you couldn't get enough of it. 

Not when he treated you so good outside of bed. You didn't mind being treated like a whore behind closed doors— and he had no problem obliging. "Course not." He says simply. Toji rips his gaze from you, averting his attention to the wall behind you in a seemingly disgusted way. Unsatisfied with your presence, almost. 

He adjusts himself on his sheeted post, shifting his hips towards you. Toji inhales deeply, filling his lungs with the faint scent of your perfume— your essence lingering underneath his nose. "Suck my fucking cock, and do not disappoint me, slut." His words slice your skin smoother than blades, Toji's sudden hostility puncturing layers of flesh. 

You obliged almost instantaneously, frantic hands working the leather of his belt out of its looped restraints. The clothing rested in its home somewhere among the dark recesses of your shared bedroom. "Good girl," Fond praise kisses your ears as you work him free from his layers of clothing, his boxers pooling around his ankles as his pretty red tip— free from the wretched bindings of cloth— oozed with milky white ropes of precum. "Do you even deserve to be called that?" 

You took Toji's impatient head into your mouth, tears threatening to spill from your squinted eyes. You weren't crying, were you? Not because of overstimulation, of course, not yet, but anxiety. Undeniable, palpable anxiety. He was a man of mystique and wonder— unpredictable in the best ways, and his antics never failed to amaze you; have you breathless. 

It wasn't unlike him to be... overbearing, at times. Outgoing, determined to prove a point. He was determined to prove just how resilient you were. Toji was determined to punish you—- as did you when accusing him of such offenses; Not taking you serious? How upset he must have been for you to suggest such a thing.

He wished to hurt you in the aspect you have hurt him— because karma's a dish best served raw and feral. 

Toji releases a low grunt, his pleasure hitching in his throat as he took hold of your hair; entangling his fingers. "I don't want foreplay, take it deep." It wasn't a command or a bark, but a statement. He was not waiting for your approval or competence, he simply forced your head down to the base of his cock. And held you there— drool, tears and all. Toji enjoyed you thoroughly. He enjoyed being the puppeteer to his own private show. "F-uck, baby— gagonit, yeah.."

And you did. You sputtered around his length as you struggled to take him, that vengeful cockhead of his jutting into the recesses of your trachea. Toji enjoyed watching you struggle to take him completely— your shivering hands stroking the several inches you weren't able to swallow. His pleasure was plentiful, too. Loud, grating grouses and huffs echoed through the still of your bedroom... and you loved it. 

You loved hearing Toji lose himself at your will. You loved being his free use holes. The dynamic shared between the two of you was as simple as night and day; you were needy, and he was a glutton for coition. He couldn't help himself, and neither could you.

It was undeniable that the both of you had an attraction like no other. Toji loved you— he worshiped the ground you walked on, day in, day out. "The woman I come home to every night," He started whilst he aided your neck, supporting the weight of your head with his palm underneath your chin as you worked him with your tongue. 

His words lingered in the air, pleasure coursing through his bloodstream as a moan interrupted his sentence. He continued his rant as his hands moved from your chin to the back of your neck, holding your hair in place. "She respects herself. A lot more than you do, right?" He chuckled, his green eyes staring daggers through your messy face. 

"I mean—fuck, baby— don't get me wrong," His eyes studied your overstuffed lips, full to the brim with his twitching cock. "You know how to use your pretty mouth, but that's all you're really good for." Toji sucked his teeth— his bottom lip snaking between his rows of pearly whites as he gnawed on it, keeping himself from bellowing in pleasure.

By the twitch of his cock, it was obvious he wasn't going to last too much longer, and you were okay with that. You were happy with whatever he gave you, despite his humiliating words. You were grateful he gave you attention, no matter how upset you were with him. 

Was it pretentious to lose your attitude so quickly? Considering you were so defiant prior, you felt a bit conspicuous being so... open and giving. So submissive. "Fuckinghell— C'mon, Pretty Girl, don't youhwhant.." He slurred, raven hair falling behind his reclined head as he rutted into your throat. Toji held you in place as he fucked your face. "Ahll this f-ucking cum, you whore? Work for it, baby," 

His edge was approaching, engulfing the males entire being in blissful euphoria— his cock overflowing with ecstasy as he plunged himself into your mouth; your fingers probing his tense thighs for leverage as you suffocated on Toji's oh-so grateful cockhead. 

"Godda-mnit— hohfuck, gonna cum, Love. Down that.. pretty fucking throat." He praised, rutting his heat into you with pure rapture. He thrusted into you as if his life depended on it— as if this were his last orgasm. As if he were completely and utterly innocent in his wrongdoings. As if he hadn't intentionally provoked you in hopes of giving you a false sense of authority. 

As if this wasn't a power trip for him. 

You knew Toji was a greedy man; for your affection, your praise, your attention. If he had things his way, Toji would work from home, and he'd have you all to himself, hidden away from lust-wridden eyes. Pampering and nurturing you— just you and him.

Regardless if he was guilty of infidelity, arson, or murder, he knew who he wanted to come home to. That's all that should've mattered, right? But women and their ridiculous need for restrictions. Defiance wasn't on his agenda. 

If smooth talking you wasn't working

It was nothing for Toji to slip the small pill into the glass; it was scentless, tasteless, and fizzless. He was doing the both of you a favor, really. Charity work, because he loved you so much. 

It was better this way; better if you submitted to him unbeknownst. It wasn't unusual, so there was no harm done. Toji was only being cautious in his effort to protect what he loved— and that was you, sweetheart. 

The side effects weren't a precaution he was too worried about, due to research. Dizziness, light sensitivity; blah blah blah. He'd never slip you something without knowing what'd it'd do to you. He wasn't a monster. 

He slipped the first Viagra pill into a fountain beverage he'd purchased from a corner store; ripping the drug from its plastic and plopping it right into the dark brown liquid of the styrofoam cup. 

Toji finishes down your throat quickly; roughly— yanking at your hair vigorously. His orgasm was a beast; shooting down your throat in warm, thick ropes. Your lover, his toned legs spasming in pleasure, was overcome in his surge of euphoria. So much so, that upon his attempt to praise your ability to swallow his seed, a low grumble only passed his throat— Adams apple bobbing tensely underneath his skin. 

His cum sat at the back of your throat uncomfortably with every swallow, his cock continuing to bury itself into your cavern as Toji rode his orgasm out at your expense. "Yesyesy-es, baby, swallow...e-verything.." His hips falter as he comes down from his orgasmic high. He's worn, and in the best ways possible. If he were to be shot graveyard dead, he'd have died a happy man. 

He knew regardless how many sinful acts he committed; messy situations he created sacrificing your peace of mind, that you'd forgive him. Because you loved him, right? Mistakes were temporary, but the love you had for him was endless. Toji knew this, and used your vulnerability for his own selfish benefit. 

"Ifuckingloveyou," He breathed, finalizing the abuse to your face with one soft thrust, pulling his sensitive length from your mouth— a 'pop' resounding as he exits. Toji huffed whilst closing his eyes, his robust chest heaved as he recollected himself. He cupped your jaw in his hands, slouching his spine as he rested his forehead against yours. The defined scar on his lip only inches away from your nose. 

"You alright..?" He chuckled softly, caressing the supple skin of your cheek with his padded thumb. Despite his feral disposition, he still had a heart. He still loved you, as he always has. His orgasm will never stop him from valuing your affection. Regardless of the hurdles he jumped through in order to maintain a stable lifestyle for the both of you, you were his priority. 

You nod your head stiffly, sucking in full gusts of air for the first time in all of 6 minutes. Toji replied with a hushed sigh, pressing his glossed cheek against your own. "Words, Pretty Girl. I need you to talk to me," Your cheeks heat in blandishment. Toji's tone was so contradictory prior to his orgasm, it felt foreign to be treated with genuine care. 

Nonetheless, you knew Toji's conceited facade would waver once he was off his pedestal. And it did, as always. Insolent by design; poppet by heart. 

"I'm okay, Ji'" You peep meekly due to your throat being rubbed raw, which earns a healthy snicker from Toji's lips. A warm laugh, wholesome in nature. Completely opposite.

"You sure, hon?" He was true in his concern, massaging your neck as he spoke to you in his soothing manner. "I wasn't intending to be that rough, forgive me," It was a lie, but it sounded better than him saying he intentionally fucked your throat raw. 

"You are my everything," He grins, peppering kisses haphazardly across your face as he cups you between his palms, anchoring you in place. "So, so very much, okay, Baby?" He places one final kiss upon your lips, the seal lingering whilst he intertwines himself with you. 

You smiled lazily in the kiss, your jaw aching. Once the two of you separated, Toji stood in front of you, bending his knees to your level. He placed one sturdy arm behind your back— right underneath the curve of your spine— and the other underneath the bend of your knees, hoisting you up into his arms; your legs dangling over his biceps. "I just wish I could take it easier on you."

He cared so much for you, so much so that he needed to make sure you learned your lesson through and through. He'd take care of you— clean you up, dress you up, just enough to break you, and repeat the cycle all over. Over and over, so he can prove his point from all positions. 

Though he was guilty of being untruthful in some aspect, he hadn't believed so. He was guilty of being a hard working man. He provided for his family, regardless of how he did it. 

He worked the way he did in order to provide for you. Was it such a crime to bear the weight of the consequences? He'd carry the burden until his hands were sore.

© JadeSlayter , 2024 Tumblr

[justleaveatnine]

pink in the night - matty healy. part five.

you join the 1975 on tour as an actress starring in the narrative portion of at their very best alongside the lead singer, matty healy. he’s got big ideas and wants to redefine what a concert is, blurring the lines between fiction and reality. on stage together each night, it starts to feel less and less like acting. but is it the same for him?

masterlist

cw: drug use, smoking, panic attacks, a little more blood stuff (sorry)

wc: 5.4k

—

San Diego

“Please don’t kill me.” 

“Huh?” You whip your head around to find Matty standing in front of you, somewhat anxiously for a reason you can't yet determine. You're lounging on the settee on the stage, watching the crew set up as you wait for your call time to begin prep. Matty comes to sit down beside you, and you sit back up from your supine position. 

"Here," he says, practically shoving a paper in your hand. It's been ripped out of a notebook, jagged edges against your fingertips. You begin to read over the words scribbled on the page in dark black ink.

I glow pink in the night in my room I've been blossoming alone over you And I hear my heart breaking tonight I hear my heart breaking tonight Do you hear it too? It's like a summer shower With every drop of rain singing "I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you" I could stare at your back all day I could stare at your back all day And I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right Can I try again, try again, try again Try again, and again, and again And again, and again, and again

You touch your finger to the words, softly brushing against the page. You turn your head to him sat beside you.

"Is this my poem?" you ask, bewildered.

Now he looks even more nervous. This is odd. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. You aren't sure what to say, but he fills the silence before you have the chance to.

"Erm, when I read it, I couldn't stop thinking about how it basically perfectly connected to the fragments of this song I had started writing. That's why I took a picture of it," he gestures towards it with his hand, "so I could see if it fit." 

He takes another deep breath, somewhat strained. "If I overstepped, or if you hate it-"

The words come out a hundred miles a minute. "Matty, this is amazing. I can't believe you did this. I-I-do you have any of it written to music yet? Or just this? Not just this, god, I mean-

He thankfully cuts of your overwhelmed rambling. He fishes out his phone from his pocket, opening up his voice memos. "Here, uh, I recorded the first bit with a guitar earlier." 

He presses play. The sound of him singing over a simple guitar part rings through the empty stage. It's stunning. His voice singing your words conjures a feeling within you that is nearly indescribable, an electrifying somatic response. He's given the song an eerie but almost comforting feeling. One that almost compliments the show, you think to yourself. His fingers pluck the simple but beautiful backing on the guitar, and as he repeats the words of the chorus that you dream of him saying to you, you look into his eyes. His voice drones on, repeating the phrase over and over until it feels as if he invented the words himself. The whole thing, really. Not just those fatal three words that ring in your ears. It feels like what you wrote was simply words on a page, but the feelings running through your body and mind are all because of him. He took your haphazard notes on a score and turned them into a symphony. 

You hold his gaze until the voice memo finishes with his voice clearing, the noise of him fumbling with the phone filtering through the speaker. 

You let out a small laugh in shock. "That's so beautiful, Matty. I don't even know what to say, I'm a little overwhelmed."

"In a good way?" he asks, nerves seemingly returning.

You touch your hand to his, warmth tangling with electricity. "The best way. I never thought my poems would be anything more than just words on my pages, I didn't even plan on ever showing people."

"Well, that would be a damn shame, love. That poem is amazing, this was just as much you as it was me, don't get it twisted." His smile brings you so much comfort it almost makes you nauseous. You'd write a million books, hundreds of thousands of pages until your fingers bleed if it meant you had that smile directed to you forever.

You look back down at the phone. "I've never written a song before, this is kind of exciting," you let out a soft laugh. 

"And it sure has hell won't be the last. You're letting me see more of that work of yours, darling. I'd love to try and write with you and not just parallel to you next time," he says assuredly. 

How do you tell him that he's the subject of all of your prose, all the of lines filing up the pages of your notebook tucked safely under your pillow?

Inglewood

"Do you ever worry about more casual fans' reactions to the show?" You're sat in the booth of the bus as it sits through the inevitable evil that is Los Angeles traffic. You've got your knees pulled up to your chest as you read a novel, and he's flipping through a magazine across from you.

He exhales out his nose, and flips a page of the magazine "Nah, I usually am just thinking about the people who care the most about the band in everything we do. I think as an artist, you kind of have to, you know? Otherwise it feels like they are taking your devotion for granted. What brings this on?"

"Nothing, I just, uh, I saw a video on TikTok of someone asking if you were really as drunk as you appear up there and it just got me thinking."

He takes a moment to think. "It's hard, I won't lie. Seeing the opinions of people who don't know a thing about me, or the band, or what I'm trying to say, and go on and say that kind of stuff. But I've been exposed to it for years, and the concept of being famous far longer."

"Is there any part of you that worries about alienating people? I don't think you will, I mean, I'm just curious as to what you think."

He runs a hand through his hair before speaking. "Yeah, I do sometimes. But that is usually far removed from when I actually am performing, where I usually am so in my own head I don't give a fuck about what some random person who only knows one song thinks. And I don't mean that as an insult to them, not at all. I just mean in regards to performing, I'm only ever thinking of the message I want to say, and what the people who care most about us will think."

"I don't think there's many other artists who care about and think so highly of their fans as you do," you smile at him. He meets it before turning back to the magazine, and you return to the book leant up against your legs.

San Francisco

Your bare feet pad along the tour bus floor as you slip out of bed. The digital clock fixed to the wall near the front reads 3:24, and you rub your eye with your fist as you approach the kitchenette. 

You open the fridge, the fluorescent light illuminating the empty living area. You take out what you need to make a sandwich, a late snack that will hopefully cure the hunger preventing you from sleeping.

As you make the sandwich, you find yourself humming In My Life, the song somewhat of an earworm to you in the past few days. You mumble the melody peacefully, enjoying the quiet moment in this newfound life of yours that never seems to rest. A noise from the sleeping area startles you, and you turn your head to see a squinting Matty walking towards you.

"Shit, I'm sorry if I woke you," you tell him sheepishly, setting the knife down with a small clatter.

"Nah, don't worry. I haven't been able to sleep all night." He yawns and goes to lie on the couch, phone illuminating his face. You turn your back to him to continue making the sandwich, resuming humming quietly to yourself. You return the ingredients to the fridge, almost forgetting he is sat behind you as you work your way through the song.

Suddenly, Matty begins to impersonate the sped-up piano in a high-pitched voice. The shock of it all and the silly voice he is putting on causes you to laugh, pausing slicing the sandwich. You turn your head to look at him behind you, and he's chuckling to himself while scrolling. You shake your head with far too fond exasperation and return to assembling the sandwich.

Portland

It's about to be Robbers, so that means you're knelt in front of Matty as he stands on the side table, leant down towards you.

His eyes catch something on your forehead and he drags his thumb across it, slightly scraping. There’s blood on his finger now, some your makeup artist must have missed in the hasty clean up you endure each night after Inside Your Mind. 

He raises his thumb and takes it in his mouth, a cocky grin on his face as he sucks it clean. You’re stomach churns as you watch him, entranced. Does he know exactly how much power he has over you? The reaction each of these intrepid moves causes within you?

Your choreography is about to start, usually punctuated with Matty taking a drag from the cigarette before placing it in your mouth to stub out afterwards. He takes a drag slowly and begins to leans in towards you, startling you slightly out of the rhythm you usually fall into. The brazen grin on his face tells you what he wants. You were surprised it took him this long after finding out you actually smoke, really. You meet him half-way, and inhale as he breathes out the smoke into your mouth, covetous and desperate. 

The audience is cheering, as they always seem to be whenever the two of you are doing something that you know will make the rounds on Twitter later. He hands you the cigarette, presumably to stub out as you do. Instead, you breathe in, reach your hand up to grab his hair, and shotgun him right back. His eyes are sparkling as the smoke tangles between the two of you, mouths grinning and lips touching. 

You stub the cigarette out on the table leg, and the choreography begins.

Seattle

You’ve been writing more poems than ever, your book overflowing with ideas and lyrics. No matter what you try to write about, it always ends up being about him.

It’s even worse when he takes them and completes them. He takes your words about him and gives them far more grace, more talent than you ever could, and turns them into things of beauty. Will he ever realize all that beauty is just silhouettes of him?

He's sat across from you in the green room, plucking a melody on the guitar. You're rifling through your journal, trying to find another half-finished poem that isn't completely glaringly obvious about its subject matter.

"Here, uh, how's this one?" He looks up at you, and takes the book out of your hands.

Last night I broke from old  and told a friend the truth that I've got one foot out I've called it bad and I colored it blue

But it's a beautiful life to be in your hands one step out of the light under your command

I'm in my modern world  tribute living man  I've got my one foot out  when I do my modern dance I am in your hands I am in your hands I am in your hands

He smiles down at the page, laughing softly to himself. 

"What?" you ask, slightly alarmed.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "This is fuckin' amazing. And I've already got a few ideas and stuff that might work saved, come here."

He pulls out his phone and opens voice memos, playing one called lead vocal idea 3. 

"Gonna have to change this for the syllables and phrases, obviously. But how does something like this sound for the first bit?"

It's a simple, repetitive melody. When you imagine it lined up to each of the lines, it's perfect. You tell him so, and his face lights up. "Let's try and figure it out then, yeah?"

Fort Lauderdale 

You never talk about what you do during the shows. 

No one in the band had questioned why Matty always buys your drinks, but you’ve caught Polly giving you an odd look once or twice. You don't pay it too much mind.

Matty gets bolder, and you get just as bold in return.

He moans into your mouth when he kisses you. You run your hands up his sides when he leaves his shirt untucked, which he has done every single show since you first did it. He lets your head loll limply before pulling your hair harder, puppeteering you how he wants to. Like you're a doll for him to play with. 

You scatter kisses along his jawline after All I Need to Hear. His stubble itches against your skin. When you're feeling particularly bold, you nip gently at his skin, eagerly welcoming his groans. When he kisses your hand, he places kisses on each of the knuckles before placing it on his cheek for you to hold. You touch your finger to his nose as he does this, and it makes him smile, brown eyes crinkling. He drags his thumb across your lips when you're knelt in front of him, and a cheshire cat smile dawns his face when you swipe your tongue across it. 

After the show, you'll talk about the crowd, about something funny that George said in the in-ears that made you almost break. But you never talk about the rest. It goes unsaid, unacknowledged. The blatantly obvious escalating passion that you pray is reciprocated due to  a feeling similar to yours.

You fear the bubble you've built for yourselves will break if you prod it. So you don't say a word, and you take what he gives you. 

Denver   "Do you wanna know the original reason I came up with the show?" 

You're lying on Matty's hotel room bed with your feet to the pillows, head dangling off the edge. He's lying on the floor beneath you, out of your sight. You see his hand reach up to pass you the joint, and you accept it gratefully, movements languid. 

"Hmm?" you ask, not hearing him completely.

"The uh, the original reason. Of the show, why I made the show."

"What, you wanted to make a meta reinvention of the stage show, filled with meta ideas and subvert the audiences ideas of meta-" you say in a voice, mocking his northern accent.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Matty loves saying meta, real creative." He hiccups before continuing. 

"It was because, uh, George and I, uh..." he starts laughing, unable to finish the sentence.

You turn to face him, stealing the spliff out of his hands to take another hit. "You and George..." you gesture for him to finish with it in your hands.

He's laughing through the sentence, rubbing his forehead. "Venues only let you smoke if its part of a theatrical performance."

"Huh?" Your hazy mind doesn't put it together.

"They wouldn't let us smoke on stage unless it was a part of a theatrical performance. So voila, theatrical performance." He grins, proud, as he points at the two of you.

"You knob! You wrote this entire show solely because you couldn't go two hours without a smoke?" You reach with your free hand, hitting him as your roll over to face him on the floor.

"Well not solely that, Jesus! That was just what inspired me to write a show. And I think that worked out pretty well, did it not?" He's cheeky, smiling proud as he takes another hit.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh as you move your head up and nestle into the bed, ready to fall asleep as your intoxicated mind clouds your best judgement.

"I do try."

The smoke alarm starts buzzing. "Oh, shit!"

You can't help but laugh at him as he tries to fan smoke away from the small detector, beeping incessantly. "Fuck!" he yells, but you just laugh louder into the bed.

Independence

"So you'll be on the settee now, not the lounger. And Robbers is in At Their Very Best, not Being Funny. And when All I Need to Hear finishes, you'll freeze there instead."

"Every iteration of this show is just a test of my ability to stay still while you prance around the stage, then?"

"Prance?!"

You should have known based on everything about Matty that he wouldn't be satisfied keeping the show the same for long. He briefed you earlier in the day about the changes he wanted to try, and you did a quick run through with the crew to ensure they were prepared. Matty told you he was writing a follow-up show to the current one, and wanted to try incorporating some of the ideas into the current set-up.

You're sat comfortably on the settee, knees pulled up and feet tucked up to the side. You're still with a demure smile cast on your face, finishing your act in this position rather than looking up at him knelt in front of the table. There is a new classical piece playing over the sound system, one you don't recognize.

He goes through the panicked motions he usually does, attempting to wake you by shaking your shoulders and lightly hitting your cheek repeatedly. It's harder to stay still when directly focusing the audience as you are now, their motions and screams adding an extra challenge to keeping your gaze fixed at an invisible point.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Matty near the mic stand lighting a cigarette. He begins to anxiously stumble across the stage, frequently turning to you. He's concerningly good at acting drunk, and you're reminded of the post wondering if he truly is that drunk. He takes a sip out of a bottle that is placed on the piano, and walks to sit on the couch beside you. 

He takes a few drags, and begins to cry with his head in his hands. You can't help but think of the fact that there are definitely several confused parents in the audience as a result of this scene: classical music overturing Matty as he sobs into his hand and chainsmokes while a woman they have never seen before sits frozen smiling beside him. At least after the first show, the parents might have been briefed on the oddities of this performance the two of you put on. Matty changing elements removes all that. The thought of these traumatized and perplexed parents so nearly makes you laugh that you have to take a deep breath to prevent it from escaping, forcing the smile down your throat.

Matty keeps turning his head to look at you, crying even further. He then proceeds to sit on the ground in front of you and embrace your legs, weeping into the hug. You can feel his warm breath against your shins, shaking with put-on sobs. He stays this way for a moment before calming his cries and looking up at you, taking a drag of the cigarette in the process. He then sits back up on the settee beside you, watching you all the while. He reaches out and plays with your hair, twirling locks and running his fingers through it. It's more comforting than the pulls earlier in the show, the ones that send warmth through your body and shivers down your spine. His hand travels to your neck and begins to prod it rather aggressively with his fingers, making weird movements as they travel up to your chin.

He rubs his face one final time, and abandons you on the couch to sit in front of the television stack. Only a few more minutes of being still. You're able to blink, but your eyes hurt from the focus. In the corner of your eye, you see Matty begin to do twenty press-ups, all-the-while watching the news footage interspersed with videos of the two of you from previous shows. He finally crawls into the television, and the lights go out. You exit quickly as regularly, steps echoing in the momentary silence.

Chicago

"I feel like Ferris Bueller."

You turn your head to see Matty beside you. He's staring at the painting, the museum map folded in his hands.

"It's Cameron in front of this one, actually," you remark, cheeky.

"Oh, piss off." You chuckle.

You're stood in front of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, as you have been for nearly ten minutes. You've analyzed every speck of the painting, but you can't bring yourself to leave it just yet.

"You know, Nighthawks is just around the corner," his head turns in the direction as he speaks, "if you want to go see it."

"I'm alright here, but thank you," you smile warmly at him before continuing. "I saw Sunday in the Park with George on the West End as kid, and I've been wanting to this ever since. It feels so much larger in person, even having seen it in Ferris Bueller and all."

"Art always manages to surprise you."

"That's very wise."

"Indeed." You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I usually squeeze a few group museums trips on each tour, actually," he continues. "Nice peaceful day off with everyone."

"This one been good so far?" you ask him.

"Oh, the best." You hold his gaze for a moment before returning to the painting, the butterflies he always conjures in your stomach unable to bear it any longer. You stand in silence with him, staring at the painting. You sneak glances at him when he's not looking as if he’s another one of the works of art strung along the galleries walls.

Milwaukee

You walk towards the green room, ready to tell Matty and George they are needed on stage before the sounds of an argument stops you in your tracks.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt, mate!"

"No one will be, I swear. I know what I'm doing, I promise."

"Well, good, then. You need to be careful about not hurting her-"

"George. It'll be alright. Okay? I'll figure it out."

There's a slight lull, and you take the time to knock and push the door open. Their heads turn to you, Matty's eyes wide before washing over with a still expression

"Hey, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything, we're needed on stage."

"Not interrupting anything, love. C'mon." He walks assuredly past you into the hallway and towards the stage. George flashes you a soft smile, but you can see there's something behind it.

You look at them nervously as they walk ahead of you, mind racing as you try to put an explanation to the conversation you walked into that clearly they did not want you to hear. You forget about it by the time the show is over, the moment washing away with the day.

Toronto

"I won't lie, I'm not a huge fan of this." 

You're standing on the glass floor of the CN Tower. You haven't been up here since you visited your uni friend over the holidays a few years back, and when you realize the whole band had never visited you promptly commandeered the day off planning. 

You remove your eyes from gazing at the aquarium below to see Matty, standing at the edge of the glass. His toes barely touch it, refusing to step onto the clear portion of ground you are traversing.

"Somebody's scared," you childishly tease him, overjoyed at this exposed weakness. 

"I'm not scared, I just don't particularly enjoy being reminded that if there are any structural disintegrates in this massive pole that this is my route out."

"Nah, he's bloody terrified of heights," Ross tosses from nearby, staring out at Lake Ontario.

"It seems I have lost all of my kind, loving, friends, whatever has happened to them?" Matty asks theatrically, turning around as if to search. He's caught up enough by what he's saying that he doesn't see George approach from the side, who quickly grabs him and pulls him onto the glass floor.

"You fuckwit! What is your problem!" Matty yells to George as he hastily runs back to the covered floor. You and George are practically dying of laughter, and it's only egged on by Matty's unimpressed expression.

Minneapolis

The text notification from Matty drops down from the top of your screen, pulling you away from mindlessly scrolling on Instagram. You roll over to your side in your bunk and open the message.

Last night I finally slept Next to somebody true She's worthy of your faith I felt you in her hands I saw you when she moved

God, it's a beautiful life To live for somebody gone One step out of the fight One dream into the storm

Your eyes scan over the words, and you type out a quick ? in response. He messages back instantaneously, rapid-fire.

A second verse

For I am in your hands. 

And then I think it could lead back into the chorus

What do you think

You pull the curtain back from your bunk to find his curtain already open, staring at you. You go back to typing, looking up at him when you finish.

It's perfect

I love how you modified some of the lines slightly in the second part

You look back up and he's got a grin on his face, clearly pleased with your approval. You look back down to type some more, thumbs flying across the screen.

I was also thinking maybe after each line in the chrous it's followed by a bv of I am in your hands

Like 

But I'm in my modern world (I am in your hands)

And so on

You look back up at him and he's nodding his head to an inaudible tune, clearly singing out your suggestions in his head. He returns to the screen to write you another message.

I love that

You're a proper songwriter now love

You look back up at him with a small smile, lips pursed. You hope the light of your phone doesn't illuminate the blush on your cheeks, always appearing so easily when it comes to him.

Newport

The rush of cold air stings your skin. You need to get away from the dance floor, the far-too-bright flashes of the club lights, the music pounding so loud it hurts to hear. Everything is too much. 

You're losing control of your breathing, gasping for air. The back door finally slams closed, the sound scaring you. You lean against the brick wall and it itches against your skin.

Your legs can't hold you up anymore, and you slid down to the asphalt, burning your exposed shoulders along the way. Tears spring from your eyes, and you loose further control of your breathing.

The alcohol is making you feel completely out of control of the situation, floating above your body as the streetlights smear together into a blur. You're losing grip on what's happening, and it only furthers the panic attack you've finally recognized is happening..

You throw your head against your knees that are tucked up to your face, crying and trying to breathe. You were worried this would happen eventually at one of these nights out. You're no stranger to having to tuck yourself into a corner while you name five things you can see, four things you can touch. The alcohol always makes them worse.

You only feel more overwhelmed and scared as your intoxicated mind continues to spin, unable to function the way you need it to in order to calm down. Your breaths are ragged, heaving sobs echoing through the back area outside of the club that you've found yourself in.

The pounding slam of the door swinging open hardly registers in your mind, and you only realize someone else is out there with you when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, hey, come here, look at me." It's Matty.

You slowly look up, raising your head a herculean feat. He's crouched in front of you, eyes alight with concern. His mouth is parted, and both his hands are now gripped on your shoulders. Your breaths begin to increase rapidly, so far out of your control.

"Matty, I-I-I can't, I-" you're gasping for air, unable to get any sentence out. You're so overwhelmed you can't help but cry more, heaving and shaking. Worry stains across his face.

"Shh, shh, don't worry about talking, just sit with me. Here." he maneuvers to be sat beside you, and pulls your head against his shoulder. He takes your hand from the pavement and weaves his hand into it. You immediately begin to squeeze his hand, and he hums in encouragement. 

You don't know how long you sit there, squeezing his hand and matching his breaths until yours calm, your grip on the world returns. The booming of the club music is audible against your back, but all you can hear is Matty's breaths, deep and steady.

Pittsburgh

You're knelt on the ground, sat back and knees digging against the carpet. He's above you, painstakingly recreating the Robbers video as you do each night. Matty doesn't stray from the script in this song, so you're careful to follow his lead.

He sticks his hands out sideways in the air, and leans down as scripted to kiss you. But this time, he weaves his hand into your hair just as he does earlier in the show. His deviation spurs you on, and you reach up to place one hand against his cheek.

He smashes his lips against yours, violent and wanting. The passion is practically tangible, dancing through your body, sparkling from your fingertips until the carpet lights aflame. It's never like this in this song. It's never like this with anyone else.

His hand is still in your hair, a feeling nowhere near foreign this far into the tour. When he begins to tug, you're not exactly unused to the sensation. But he's never done it now. Not in the song he's so stringent with, timing each action to the video by the syllable. The surprise mixing with the pleasure racing through you concentrates itself into a moan, gasping into his mouth uncontrollably.

You can't help yourself. You've never been more glad to not be mic'd up, the sound a secret between only you and him. You've never done that, lost control to the extent you are now. He pulls back from the kiss, slightly late for his cue. His mouth is slightly open, eyes predatorily down on you. His lips curl into an open-mouthed smile, tongue pressed against his teeth. 

He sings the rest of the verse with the hand still in your hair, unscripted and unfathomable. It occasionally pulls, moving your head slightly. He's never been this brazen. Maybe the audience, unfamiliar with the show, is wondering why the choreography looks the same as one of the last songs. You can't begin to care about their possible confusion. All you want is him, breaking the last piece of the show that remained untouched by the desire coursing through the two of you. You have to assume it's in him as well as yourself. Any other explanation would break you. So you connect the dots, create the picture in your mind, matching the enormity of his desire to yours. You pray you aren't imagining any of it, creating a full painting out of just a few pigments of colour. All you can do is paint and paint, a blood-stained, half-finished image of passion. 

—

a/n: new song is i am in your hands by bleachers! let me know what yall thinkkkkk

[elvenbeard]

Old and Happy

😭 my feels have been all over the place since I finally finished this! Don't even remember when I started, as I kept working on and off on it over a couple of months. But I think it was after writing something particularly angsty and going "you know what, they will get their happy ending though, so it's all good".

Some details and thoughts below the read more cause it got long hhhh ;A;

This is in about 2087 maybe, roughly "ten years later". Vince changed his hair, ditched the rattail for good (or again xD) for something still colorful but a bit more easy to style. But he might change it up again, he's done so repeatedly and still likes to experiment with his hair.

Not visible, he probably would've added some elements to his back tattoo after surviving all of 2077. Johnny's tattoo he covered up as well, he would've done that first probably before the back piece. Adding some things here and there over time, with colors and patterns and wings, some cherry blossoms ('cause a thing of beauty will never truly fade away - hence just not getting laser removal but covering it with something that suits him more, but keeping some elements like the J and V visible). It started with three roses below the "V" as a little homage to Jackie, and 2077 as the year that finally put him on the right track in his life, even if it almost killed him in the process.

Overall he is a healthier weight than he was for most of his life, and finally got some therapy he desperately needed to deal with all the crap he went through pre-2077 already. He's not dyeing his first grey hairs because hell, that he's even still around to get some is amazing with his line of work and life story. And he realized that there's no need to be super well put togeher 24/7, clean shaven and whatnot, when you know you're just gonna be hanging out with your man and cat all weekend (and actually allowing yourself to something like that - leisure time and pizza in bed, unheard of to 2077!Vince). He's doing good and feels good and comfortable, physically and mentally.

Kerry also changed, also embracing the dad bod over abs, probably still experimenting with his looks a lot now and then whenever the label feels like they need to draw attention to him for whatever reason. But to the brown eyes he returned in 2078 already in my headcanon for the Sun ending timeline, and he stuck with them.

Overall I think he might finally care a little less about other people's opinions too, the buzz and the drama, cause he knows that at the end of the day there's always gonna be someone waiting for him at home who loves him unconditionally. He's a bit calmer and at ease, but of course still up to no good whenever he gets the chance to stir shit up xD Vince and him remain to be a dangerous duo you don't wanna mess with. At that point Vince is a well-respected, even if somewhat elusive, fixer, so he's probably even more dangerous now than he used to be as a mere merc with an arsenal of connections and resources at his disposal that can almost rival Kerry's.

I also gave Kerry a lil new cyberware piece on his hand - he is an old man and I think, using his hands as a musician on the daily, at some point there's just gonna be some wear and tear to your bones and joints only tech can fix anymore... Especially if you're stubborn and refuse to retire cause no, you're not done yet, you still have so much to yell into the world and music to make, stuff to add to your legacy and all.

Last but not least: Nibbles is an old lady already as well here, but living her best life with her dads spoiling her rotten, of course!

And then öalkshjdfagsdföasgdfaösfh ;___;

Y'know, "to bad decisions" and all, and two very different pieces still fitting together perfectly somehow, and light and shadows, and the sun and moon and yeah. ;___; Brb crying, the feels are back xD

Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!! They mean so much to me and aösdjhfajsfhasfk could go on forever about every little detail xD On to the next drawing!

[miss-musings]

Analyzing the Allegories in The Bad Batch Episode 3.05 "The Return"

I know a lot of folks out there love analyzing the metaphors and allegories in The Bad Batch Episode 2.09 "The Crossing." (This video has a great breakdown! I highly recommend it.) It really dives into Tech's psyche, his autism (or the Star Wars equivalent of it) and his bond with Omega.

And, as much as I love that episode, I have to admit: I love Episode 3.05 "The Return" even more so for a lot of the same reasons people love "The Crossing." It really dives into Crosshair's psyche, his trauma and his bond with his family (especially Hunter).

Both episodes are so rich and layered, giving us a lot of time for introspection in an otherwise fast-paced, action-packed show.

I'd like to present two allegorical readings for "The Return." While there is some overlap, they ultimately have major contrasts and reinterpret some moments very differently. They ultimately hinge on whether you want to interpret the Wyrm as a good thing or a bad thing.

Thus, you may prefer one over the other, or maybe you'll like both. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments/reblogs!

Author's Note: This will end up being the second part of a much longer analysis I want to write about 3.05 "The Return." But, this second part about the allegories wasn't as time-consuming as I imagine Part 1 about the character beats/analysis will be, so I'm tackling it first. Once I've written Part 1, I'll update this intro section with a link. Cheers!

Allegory #1: The Wyrm is a Good Thing

The one overlapping point between both of these allegorical interpretations is that the Outpost base represents Crosshair, mainly his heart.

Like the Outpost, Crosshair was abandoned by the Empire. He served his purpose and was cast aside, set adrift. Now, he is alone, isolated and purposeless.

Additionally, Crosshair carries Mayday in his heart (which is something TBB composers recently confirmed on Twitter), and the Outpost is home to the last remnant's of Mayday and the other clones -- their helmets.

But while he carries memories of Mayday, Tech and other clones in his heart, he doesn't have anyone actively in his life. Just as the Outpost doesn't have anyone actively stationed there anymore.

Now, under Allegory #1, the snow represents Crosshair's trauma.

Just as the snow has covered the Outpost, Crosshair has been buried in trauma -- from many things, but especially from his experiences in 2.12 "The Outpost" and from his time on Tantiss.

The snow is emblematic of his trauma because the last time he was on Barton IV, he and Mayday are nearly buried in an avalanche and then they have to fight their way back through the snow-covered terrain, in a blizzard. While it isn't actively snowing at the Outpost in 3.05 "The Return," the snow that's covering the base has left it inaccessible.

Arguably, the snow can represent the specific trauma of losing a brother, because Crosshair audibly freaks out when Hunter falls into the crevasse. He's afraid of losing Hunter the same way he lost Mayday. He doesn't want to lose another brother to this planet and its snow.

So, just as the Outpost and Crosshair were both abandoned by the Empire, now they're both buried under the weight of the snow (or what it represents).

Now, enter: The Bad Batch.

Crosshair's family arrive at the Outpost and they take down the perimeter defense at the base. But, under Allegory #1, this is a Good Thing.

Because the Wyrm represents Crosshair's family, love and hope.

You can argue that the Wyrm represents Hunter specifically. They're the only two characters we see in the tunnels, and Crosshair has the remark about "I think I just made it angrier," which applies to both Hunter and the Wyrm at different points in the episode.

You can also argue the Wyrm represents Omega, because it shows up as they're talking about her. Plus, just as the Wyrm ultimately brings Hunter and Crosshair together and forces them to reconcile, so too does Omega. Plus, Hunter's line of "Not alone -- we'll do it together" can apply to facing the Wyrm as much as it does to eventually raising Omega.

But, ultimately, the Wyrm represents Crosshair's family (whether Hunter or Omega specifically) and the love and hope that they bring with them.

In the final shot of the episode, we see that -- even though the snow still covers the Outpost -- we also now see tunnels that the Wyrm created during its attack. They're essentially inlets into and/or outlets out of the Outpost now that weren't there before — a way through the snow.

Now that his family and their love and hope are back in his life, Crosshair has a way out and a way forward in life (or back to his family) that he didn't have before — a way through the trauma. He has their love and support. He has an outlet now.

(P.S. I also just love the idea of his family metaphorically wyrming their way back into his heart. LOL)

Allegory #1 fits better when you put it in the context of 2.12 "The Outpost" and the final scene in 3.05 "The Return."

Crosshair, in a very big character moment for him, takes the initiative and opens up to Hunter.

Crosshair in general, but in this episode specifically, is very closed off. Earlier in the episode, he avoided talking to Hunter, and wasn't forthcoming about his time on Tantiss or his experiences at the Outpost. Part of that is because of his personality, but a lot of it is because of his trauma.

But, at the end of the episode, Crosshair now feels comfortable enough to open up to Hunter. Arguably, he didn't really need to, at least not right then. He and Hunter had reached an equilibrium or understanding after facing the Wyrm together. Whatever anger and resentment they had for each other had dissipated.

Yet Crosshair feels he's ready to and needs to truly reconcile with his brother. Despite everything he's faced, he feels he has an outlet now, and he uses it and basically starts his healing process.

(PS - There’s a great side-by-side comparison of this scene vs. the S1 finale here.)

And, as I said, in the final shot we see the Outpost still covered in snow, but now there are tunnels going into/out of the base. There is now a way out, a way forward.

Allegory #2: The Wyrm is a Bad Thing

Just as in Allegory #1, the Outpost represents Crosshair -- isolated, abandoned and purposeless. But, now we're going to switch gears on what the Bad Batch and the Wyrm represent.

After months of isolation on Tantiss, Crosshair has his guard up. He isn't letting anyone in. He isn't letting anyone save him.

Until Omega.

It's clear from 3.01-3.05 that he has bonded with her in a way he hasn't bonded with anyone since arguably Mayday.

That's because he keeps letting people in, and then failing them and subsequently losing them -- his brothers, especially Tech; then Cody; and then Mayday. It's partly why he pushed Omega away so much on Tantiss. He definitely wanted her to increase her chances of escaping successfully by not risking breaking him out too, but he also didn't want to get emotionally close to her after failing and losing so many other people.

But, thanks to Omega, he escapes Tantiss and reunites with his brothers, and he suggests they go to the Outpost to pull more intel on Tantiss.

Under Allegory #2, by bringing them to Barton IV and the Outpost, Crosshair is inviting them into his heart. And the fact that the group debates whether Omega should go and that it's Omega who ultimately deactivates the sensors is significant.

The Bad Batch, specifically Omega, deactivating the Outpost’s sensors represents how they make Crosshair feel vulnerable again.

Just as the base’s guards were up until they (specifically Omega) deactivated them, so too were Crosshair's guards up until his family (specifically Omega) re-entered his life and his heart.

This is partly why, when Hunter confronts him about betraying their family and then the Empire, Crosshair goes for the proverbial throat by bringing up Hunter's insecurities about failing Omega.

For a combination of reasons, Crosshair is feeling vulnerable for the first time in a long time, and while Hunter had very reasonable concerns and questions, he picked the worst possible moment to confront Crosshair about it.

Enter: the Wyrm.

Under Allegory #2, the Wyrm represents everything that threatens Crosshair and his heart -- whether that's external threats like the Empire or Tantiss, or internal threats like his fear and trauma.

After Crosshair comes face-to-face with the Wyrm, his initial response is to confront it alone. He likely feels guilty for endangering his family by bringing them to the Outpost, and doesn't want to risk failing and subsequently losing them the way he lost Mayday and others.

However, Hunter and the others emphasize that Crosshair can't and shouldn't face the Wyrm alone -- that they have to do it together.

Hunter also says: "Then let's get to it, before it tears this place apart." Crosshair and his family have to work together to protect the base, the same way they have to work together to protect him.

Allegory #2 fits better in the larger context of Season 3, specifically everything that happens after this episode.

Crosshair insists on facing CX-2 alone in 3.07 "Extraction" and would've died if Howzer and the others hadn't saved him. He is alone in 3.11 "Point of No Return" when he misses the shot to track Omega's ship. And he feels like, because of his failures, he needs to spare Hunter and Wrecker by infiltrating Tantiss alone in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived."

But, just as the Bad Batch work together to restore the Outpost's defenses and protect it from the Wyrm, Crosshair is best protected when he is with his family -- when they are working together.

With prompting from Hunter, Omega helps Crosshair to start facing his physical and emotional trauma in 3.08 "Bad Territory." His brothers refuse to let him infiltrate Tantiss alone in 3.15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived," and after they get captured, Echo and Omega work to break them out. And, when faced with an impossible shot to save Omega from Hemlock, Crosshair makes it thanks to Hunter's support and Omega's faith in him.

These are situations he wouldn't have been able to navigate alone, just as he wouldn't have been able to face the Wyrm and protect the Outpost alone. Heck, even Batcher helps Crosshair find and save Hunter after he falls into the tunnel. He probably couldn’t have done that by himself.

Crosshair needed his family to support and protect him from both his external and internal threats, just as they protected the Outpost.

So, in the final shot of 3.05 "The Return," we see the ship flying away from the Outpost. The Wyrm's tunnels are visible in the snow -- reminiscent of scars or wounds -- but the Outpost is still standing, still protected.

Analyzing the Title, Final Thoughts

I honestly can't decide which allegory I like better. I think they can both be powerful ways to interpret and 'read' the episode. Let me know if you have any additional insights or opinions.

As I said, I really love how emotionally poignant and significant this episode is. Just like 2.09 "The Crossing" was about Tech and Omega's bond, 3.05 "The Return" is definitely about Crosshair's bond with Hunter specifically, but his family in general.

Like Jennalysis says in The Crossing allegory analysis, I also enjoy thinking of all the things a TBB episode title can refer to. The Return has a lot of options:

Crosshair's return to Barton IV, obviously

Omega's return to Pabu, and her return to Hunter and Wrecker

Echo's return to the Bad Batch family, even if temporarily

Under Allegory 1: Hope returning to Crosshair's life and heart, as Hunter alludes to in the final line: "And who knows? There just might be hope for us yet."

Under Allegory 2: Crosshair's physical and emotional return to his family; or said another way, allowing his family to return to his heart

There might be more but that's all I have for now. As I said, this will end up being Part 2 of a much larger analysis on the episode. I plan to write Part 1, which will break down Hunter and Crosshair's character beats and some other fun details, in the coming days.

Stay tuned! :)

[moonstrider9904]

Pretty Thoughts

Part 3 of the Urban Flora mini series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Cross-posted to AO3 | Series Masterlist

Summary: You awaken to two truths - you are unmistakably in love with Crosshair, and you are both the main story on a popular gossip blog. Although this screams destruction for your reputation, what if it's a blessing in disguise?

Tags: Smut (18+ only), alcohol consumption, gossip, confrontation, female masturbation, vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie

Word count: 5.7k

Playlist: Pretty Thoughts by Alina Baraz

A/N: I've had the most fun writing and posting this series! Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, and shared! You are all the best. I hope you like the ending to this mini-series!

The nearly incessant beeping from your holopad woke you up after a night of heavy sleep. You were in that stage between your dreams and consciousness where you were just starting to make sense of things, and you reached to your nightstand for your holopad as you let out a groggy groan. When you unlocked it, your eyes widened at the screen, disregarding its glow on your pupils.

You had over 200 notifications among your messages and socials, and you quickly decided that couldn't be good.

You sat up on your bed and turned on your lamp - the sun was just beginning to rise outside, and the blinds in your bedroom blocked most of whatever light could come in anyways. You crossed your legs and held your holopad in front, and you opted to check your direct messages from any friends. First, you checked the messages from your closest friend, Pen, whom you rarely saw, but you could always confide in, and your heart nearly leapt from your chest when you saw the picture of Crosshair wearing the outfit he had on the day before, looking at the camera with a hint of confusion, but still composed and handsome as he normally was, and you recognized the area he was standing in as the street just outside the motel you had visited the day before.

Below the image, Pen's text read: Daaayum! Are all clones this fine? Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?

You closed out of her conversation and went onto your ongoing conversation with a different friend, Eloise, the daughter of the Senator from Corellia: Heads up, you and your mystery man made it to Scandal Gal.

Below, she had attached the full screenshot of the blog post, and below Crosshair’s picture, you read the caption:

Wakey wakey, high society: Sweetie's mystery man appears to be a silver fox dream. My sources say he was spotted entering a hotel with Sweetie and then leaving it, with our damsel of the moment seen leaving earlier than him, apparently glowing. While we may be left to fantasize about the happenings within the motel's walls, what I'm more interested to know is if this handsome young soldier is willing to introduce any of his brothers to us poor, starving gals. Consider me first in line.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you did what you knew you shouldn't have done and went over to Scandal Gal's blog and read the comments, though to your surprise, none of the comments were dragging you. You'd half expected to be called a slut by every commenter, but most of the thirsty girls in the blog were fawning at how handsome Crosshair was. You didn't particularly like a horde of girls digitally cat-calling your man, but you preferred that over a ruined reputation.

Overnight, you had become a phenomenon. What started as a picture with a few comments speculating about your encounter at the opera was now a full-fledged story that easily hundreds of people around the east side of Coruscant were following. You read multiple comments talking wonders about Crosshair, others talking wonders about you, very many admiring your relationship and how attractive you both looked together—and a few comments here and there dragging you and/or Crosshair, as expected, but overall, you and Crosshair had taken over the holonet for all the right reasons.

You wanted to laugh, but a part of it freaked you out as well. You’d never made a high profile of yourself. You’d always enjoyed your spoils in life in as private a way as possible, and the few times you’d actually made it to Scandal Gal had been because a dress you wore somewhere was beautiful, not because of your love life.

And only then, it hit you—did Crosshair know about this? And if he did, how would he take it?

Catastrophizing wouldn’t get you anywhere. You got up from your bed and put on your bathrobe, which rested on the armrest of the cozy chair next to your bed. You opened the blinds of your bedroom and took a moment to admire the Coruscant skyline with the sun making its way up the sky, dancing with a few clouds against the light blue hue. You exited your bedroom and headed past your living room with your holopad in hand, towards the kitchen to brew your coffee. As the coffee brewed, you opened the blinds to the rest of your apartment and basked in the morning peace far away from any whispers of scandal that lived in your holopad. You figured that was the bright side of it all—whether it was good talk or bad talk, it only lived in your holopad, and it wasn’t going to make its way into your calm morning.

The calm was interrupted when the door to your apartment flew open, and your mother seemed to glide inside, letting the door close behind her. Her eyes scanned the apartment until they found you, and you couldn’t decide if she was angry at you or not. At the sight of you, your mother sighed—even in her apparent disappointment, which you wouldn’t pretend not to know the cause of, your mother had a regal stance worthy of the senator of Coruscant, with her dark beige suit and her expertly done hair; even her floral scent that commanded respect.

You tried to be as nonchalant as possible, gesturing at the coffee brewer with your hand and raising your eyebrows. Your mother sighed again and shook her head, and instead, she gestured with her chin at the holopad that rested on your counter.

“Have you opened that thing this morning?” She asked you.

“Yes,” you uttered.

“Darling, what were you thinking?” Your mother now seemed more worried than angry at you. “Do you at least know this man well enough?”

“Well enough to know I’m head over heels for him,” you admitted.

“And then there’s that ridiculous gossip site,” your mom continued. “I tell myself it’s no big deal, just a little source of entertainment for spoiled rich teens with nothing better to do, but I can’t fathom the fact that now they’re picking on you. I’m too nervous to read any of the posts or the comments thinking about all the horribly unkind things everyone’s sharing about you… people can be so cruel.”

You sighed. “I know, but, Mom… as far as I’ve checked, the things Scandal Gal and the readers are saying aren’t that bad…”

“Meaning?” She inquired.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “They love him. They’re saying he’s devastatingly handsome and fawning over him, some of them even want to go stand outside the clone bar to see if they can get boyfriends.”

“But what are they saying about you?” She asked.

“I’m a hero. They like my dress, the scarf I wore, and the man I’m with. I think there’s an ongoing wager as to whether or not I’ll marry him,” you delivered blankly.

Your mother’s eyes widened, and you held in your laughter at her reaction.

“Mom, relax,” you said. “I’m not saying I will. But I do really like him. And all things considered, I expected mayhem, and even if there are a few mean things here and there, they don’t compare to how good most of the responses are.”

“That’s rare,” your mother admitted. “And I suppose you’re right, you can’t control what everyone says.”

“And I won’t try to,” you agreed. “I’m just saying it could be a lot worse and if it’s not as bad as I thought it could be, I’m gonna embrace it.”

For a split second, your mother looked at you in plain disbelief. Regardless, she sighed, straightened her back, and gathered herself, and she met your gaze again with understanding.

“Alright, now tell me, who is this man?” She asked.

“He’s the sniper who took out the assassin who tried to kill the Chancellor,” you said as you poured your cup of coffee.

Your mom raised her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows too, pouring another cup for your mother.

“I met him at the start of the opera,” she explained. “I even invited him to our box, but he said he already had one, he didn’t want to refuse it and seem rude.”

“Yeah, he was invited because of his efforts,” you said. “In fact, I… I met him during the final intermission at the opera. We got to talking and he’s just… fascinating.”

Those were all the details you’d give to your mother about that night.

Your mother’s demeanor seemed to soften as she drank from the coffee you’d given her. With a soft exhale, she set the cup down on the counter and pressed her hands together in front of her chest, avoiding your gaze for a few moments.

“Sweetie, I don’t want you to think I’m exploiting your relationship with this man,” she began.

You tilted your head. That was one of the last things you’d expected her to say.

She then met your gaze. “But this is actually a very good look.”

“What, for you?” You asked.

Your mother chuckled. “I have spent months collaborating with Senator Chuchi to pass a clone rights bill. When your… boyfriend…”

You chuckled. “Crosshair.”

She nodded slowly. “Right. When Crosshair saved the Chancellor’s life, we got a lot more support, but we’re not quite there yet. Too many people view the clones as vessels bred for combat, not as actual human beings with human emotions and human needs. And, as triumphant as Crosshair was in saving the Chancellor, his effort was still that of a soldier, hence why we’re, as I said…”

“Not quite there yet,” you continued. “And… you think that if I’m public with him, so public that people are talking about relationships and gossiping like they do with anyone else in our society, he’ll look more human.”

“And by extension, the rest of the clones,” your mother added. “It just might shift the tide in favor of finally giving them some more rights.”

You smiled softly and took another ship of your coffee. “I love the sound of that. I just don’t know how I feel about scheming regarding Crosshair.”

“Be honest with him, then,” your mother suggested. “If you’re not on board, be as private as you possibly can, I won’t hold it against you. It was just an idea. And now that I think about it…”

You looked up at her again, waiting for what else she had to say.

“We do have that art gala coming up tonight,” she suggested. “Why don’t you invite him?”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll ask him. I wouldn’t mind getting all fancy and seeing him, but for starters, he needs to want to go.”

“He went to the opera, didn’t he?”

“Well, yes, but that was an invitation of honor,” you answered. “And he didn’t seem like a fish out of water, but I can’t help thinking this just isn’t what he’s used to.”

Your mother gazed at you sincerely. “Don’t you cage him into the label of a soldier, too. If you like this man and you want to be with him, you’re going to have to realize he’s more than that.”

You raised both of your brows. You knew she was right, and to have heard that coming from your mother, it meant volumes. You barely ever approached what she did inside the senate, but you pondered on how much her words made sense based on what little she’d shared with you about her efforts with the Pantoran senator. And even if she wasn’t trying to pass a clone rights bill, she was still right—Crosshair was a living, breathing man, and even though you knew he was a soldier, you hadn’t met him as such. You’d seen him at a high society gathering over drinks. You’d shared coffee and bantered with him, kissed him under the rain, made love to him time and time again until you couldn’t get him out of your thoughts.

As soon as your mother left, you reached for your holopad and ignored the multiple notifications you had, heading straight for Crosshair’s frequency number and typing out your message at least three times before sending it, trying to find the most chill way to invite him to the art gala. You sent the message and waited for the reply, frantically scurrying to your holopad anytime it vibrated. For a while, he didn’t answer, and before you lost hope, you finally saw the notifications coming in from Crosshair.

Can’t resist another little encounter with me, can’t you, Sweetie?

You chuckled, but you felt nervous at the same time. That obviously meant he’d been, in some way, exposed to Scandal Gal too.

How fancy do I have to dress? His next message came in shortly after.

You chuckled at your phone and typed back: Fancy enough to knock everyone dead.

Instantly, Crosshair replied: ’Kay. I’ll be there.

After you texted him all the details of the event, you went about your day with a twinge of excitement sprinkled over your every move. The sun made its way around the sky until it was time for you to get ready for the event, and for this occasion, you chose a dark purple dress paired with long black gloves and no necklace, since you’d be wearing your hair down your shoulders. The dress’s top had a black ribbon outlined in the shape of a triangle, with the base at your waist, and it was filled with discreet black sequins. On the right shoulder, where the dress’s top met your sleeve, you placed a dark gray brooch that your mother had given you on your eighteenth birthday, and looking at yourself in the mirror, you were almost ready to go. You did your makeup and grabbed your purse, and then you went out the door to the nightlife of Coruscant, where your mother was already waiting at the bottom of the building with a vehicle.

Your pulse was racing for the whole ride, knowing you would meet Crosshair there. You clutched your purse with both hands over your pressed thighs, and you could feel beads of sweat forming in your palms, having to take deep breaths from time to time to keep yourself steady. The vehicle finally arrived at the gala and parked just in front of the red carpet you were meant to walk on, and only then it dawned on you that multiple pairs of eyes thirsting for scandal would be on you. But you wouldn’t back out, not now, not when you were the very image of elegance in society about to meet with your Silver Fox Dream, as Scandal Gal had put it.

You resolved to knock them all dead too.

The door on your side of the vehicle was opened by an usher, and you stepped out, straightening your posture and taking in the scenery of flashing cameras and excited partygoers, and confident as you looked, your heartbeat hadn’t calmed down in the slightest. You looked around, scanning for the only person you were interested in seeing.

And soon enough, your eyes landed on him. His attire was possibly better than the one he wore the night of the opera, with a slim fit pitch-black suit and shirt, adorned with a burgundy vest under the coat, and rich red rose in his breast pocket. Crosshair’s watchful eyes gazed back at you, and as you remained still in front of your vehicle while your mother got out, Crosshair made his way to you, letting you behold every detail on him as he got closer to you, and when he was finally right in front of you, you took in all of him.

Crosshair was strikingly debonair, undeniably gorgeous, charming in his pride and confidence. He even smelled incredible. His tall figure seemed to loom protectively over you, complimenting your lack of height when you stood next to him, and you both made such a perfect pair you almost hoped that gossiping teenage girls were in proximity to behold your beauty, perhaps even eat their hearts out as a treat for you.

“Miss,” Crosshair greeted as he took your hand and brought it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

His gentle kiss ignited every inch of your skin as you briefly remembered the moments of passion you’d already shared with that man. You gave him a demure smile, taking one step closer to him, wishing with every fiber of your body to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss not unlike the one you’d had under the rain the day before, but perhaps it wasn’t the time or place for such a public display. Moreover, as Crosshair was lowering your hand down from his gesture, your mother exited the vehicle and appeared at your side, smiling at Crosshair.

He acknowledged her and gave her the hint of a smile, taking a slight bow. “Ma’am.”

He held out his hand, offering her the chance to be greeted in a similar way as you, and to your surprise, your mother obliged.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” your mother said to him. “I didn’t know you’d met my daughter until this morning.”

“She’s a wonderful lady, ma’am,” Crosshair responded without a hint of hesitation or insecurity.

You were in awe at how easily he was getting along with your mother as the two continued to make small conversation, and soon enough, your mom went ahead and entered the building, with you and Crosshair following behind, your arm linked in his. Camera flashes on you weren’t scarce, and in the distance, you could hear high-pitched cries of “There they are!” and “They’re so hot together!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at yourself.

“Basking in your triumph?” Crosshair broke the silence between you.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“That was a bold move, inviting me here, introducing me to your mother,” he continued, his features holding the sternness they usually did, but you picked up on no disgust on his behalf.

“Yeah, well…” You said. “Overnight, we kind of became public figures, you and me. There’s this gossip site that’s been following me around for a while, nothing major, but when you and I started talking at the opera, we got popular.”

“Ah, Scandal Gal,” Crosshair mused. “Yes, I was approached and stalked by a teen.”

You nearly snorted trying to hold in your laughter. “What?”

“The picture of me that’s on that site was taken by a sixteen-year-old girl,” Crosshair said, smirking. “Somehow, I’m more afraid of gossip-hungry teens than I am of tactical droids.”

You chuckled. “They’re formidable, alright.”

“So… you’re feeding them what they want by bringing me here?” He continued the conversation.

“No, not exactly,” you replied. “That’s a side effect. Because of Scandal Gal, my mom rushed over to my place this morning panicking a little, but I explained to her that… well…”

You and Crosshair had just reached the bar of the opulent salon where the gala was being held, and you both took a seat on your respective stools. Crosshair eyed you with intrigue as you trailed off, prompting you to speak up, and you realized why you’d stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say.

But this was Crosshair. He was a dream incarnate, and you were already there with him, a striking and attractive couple that commanded everyone’s attention, and you found yourself smiling at him as your pulse rose once more.

“That I… I feel a lot for you,” you said. “That I really like you, Crosshair, and this isn’t a meaningless fling for the sake of shock value to me.”

Crosshair maintained eye contact with you, and his features softened ever so slightly, so discreetly that an untrained eye wouldn’t have been able to notice. He broke eye contact with you to gesture at the bartender and order drinks for both of you, and then he turned back to you, with his lips curving to a smirk.

“Well, well,” he hummed. “How touching.”

It was good that he didn’t appear repulsive at your sentiments, but your poor, racing heart would need a more precise answer. Then, Crosshair’s smirk widened, and he looked down at his knees, letting his inner softness glow through if only for a moment.

“It’s not meaningless for me either,” he replied.

You smiled brightly and exhaled the tension from your chest. “Really?”

“Really,” he answered.

“Then… there’s something else you should know,” you said.

And you then explained how your mother wouldn’t use you both, but that you were supporting her cause in the senate, how him being exposed to something other than the front lines would put clones in a more human light, at least to the members of the senate who were still on the fence. You even gave Crosshair the opportunity to back out immediately if he felt like his strings were being pulled, but all the while, Crosshair remained with that serene smile at you, and when you were done talking, Crosshair reached for your hands and held them in his.

“Does this bill mean I’ll get paid more?” He asked.

You laughed openly, and he chuckled in return just as the drinks he’d ordered were placed beside you by the bartender.

“Sweetie,” he said to you. “I don’t care much about the other things. Not Scandal Gal, not the Senate, although that bill sounds decent. I came here to be with you because I can’t get you out of my brain. You’re not what I pictured a high-society woman to be, and… well…”

You smiled softly at him, and now it was your turn to prompt him to speak.

“Now that you’ve introduced me to your mother,” he said, “I hope I get the chance to introduce you to my brothers too.”

Your smile widened. “You’d do that?”

He nodded, smiling softly at you. “You’re a smart girl, you can handle it.”

You laughed and reached for your drink, an Urban Flora cocktail that could have been an exact replica of the one you drank when you first met Crosshair at the opera. You took a sip of it without breaking eye contact with Crosshair, and when you lowered your drink, you raised a brow at him.

“But can you handle the Coruscant high societal scene?” You asked.

Crosshair took a sip of his own drink, the smoky, rich Corellian whisky he loved so much, and he leaned in closer to you, close enough for you to smell the smooth, luscious drink on his breath.

“Try me, Sweetie,” he purred.

You giggled, and you both gently bumped your glasses together, and you went on to continue talking about whatever sparked your interest as you finished your drinks. Crosshair told you about his missions, his brothers, even a couple of anecdotes of when he was a young cadet. In turn, you told him about your days as a schoolgirl, your plans for the future, what you liked to do in your spare time, the planets you longed to visit all over the galaxy. And then, when the glasses were empty and the conversation was fulfilled, you and Crosshair stood up from the bar and went around the room, and you greeted most of your friends and acquaintances as well as introduced Crosshair to all of them. Crosshair was a flying success with everyone, and you couldn’t help but gawk at him just a little. The night wore on as smoothly as velvet, until it was getting late, and you were bound to return home.

You directed a look at Crosshair, a look that was filled with allure, and he reciprocated. Quick goodbyes were said, and soon, you were sitting with Crosshair at the back of your vehicle as the chauffeur flew you home. As you sat together, you were in silence, and though Crosshair was great with words, you’d learned he was far better with his actions, and he reached for the rose on his breast pocket and handed it to you. You smiled at him, slightly flustered, and for the remainder of the ride, you scooched closer to him and leaned your weight on him, eager to arrive at the privacy of your apartment.

You had no intention of waiting. After you and Crosshair had left the vehicle, the moment the elevator doors closed behind you, you were both on each other. Your hands ran all over his back as you both locked lips, hungrily devouring each other in that small space, and you then let your palms rest on his chest. Crosshair took each of your hands and tugged gently at your middle fingertips, enough to hold onto the gloves you wore as you slid your hands down and the delicate fabric came off, exposing your skin. You heard Crosshair shudder softly before he took you into his arms again, kissing you as passionately as before, and you both felt the elevator pulling to a stop.

You gathered yourselves—there was no need to surprise someone waiting for the elevator with a steamy scene—but when you found there was no one there to see you, you and Crosshair held hands as you made your way over to your penthouse, and the moment the door closed behind you both, you were on each other’s lips once more. Your wandering hands removed his coat and his vest, and he found the zipper at the back of your dress. He lowered the zipper, causing the dress’s blouse to fall limply around your silhouette, and you took a step back, wanting him to watch as you wiggled out of the dress and let the fabric fall gracefully on the floor, leaving you to step out of it.

Crosshair eyed you hungrily as you approached him. Your breasts hung freely at your front, and he didn’t miss the hickey he’d left on your ribs the day before. On your hips, there was a pair of lace black panties, but the top prize was easily taken by the stockings that covered you from the middle of your thighs to your toes, which he couldn’t make himself tear his gaze from. You chuckled and took his hands, leading him slowly into your bedroom, and he followed you blissfully until you were at the foot of your bed.

You let go of him and sat back all the way to your headboard. You pressed your legs together and slowly slid your panties away from you, tossing them aside, and you spread your legs to show him, never once breaking eye contact with him. Your gaze was alluring, slightly teasing, and Crosshair watched. He watched as you spread your legs and took your hand to your inner thigh, teasing your skin, until your fingers finally brushed fully over your folds and your clit. You let out a playful gasp, smirking at him and taunting him, and as he watched, Crosshair began to undress. Your smirk widened, and you continued to touch yourself in the way you most liked, delighted by the sight of him losing the clothes that covered him. Your cunt was wet and swollen, pulsating and sensitive, all you needed to do was increase your pace ever so slightly and you’d tip yourself over the edge—as Crosshair crawled onto the mattress, you decided to give him the full show. Making sure his eyes were still on you, you applied more pressure onto your clit and used your three middle fingers to rub, and looking into his eyes, you finally got to enjoy the waves of your orgasm.

You reveled in how hungry Crosshair looked, pleased and aroused by the little show you put on for him. Crosshair couldn’t help but take his hand over to his cock, pumping slowly as he watched you pleasing yourself, until your orgasm faded, and your moans quieted when you removed your hand. You found Crosshair’s gaze and pouted at him, holding your hand in front of you and curling your finger, beckoning him to come to you. With a smirk, Crosshair obliged, and he positioned himself between your legs, planting soft kisses around your inner thighs before brushing his tongue lusciously over your folds. He moaned into your skin, and you whimpered in return, dazed and sensitive after your antics.

As Crosshair continued to please you with his skilled tongue and lips, you suddenly felt his fingers finding yours. You spread your hand before interlacing your fingers with his, holding him as he brought you closer to another release. Your body squirmed harder than it had the first time around, the white-hot ecstasy seeming to explode within every fiber of your body. You didn’t hold back with your moaning, letting his name escape you many a time, enticed by the velvety texture of his tongue contrasting with the raspiness surrounding his jawline.

When Crosshair emerged from between your legs, you tugged on him, prompting him to rest at your eye level. You wanted to feel him close to you, and Crosshair knew what it was you desired. With your legs still spread, you rested back and let him take the lead, feeling as he slowly inserted himself within your tight, warm walls. You both moaned in unison and stared deeply into each other’s eyes as he began his thrusts slowly, luxuriously letting you feel everything. Your lips begged for his, and you perked your face up to kiss him as you felt your body gently bouncing on the mattress in his rhythm. Crosshair’s kisses made you float higher and higher, and drenched in pleasure and ecstasy, you felt like you were in paradise. Crosshair was truly capable of taking you there.

Crosshair paused his kisses on your lips and lifted himself to look at you, his gaze stern and seductive as he increased the snapping of his hips. He grunted as he hammered into you, shuddering and twitching inside you in anticipation, soon unable to contain soft groans and whimpers. Crosshair looked straight into your eyes, flooded by adoration of you, until the pleasure was too much for him to keep his eyes open even as much as he wanted to gaze into you. His eyes shut and the rhythm of his hips became unfathomably fast, and so too, you descended into bliss for the third time that night. You smiled amidst your orgasm, chiming his name in a delicious moan, your hand still securely holding his as he released inside you and fell limp on the mattress beside you afterwards.

You both panted, each your own dazed and flustered mess as you made futile attempts to recover, but as much as you were both unable to do much else, you remained holding each other’s hands. As time passed, you soon felt Crosshair’s thumb brushing delicately up and down your finger, and you watched him with a tender gaze. You felt you’d fall asleep right there, and if you did, you knew you would want for nothing. You knew you’d have nothing to worry about for as long as you were together, and the pain of temporary separations would be worth it if it was Crosshair you would wait for.

And there on your mattress, filled with love, resolve, and exhaustion, you drifted off into sleep.

A gentle sunlight and the song of birds woke you up. You noticed the space beside your bed was empty, and you didn’t waste time getting up and placing your robe over you as you sought out your lover. You walked over to the living room and your attention was drawn to the balcony, where he stood with his back turned on you, shirtless and wearing his pants from the night before, gazing out at the scenery.

You took a moment to admire him and the way his skin appeared golden under the morning sun, contrasting almost artistically with the green plants on your balcony, the blue sky, and the skyline ahead. With soft steps, you approached him and stepped out onto the balcony, and you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder blade. Crosshair delicately shuffled and brought your figure next to him, draping his arm around you, and you both stood in silence for a few peaceful moments, watching the scenery.

“What are you watching?” You asked him, knowing it was in his nature to observe.

His amber eyes scanned the scenery, and he almost looked humbled. He had the face of an innocent life being beholding the universe ahead of them, realizing how small they truly were in comparison to the greatness of creation itself.

“Out there, as soldiers,” Crosshair began, “it often feels like we fight because it’s all we know. We were made for it. Myself, my brothers, more obviously bred for different purposes, all to serve one war. But aside from why we were created, we never really stop to think what we’re fighting for.”

You looked up at him, watching his features soften in realization as he spoke. Crosshair then angled his body more towards you, and he held you tighter, pressing you to the warmth of his skin, watching you with the most tender gaze you had ever felt on you.

“I won’t forget this next time I’m on the battlefield,” he continued.

“You mean, Coruscant?” You asked. “The Republic, these people, this skyline… peace?”

He smiled. “I mean you.”

You smiled at him, devoted.

Crosshair chuckled. “All of that, too, but, mostly you.”

“Oh, Crosshair,” you wrapped your arms around him and perked on your toes, requesting a kiss.

Crosshair obliged and kissed you gently, almost carefully, feeling as the sunshine draped over his skin. He wished he could remain there longer, but he had a duty, a duty that had brought him to you, and a duty that he had to fulfill in order to one day be with you more properly. He knew that, with you on Coruscant waiting for him, he’d always have a reason to return, and a reason to keep fighting. He’d never thought of a life besides being a soldier, but if you were in it, it couldn’t be so bad.

And out there, on that balcony, Crosshair held you close to him until the very last moment he could spare with you, until he had to leave again to be a soldier, always with the promise of returning to you.

*

This just in: Sweetie and Sniper Man are still together and far more public now that I and my loyal sources have done our job ;) I do think we have a power couple in our midst, and the next time these two show up at a fancy event dressed to impress, you’ll hear about it from none other than yours truly. I certainly wish the happy couple all the best, and my challenge towards Sniper Man to bring forth more eligible men from the fine and respectable GAR still stands. Help us gals out, Sniper Man, we all love you so much, and we can’t let Sweetie keep all the spoils!

Yours truly!

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging to support me!

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[holycatsandrabbits]

How to Write Implied Smut 

**Ironically, this article is somewhat NSFW**

So you want to write about sex without writing about sex. (Or maybe you don’t want to, but you need to, which is usually where I end up.) Some writers and readers love smut, and some don’t, which is totally valid. Or sometimes you’ve got a couple of characters who’d like to get it on, but your story guidelines require a SFW rating. Whatever the reasons for keeping things under cover (pun intended), here are some helpful hints about hinting:

Method 1: Read between the lines

In this approach, there are no sex scenes at all, no (heavy) kissing, no wandering around in nothing but your socks. You want the reader to know Jane and Betsy participate in a certain indoor sport together, but we’re not going to pop a single blouse button on-screen. Here are three ways to do it:

Situation-based clues include having Jane and Betsy share a room at a hotel, arrive at work or leave together, keep their stuff at each other’s houses, wear each other’s clothes, etc. 

Other characters can assume Jane & Betsy are a couple, knowing that if you text one at three a.m. the other is likely to answer, or if you tell Jane something, Betsy will immediately know, or even blatantly stating they aren’t just roommates.

Jane and Betsy themselves can act like they’re lovers in a SFW way. G-rated signs of offscreen physical intimacy include sitting in each other’s laps, touching faces, briefly kissing on the mouth, and holding hands.

This “between the lines” method leaves the physical relationship entirely to the reader’s imagination. There are no hints of specifics in the bedroom, no scenes that will get your reader’s temperature rising. Perfect for some writers and readers. The next two methods have more heat.

Method 2: Kiss and don’t tell

This is what they call “closing the door.” Cue your characters kissing and then fade to black, and if you want to say what happens afterward, stick to general terms. You know, it was a very enjoyable evening, they got to know each other better, Jane learned what it was like to spend a night with Betsy. 

You can also have Jane and Betsy wake up in bed together the next morning, possibly showing them zipping up their dresses or even searching for their dresses wherever they may have been flung off on the way to the bedroom. You can even hang handcuffs from the headboard—and guess what? That’s all still G-rated.

Example from my (rare) SFW works:

They touched as much as they liked then, with fingers and mouths certainly, but also with toes and ears and knees. They laughed and moaned and they learned how to be as close as two people could ever be to each other, not just touching anymore, but for many sparkling moments actually being one body.

–The Other Arrangement (one of my Good Omens fanfics)

Unlike the first method, this “close the door” bit leads the reader into thinking about the specific bedroom scenario you’ve set up, which they can imagine at any heat level they like—or not imagine it at all. (Not everybody wants to look through the keyhole.) The last method is a bit more, well, explicit.

Method three: Think hard—er, carefully—about word choice

How to say they’ve got erections without saying they’ve got erections:

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, in a brave voice, “and here I thought my enthusiasm was rather obvious.”

Crowley didn’t move, but the expression on his face suggested that he could feel exactly what Aziraphale was talking about, and that he knew Aziraphale could feel the same from him.

-The Angel’s Bracelet (oh wow more Good Omens).

Believe it or not, you can actually have SFW sex on-screen if you’re choosy with words. So hard becomes aroused, ass becomes rear, tits become chest. Don’t name any super-naughty body parts at all. 

Terri was even softer and warmer than Heather had imagined, her curves unable to be contained by Heather’s small hands. Not that Heather didn’t try, and that was when they realized they probably should not be doing this in the library.

“You will let me take you on a real date, won’t you?” Terri asked, smoothing Heather’s hair where it had come loose from her bun.

“Well, what’s customary for a fifth date?” Heather asked, refastening two of Terri’s shirt buttons.

–Blind Date with a Book (wtf this is not Good Omens?!) 

In this “word choice” method, the reader knows exactly what’s happening, but it’s still safe enough to be read in public. It’s like naughty art with careful blurring. This method can be satisfying for a reader who doesn’t want to have to imagine the rest of the scene, or at least wants to know how the writer imagined it. And it’s good for writers who want to obey the letter of the law while still showing a love scene (see how I used the SFW term for “sex scene”?).

Writing smut without smut is a good tool (pun intended sorry) for writers because it lets those who don’t want to write smut still convey high heat between their characters, and because it lets smut-comfortable writers reach SFW audiences. I often have two versions of stories I’m submitting, one explicit and one not, so I can try more markets.

Please note you should never send an explicit work to a submission call unless the guidelines specifically say it’s allowed, because some editors/slush readers don’t want to read smut. When in doubt, politely query first.

Anyway if you want to read some more of my non-fanfic smut go here.

Thanks for reading! Looking for (SFW) inspiration? Get some weird writing prompts

This article was first published on my writing blog

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers 

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[contributingtothechaos]

Saw The Outsiders musical yesterday and thought I'd share my notes app rambles I wrote on the ride home after. These are just my favorite parts I'll make a separate one abt the things I missed/didnt like if anyone wants it. Spoilers below the cut

everything I loved abt it

• Intro almost exactly like in book

• Amazing singing from everyone

• The understudy who it was her first show was so good for her first time 

• The music was based off accurate music style for the time folk, bluegrass, Americana, rock

• They actually said fuck instead of "and than he said some words which aren't appropriate to print" or something like that

• Dallas>>>

• The slow motion was so so cool

• Repurposed the car for everything. Bed, table, concessions stand

• The girl greaser was great and really funny, could tell she was strong and had funny lines

• Drove a second car on stage??? Need to figure out how. Very cool

• Actually projected the movies onto back

• Reminded me of newsies alot

• The drowning scene actually insane

• The pounding sound when they were drowning him and the slo mo fighting from everyone else>>>

• The ringing every time he got knocked out 

• THE FAKE BLOOD oml

• Dude the party when they went to find dally was sorta crazy

• Dally is such a mom he's amazing

• The boards and tires for the train!!!

• Using the boards and tires so well for everything!!!

• Omfg the way they showed jonny's parents fighting projected shadows on the window

• The broken church window <3

• Ponyboy's hairrrrr nooooo the bleach blond😭😭😭

• THE LETTER FROM SODA OH MY GOD SO SAD, SUCH A GOOD SONG

• The smoke over the whole stage during the fire

• THE REAL ASS FIRE

• the way they use the boards and tires as a hospital bed

• OH MY FUCK THE FIGHT

• IT WAS SO COOL

• THE SLOW MOTION

• THE FLASHING LIGHTS

• THE WAY THEY ACTUALLY HAD IT "RAINING" ON THE STAGE

• THE MOVES TIMES WITHTHE FLASHING

• THE WAY THEY MAKE IT LOOK LIKE FIGHTING AND DANCING AT THE SAME TIME 

• hey hey hey what the hell was stay gold? That's what got me to start tearing up fr

• WHEN JONNY DIED

• all their reactions had me tearing

• WHAT THE FUCK DALLAS

• that train scene definitely didn't get me as hard as the book but it still hit

• THE FUCKING ENDING OF LITTLE BROTHER WHAT THE HELL

• DUDE THE TIME THEY DID SODA THE MOST JUSTICE WAS IN THAT SCENE WHERE PONY AND DALLY WERE FIGHTING 

• THATS WHEN I ACTUALLY STARTED CRYING WAS SODA YELLING AT THEM

• cherry bringing the letter from Jonny oml

• Them forgiving each other amd eating dinner together>>>>

• Him saying he started writing a story and letting darry read the beginning of it, it being the beginning of the book was so great

• And the the reprise with the last words of the book was so good

• All the other actors leaving the stage after bows and then ponyboy doubling back and grabbing green beans off the table and eating them idk just funny to me

• The actors were so nice outside and so was the crowd I was holding by playbill up in like the back of the crowd of like 20 ppl and he had ppl pass it up for me

• They were all nice and took pictures I felt bad and didn't want to crowd them or follow them it they were trying to leave

• Sodapops actor having a Soda bottle tattoo that I'm not sure was fake or to commemorate his first Broadway role. Also had the hat Soda wears in movie

[darsynia]

Don't Read the Last Page Chapter 2

Summary: Your friend Nat claims her plan to distract Tony Stark with her sex appeal isn't working, so she wants you to do it with your brain--and a sexy red dress. Things start out completely over your head and get more complicated when SHIELD becomes involved.

Length/Warnings: 4,200 | none (future smut!!)

Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Prev | Next

Excerpt:

"Go, please, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your party.”

“It’s Tony, and I would, if I didn’t think you’d bolt the second I turn my back."

“Don’t worry about that, there’s still a lot of your house technology I want to see,” you blurt out, looking with honest interest at the lit-up interior of his famous mansion. When you hadn’t been stressed out about the dress, the spy agency, and possibly letting Natasha down, you really have been excited to catch a glimpse of Stark’s innovations in situ.

His hand tightens on your arm as he bursts into genuine laughter, pulling your focus back to him. “You know, I think you’re the first woman who hasn’t tried to use that line to get into bed with me!”

“Oh God,” you breathe, stumbling back against the wall. What are you doing here? How did you think you had the skills to attend something like this??

Chapter Two: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

When your car stops, you see that you’re in a short line of other vehicles making their way up to the entrance to Stark’s mansion. It gives you a chance to text Natasha about the crazy conversation you just had with her boss. The program Nat uses to text with you is some weird, proprietary one that makes you pick your nickname new each time. You use the same one as usual, CATnip, but Nat’s is always different, usually dependent on her mood.

CATnip: Your boss wants to recruit me to be a freaking sex spy, and I will never trust you again

TrustTasha: Maybe you misunderstood the assignment?

CATnip: I really don’t think so. He told me that SHIELD wants to keep him from getting too close to his CEO, like I’m in any way capable of competing with Pepper Potts! I’m in way over my depth here.

TrustTasha: Is this you exaggerating for effect or is that really what he said?

CATnip: I am 10% exaggerating. The car is pulling up.

The car stops, and you are gathering up your courage when someone opens the door for you and holds out a hand. You step out, tucking your phone into the gold clutch you brought, wishing you’d thought to check yourself in any kind of mirror in between being trust-stomped by Nick Fury and this moment. As you walk toward the door, you watch your feet rather than the scene in front of you, feeling very much like the ‘barely scraping by’ engineer who lives above her own storefront that you are.

“Excuse me?” a man says, and you look up. He’s a heavyset man, but you suspect that a lot of the bulk is actually muscle. The man’s wearing a black suit and an authoritative expression. He does a bit of a double take on looking at your outfit, and you look down to make sure the gold shawl is covering what you want it to be. “Trying to stand out, nice,” he says appreciatively. “Go on in.”

“Not really,” you mutter to yourself, but you do know your dress is sending a particular message. “You don’t need a name or something?” you ask him. It’s one last bite at your own paw to get out of the trap you’ve been placed in. If it doesn’t work, well, at least the bait is nice.

He laughs and looks back down at the slit in your dress. “I mean, if you want to give me a name, I certainly wouldn’t refuse it.”

For a long, horrible second you freeze as your brain dusts off the correct lines of code. This is a party, and he probably thought you were offering your name to him! Thankfully, it’s a popular party, and you’re jostled from behind by guests more eager to get in than you are. You take the opportunity to duck your head down and scurry in the door.

Once inside, it seems like every woman in sight is wearing black. You’re the only one in red and the only one with any gold as a part of your outfit. Now you understand what the man meant about standing out. You scan the room looking for Nat so you can give her a piece of your mind. Two of the dresses you were choosing between had been black! When you see her, you slip between through a group of young blonde giggling women, and call out.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Nat clearly recognizes your voice, because when she turns around, her expression is amused. “Yes? Were you looking for a place to hang up your wrap?”

“Not at all,” you say politely, glaring at her. “Maybe a location for the bathroom?”

“Miss Rushman, please tell me you and the lady in red are friends?” someone behind you asks. You recognize who it is and close your eyes, caught between excitement and regret.

“I don’t think I’ve ever won a bet this quickly in my life,” Natasha crows. She’s holding herself in such a unique way, as if she’s meant to be on display, but not know it? It would be compelling if you weren’t ready to toss her and her entire organization off the cliff face the house is built on.

The thing is, you don’t want to be impolite, and you did hope to at least meet the man once in your life, so you slowly turn around to greet Tony Stark. He’s wearing slick gray dress pants, a matching suit jacket, and a mottled maroon shirt that definitely costs a lot of money, if the way it’s clearly been tailored to fit over the glow of his ARC reactor is any indication. Your eyes are caught by that glow right away, but you’re brought out of your fascination by the sound of him clearing his throat.

You look up into Stark’s eyes, and you’re even more startled by the obvious interest you can see in them.

“A room full of people here to celebrate my birthday, and you’re the only one in red,” he says warmly. In most of his public appearances he comes across as sarcastic, combative, or arrogant. Right now he seems almost lit from within, like his whole body is smiling. The man is the very embodiment of charisma.

“It seemed like an obvious choice, but--” you look around at the rest of the partygoers, some of whom are looking over at the two of you with curiosity.

“Were you planning for me to unwrap you, later?” he asks, his voice dropping in register as well as sound level.

You suck in a breath, suddenly realizing what your attempt to cover up the bodice of your dress actually looks like in this context. You drop back a step, eyes wide.

“I honestly hadn’t-- I mean--” you stammer. Stark steps close to whisper in your ear. 

“Breathe.” He turns toward the overlook on the other side of the room and jerks his head for you to follow him. “C’mon.”

“I’d rather just--” you shake your head, but to your utter surprise, he grabs one end of your gold shawl and starts backing away from you toward the door to the balcony. Stark’s expression is smug; whether you stay still and let him have his dramatic dress reveal or follow him outside, he obviously gets what he wants either way.

You choose the less revealing of the two and rush after him with a fist pressed tight against your heart, in case he tugs too hard. The analogy maybe hits a little close, tonight. This man whose career you’d followed for so long is completely focused on you, and you can feel his pull in more than one way. If you could chase all of the other people away and really talk to him, you’d be in heaven. Their scrutiny is what’s most upsetting to you right now. 

Another partygoer opens the door for the two of you and greets Stark, who acknowledges the man the same way a world leader might greet a diplomatic subordinate, magnanimously, as if owed the attention by virtue of his position. He walks you all the way outside to the overlook, other groups of people drifting out of his way as if it’s only natural to do so. As you keep up with him you can't help but wonder if Tony Stark has ever had to wait to see an exhibit at a museum or art gallery. Given how much scrutiny the two of you are getting, you suspect he feels more kinship with the displays than the audience.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you might need to yarf over the side. Not used to parties?” Stark says, leaning on the wall and looking at you curiously. He lets go of the fabric of your coverup with a twist of his lips that tells you he definitely thought about yanking on it anyway.

“You know how you buck the trend of tech professionals being typically shy, introverted, and awkward around people?” you ask, looking out at the view instead of him.

“Mm hmm.”

The sheer warmth in his voice is setting your nerves on fire. Your crush is a bonfire inside of you, optimistically blazing as if it can burn away your life-long career of being tongue-tied around men.

“Well I don’t. Buck the trend, I mean.”

“You work in tech?” he says. His voice sounds closer than it did before, and you look over to see that he’s drifted over, a completely different expression on his face. It’s everything you’ve always wanted-- Tony Stark interested in you (maybe? hopefully??) for your mind. You nod. “Where do you work? What do you do?”

A group of women start singing Happy Birthday over in the main room, the one with a DJ. You must have made some kind of terrible face, because Stark laughs, reaches out a hand and rests it on your arm where you’re leaning on the wall to keep yourself standing. The touch singes your nerve endings, sending heat from the point of contact straight to your rapidly beating heart. 

You barely expected to meet the man, much less feel the way he can so easily alter your brain chemistry. 

That thought helps you focus, somehow, and you picture yourself connecting every one of your twelve social brain cells to say, “Software and mechanical engineering, mostly. I run a small, very small design firm. Go, please, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your party.”

“It’s Tony, and I would, if I didn’t think you’d bolt the second I turn my back."

“Don’t worry about that, there’s still a lot of your house technology I want to see,” you blurt out, looking with honest interest at the lit-up interior of his famous mansion. When you hadn’t been stressed out about the dress, the spy agency, and possibly letting Natasha down, you really have been excited to catch a glimpse of Stark’s innovations in situ.

His hand tightens on your arm as he bursts into genuine laughter, pulling your focus back to him. “You know, I think you’re the first woman who hasn’t tried to use that line to get into bed with me!”

“Oh God,” you breathe, stumbling back against the wall. What are you doing here? How did you think you had the skills to attend something like this??

“Hey, hey,” Stark says, stepping directly in front of you and setting a gentle hand on either of your upper arms. “Don’t fuck with my ego on my birthday, okay? You look light-headed, and not in the good way.”

You pull in a shaky breath to apologize even as your inner swoon meter heads for the clouds, but Tony fucking Stark sends it to the moon instead by setting a finger on your parted lips. You’re completely captivated by the march of emotions that cross his face-- amusement, apology, and ardor, before he lands on a sternness that is somehow sexier than any of it.

“I see how I just made it worse,” he says, stepping back with a sheepish expression. “I’m still calibrated to birthday babes, not engineering ones-- yep, that’s still-- okay,” he scrunches up his face and then grins, glancing over his shoulder to their growing audience, crossing his arms to look at you with studied curiosity. “Are you telling me you put on that dress so you could sneak into my party and ogle my… inventions?”

He has to know how well his tailored suit sets off the pinnacle of all his inventions right there in his chest!

“Not just that. I did want to meet you, I just didn’t think about--” you break off as he shoos away a few persistent, nosy guests and herds you into a more darkened area of the balcony. “This is your element, not mine,” you finally confess.

The understatement of the century.

“And if I could be in your element, what would that look like?” His tone is different now, sounding less arrogant, less persuasive, but more real.

Getting what you want shouldn’t be this easy. It feels wrong, tainted, and you back up out of a sense of responsibility, almost as a ‘fuck you’ to Nick Fury and his ability to turn the truth into something morally reprehensible.

“T-shirt and jeans. Coffee. Sitting on the floor talking about inventions. God, what am I doing here?” you groan.

“Tony!” someone calls out from inside, leaning out the glass door, obviously drunk.

Stark throws up a peace sign in reply, but he’s looking at you like a particularly interesting design problem. Natasha’s getting her way, and you feel like shit about it, because you want his attention, just not like this. Not planned, not calculated. You’d warned Nat that you were arriving, did she pull him over to stand where he would see you when you walked in? 

“Stop that,” Stark says, eyeing you with the expression of a concerned boss. “You’re starting to look queasy again. Tell you what: you want me to enjoy the party? You wanted to stand back and be a wallflower? Do that. Just don’t leave. Lemme get a chance to talk to you after you’ve loosened up a little.”

“Oh, I can’t drink! I have work to do when I get back home. It’s either that or first thing in the morning,” you laugh regretfully. “Besides, I get more shy when I drink alcohol. I’d just chameleon myself right into the woodwork.”

“You need time, you’re saying,” he murmurs, looking past you toward the ocean. A fleeting look of sadness crosses his face before he squares his shoulders and makes eye contact again, fully back in Playboy Persona. “I don’t believe you. Everyone loosens up with alcohol!” Suddenly, he snaps his fingers. “In fact, whatever you don’t drink? I will. Down your fair share or take the blame for how completely smashed I’ll get.”

Whatever it was you’d almost glimpsed has evaporated completely. Stark’s trying to corner you, just like Fury had done, and you react as you usually do in that situation. You lash out. “I think you already planned to get very drunk. You’re trying to manipulate me,” you say harshly, crossing your arms. The action pulls at your shawl, and you clutch at it.

“Sure, I’m the one manipulating you, when you show up dressed like a present for me to unwrap, playing at being uninterested,” he says, advancing on you like a predator. There’s a light in his eyes that tells you you’ve activated the reckless streak Fury warned you about, but it’s not anger, just intensity. It’s vulnerability and vanity all at once, loneliness covered by an iron carapace. “Who sent you? What’s your name? What’s your company’s name?”

“My name is Cat. My company is Envision,” you say quickly, avoiding your real name and slurring the actual name of the company into the word its name is based on. EnvisIron’s name is a play the building itself, which used to be an Iron Works. The foundry had been converted first into apartments, and then into storefronts on the bottom floor. There’s no way someone with Stark’s ego will believe that your company’s name has the word ‘Iron’ in it without that having anything to do with him, even though you and your partners named it before he ever created his first Iron Man suit.

Stark looks at you with put-on suspicion, probably because you dodged the first question. You can tell it’s fake because he’s holding back a smile even as he narrows his eyes at you. It’s really attractive, and you wish that there really was a world where you could hang out with him in scruffy clothes and chat. Nothing about the way he’s spoken to you tonight has implied the kind of classism you’ve seen people complain about from the uber rich. You already had a favorable opinion of him despite all the stories about his antics in the press, and that just raises it more.

“It was nice to meet you, Cat. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t forget, have a drink. Have a few. Save me from myself.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” you blurt out in reluctant compassion, hating both the sentiment and the comparison to what Nick Fury had said less than an hour ago.

Stark had walked away, but he stops and looks back at you. Something happens when you lock eyes; he looks caught out, as if he was planning something self-destructive, and you’ve momentarily made him reconsider. Not more than three seconds later, though, he shakes his head.

“You know what to do to stop me, Kitten,” he says. The quick smile he flashes you is defensive, hurt, and you decide that he must see you as some kind of proxy for an argument with someone else. After all, you’ve just met. You don’t know each other at all.

You watch Stark walk away from you and desperately wish something was different. You wish that Nick Fury hadn’t spoken to you. That you weren’t afraid that Stark only wants you to get drunk so he can pry your shawl off, rather than actually talk to you person to person. You wish that you didn’t care that he might want to pry the shawl off. That you actually were the kind of woman he seems to wish you were. 

You wish that Natasha hadn’t invited you at all.

Despite how overwhelmed you are, you do try.

Stark nurses a drink for the first fifteen minutes after walking away. A few partygoers try to talk to you, but their conversation is vapid and uninteresting for the most part. Mostly they want to know what Stark said to you, whether you know each other, if you’re dressed like you are for a purpose (question complete with eyebrow waggling and voices dripping with innuendo). 

You catch Stark looking over at you and noticing that your hands are still just holding your gold clutch and no drink. He holds up a finger, reaches over to snag a full glass from a server’s tray, and downs it in ten seconds. Then he points at you, making an 0 with his fingers, then at himself, holding up a 2, stripping off his jacket and tossing it behind the bar. It knocks over a bottle, and he shrugs, pulling out a bank note from his wallet and handing it over to the bartender while holding your gaze the entire time.

If you could survive taking a swing at Natasha, you almost would. This entire situation is spiraling out of control, and all you did was be yourself! 

You try to strike up a conversation with one of the waitstaff, but that can only last a short while, since you know they’re working. When you see him next, Stark’s got a third drink, and it’s half gone.

That’s when you give up and go to get a drink of your own. You ask for the weakest drink possible, of the smallest amount. The plan is to nurse it, since you know Tony Stark would figure it out if you tried to fake it. Just in case, though, you ask the bartender if he’d be willing to just hand you an empty glass to hold.

“I actually do that for alcoholics stuck at parties like this, but I can’t, not for you. Whatever competition you have going on with the boss is between the two of you.”

Everything gets much worse after only an hour.

Stark is wasted. Intellectually you know that you can’t possibly be the sole cause of the night’s decline. He’d led a chaotic public life before the kidnapping and betrayal of his mentor, but you definitely contributed to his alcoholic brinkmanship.

A half hour ago he’d disappeared for a few minutes and come back wearing some parts of his Iron Man suit. He was already drunk by then, but he was still throwing you challenging looks. Stark had set up outside not far from you, allowing a succession of giggling women to fire the force weapon in the palm of his Iron Man suit into the night air. Natasha had dodged him, and you’d seen Ms. Potts walk outside with a wrapped present and turn right back around to leave after seeing him pretend to smack one woman on the ass during the transition of handing over his gauntlet to the next one.

You’re pretty sure Stark had been trying to single you out as the only woman who hasn’t gotten to try on the gauntlet, but you aren’t influenced by that kind of challenge. The more you shrink back and look uncomfortable, the more Stark seems to lean into his demonstrably destructive behavior.

The only reason you haven’t tried to leave is the worry Stark will do something even more attention-getting to stop you.

You’ve gotten Tony Stark’s attention, all right. In the worst possible way.

“Anyone else? No? Time for the main event, then,” he says. “Everyone inside. Come on, all of you. Every last one.”

He stands by the glass door, and you slip inside among a group of women who are drunk enough to throw their arms around you as if you’ve been a part of their cadre the whole time. Stark disappears for a few minutes after that, and you head for the front door.

It’s guarded.

A well-dressed man in front of you is ushered out with polite deference, but when you try to follow him, the man in the black suit you’d met when you first arrived steps into the space.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to stay put.”

“On a spectrum of asking politely to straight up kidnapping, what am I looking at, here?” you ask, pushed to your absolute limit. At least he has the grace to look ashamed.

“Nothing so serious. How about firmly asking?” He moves towards you, and you back up out of necessity. “Here’s the thing: he’s had a rough--”

“Year?” you interrupt.

“Something like that. Asked me to make sure you stuck around. Could you do that? Not if it’ll make you miserable, or anything, but--”

“Your boss is extremely drunk,” you point out. You know what you want to say, but it’s… drastic. Still, this man does look genuinely concerned, as if Stark was his friend rather than just his employer. For all you know, he is. “Look, Mr.--”

“Hogan. I’m his bodyguard, his--” the man sighs. “Sometimes, his minder. And it sure seems like he would mind if you left early.”

You nod, biting your lip despite the lipstick. “Okay, I’m going to say this, and maybe it’ll be enough for you to kick me out.” His eyebrows shoot up, but you’re committed now. You’ve never spent so much time feeling cornered in a twenty-four hour period in your life! It looks like you might have to ask your clients to grant an extension, because you barely have any brain cells active enough to rub together-- but who are you kidding? You're totally going to wake up in about fifteen minutes, and none of this absurdist unreality will have happened. It's actually surprising how disappointed you feel at the prospect.

The bodyguard clears his throat, and you realize you've just been standing there freaking out in silence.

"Right, sorry: There are lines, and neither of us are going to cross them," you say firmly. "He’s completely wasted in there, so no matter what he thinks is going to happen tonight, I’m not a rapist, and you’re not a kidnapper, are we clear?”

There’s actual relief on Mr. Hogan’s face, which is both strange and comforting. “Yeah, we’re clear. Thank you.” The sound of breaking glass causes both of you to look over in trepidation at the main party room. Hogan pushes past you, and you follow.

Stark’s holding court at the DJ booth with a microphone. He's wearing the Iron Man suit with the faceplate flipped up, arguing loudly with Pepper Potts, whose face is a mask of miserable politeness. You can’t hear what they’re saying to each other, but Natasha comes over and starts talking to Hogan.

“Can you tell the valets that we’re going to need them in about five minutes? This powder keg is about to go off.”

“Shit, okay,” he says. “Did you catch what they’re--”

“She told everyone the party’s over, and he started complaining that she’s no fun,” Nat says, letting her gaze slide over you as she frowns back at where Stark’s stepped forward to address the crowd again. 

Hogan's body language screams concern as he says,“All right, both of you stay out of the way if the crowd starts for the door, all right? Pretty sure he’d have my ass if either of you got trampled.”

With that, the bodyguard jogs out, and you can hear him calling to other people outside, indistinct but insistent.

You’re trying to come up with something not profane to say to Natasha about how you feel about all of this when Stark shouts something about an After Party and the crowd goes wild. 

To be continued...

In this version of Tony's party, you're the only one in red! I'd like to think fate would adjust things to ensure that happens, even if it's not the version we see on screen.

[oddlylovingaddiction]

Shy ghost boyfriend x (wayyy to kind/generous) reader

I CAN SEE IT OMG… also this is my first time with ns.ft SO PLEASE BE NICE… please… 😭

Imagine whoever you want btw!! I had no set character for this little imagine.

Tw/ Brief mentions of breaking and entering, ghosts and spirits, ghost jokes, mentions of delusions and death, ns.ft under read more.

imagine you’ve been dating a guy for awhile. Admittedly, the relationship started in a unique sense. As in…. The guy showed up inside your house randomly. Aka home invasion. Now to normal people this would definitely cause them to call the cops, however you? The first thought going through your head was how you were worried that the poor dude just needed a place to stay. However as soon as he and you made eye contact he freezes up, to the point he was just awkwardly standing near your kitchen counter, slowly he places the cup of tea he made for himself down.

He covers his face, “Oh god!” He says his face going red before completely disappearing into thin air. You look around for him everywhere but he’s absolutely gone? You chalk it up to you being delusional from overwork…

Then he appears and disappears again. And again. AND AGAIN. This goes on for a phew months before you get tired of it, so you leave out a little note saying ‘You’re welcome to stay in my house as long as you want, just please stop avoiding me it’s hurting my feelings :(‘ you place it on the counter with some sweet treats you got at the store.

Ever since then? Well he’s practically in love. You quickly figure out he’s a ghost from the fact he tells you (once he works up the courage enough to speak to you fully.) and the fact he constantly phases through walls to talk to you.. which is cute! However when you’re showering and he forgets it can be very awkward.

There’s a lot of interesting things about your ghost friend. For one, he died, however he forgot how, by the time he was a ghost his body, wherever it was, had been taken away. Two, he only awakened because some kids thought it would be a genius idea to use an ouija board. Three, since then he’s had a total of 20 priests try and exorcize him even though he SWEARS he has never harmed anyone, people just are fearful of him. Four, he can touch things, but only in the house and five, he cannot leave the house because he’s permanently tied here for some reason. There’s probably loads of interesting things about him really you are desperate to learn but it’s fine because you can take your time getting to know him. He has eternity(?) for you and you have your entire life and maybe eternity afterwards to get to know him.

Naturally it doesn’t take long for you both to start dating he’s cute and desperate for you. I mean, you’ve been trapped in a house for who knows how long, and only people with families or in committed relationships were ever living with him, so when a single person who not only is kind to him but is objectively an attractive person… YOU KNOW THE MANS GOTTA SHOOT HIS (extremely awkward) SHOT.

The way he hits on you in the beginning is soft for him atleast, my boy comes off hella strong. I’m talking he makes you breakfast before work and leaves cheesy notes places like ‘If we were both ghosts, would you be my boo for eternity?’ Yes, all his pickup lines are ghost themed… and if you guys have a movie night he will pick romance themed movies. Even better if it’s a ghost themed romance movie. It doesn’t matter if he likes romance or not. He’s gotta show you romance.

Once you finally confess to him you like him (no he won’t confess first he’s way to scared that you’ll reject him..) HES ALL OVER YOU.

No matter what you’re doing he’s looking at you with a love struck grin. And once you give him permission to hug and kiss you, HES ALWAYS DOING IT. Always planting kisses everywhere, and hugging you when he can. THIS MAN IS TOUCH STARVED…

And since he’s so touched starved naturally when it’s time to get freaky he prefers soft and slow, with you as close as possible to him as he ruts into you. Ghosts have great stamina surprisingly! Which is great for him, however he needs you to remind him to stop, because he will go on for days. BECAUSE HE LITERALLY CAN. He’s a ghost so that means he doesn’t have to stop and wait for his own body, since he doesn’t have one… duh. Speaking of bedroom stuff, this man is probably vanilla I’m gonna be real with you, he cannot bear to go rough. However he loves leaving little marks all over your body. It reminds him he does exist and that he’s dating you, and this isn’t some weird post-death dream. Also did I mention it doesn’t matter what you weigh OR your size? He’s a ghost so he has infinite stamina and strength, so no matter how much you weigh he can have you in ANY position.

But… how is he with bottoming? HES GOOD. However he needs you to be close, I’m talking hugging him close. He doesn’t care what pace you go just don’t hurt him. He’s had such a lonely ghost life… he doesn’t need more pain. By the way, do not blind fold or restrain this man, or do any sort of sensory deprivation. He needs all his senses, he needs to feel you. Also give him marks. OH MY GOD GIVE HIM THEM! It’s the only time he’s okay with pain if you are biting or nibbling at him. Same reason as why he gives you marks above like hickeys. He just needs to know that this is all real.

He’s also a whimper guy. And a praise kink guy too.

“You’re s’ beautiful/handsome/pretty.” / “I lov’ you, you’ doing so well- Oh my god...” / “My love! Oh y’- so good… soo good jus’ for me..’

Also he’s loud. Be warned you may have some explaining to do to the neighbours….

Imagine who you want, no set character in mind for this one, so I tagged a bunch of fandoms. Yes I did tag Harry Potter (as in whichever character in the franchise) however FUCK JK ROWLING, we support trans rights up in this biiiitchhhh.

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[asurrogateblog]

there are a lot of great anecdotes from The Wall era but one of my favorites has to be that while filming the movie roger had to take an extended Mental Health Holiday and while he was gone the director decided to hire skinheads (as in the alternative youth subculture) to play the skinheads (as in fascists) during In the Flesh and when they stopped filming the riot scene they continued to fight the police and riot in real life anyway

[fortune-maiden]

I love this episode so much T_T