we all need a small break. especially your man—the most dominate man you know. be his peace. his breath of fresh air…he deserves it. (overlaps when he was champion…i miss him *sigh*)
warnings: smut.
parings: sub!roman x black!reader
sub!roman appreciated the small moments of coming home to you; a hot meal, clean house, and a hot bath waiting for him. you’d clean him off and when he’d step out the bath, you were ready to give him a massage. he always vocalized his gratitude towards you taking care of him when he needed it most.
sub!roman wasn’t always shown. your man was a true dominate—a leader. you followed him and he adored it knowing you put your entire faith and trust into him. he worked so hard in WWE. carrying the titles for damn near 3 years was starting to show work on his body, and his mental. so moments like these were rare. times when he’d let you lead him for a change.
sub!roman was a natural at pinning your hips down and digging his dick into your pussy and filling you to the brim. stretching your pussy on his dick to accommodate him, to make you cum over and over as you’d thrashed around under him…but you wanted the same reaction from him too.
sub!roman craved those releases. such as you standing behind the giant circular bathtub in your shared home, his long and girthy dick in hand as you stroked him in a sensual motion. your hand barely being able to wrap around his dick in its entirety. his head thrown backwards on his shoulder as moans emitting from his chest kissed the celling, “you like that baby?,” you quietly asked in his ear “i love the sounds you make for me baby.” you could feel his hips swiftly thrusting upwards to pump his dick in your warm hand a little faster.
sub!roman knew you wanted to join him—the ache in your pussy becoming more prominent. the sounds he made was so sexy, it made your pussy wetter and clench with each sound. you wanted to take your other hand and work yourself towards your own release, but tonight was about him. he deserved it. “tell me when you’re cumming, mkay?”
sub!roman was desparate. he was about to blow all over your hand if you kept stroking him, making sure to squeeze his angry red mushroom tip when you neared the top. “you’re doing so good, baby. you like it when i tell you how good you’re doing?” his moans growing louder as he neared his release, his chest heaving. “i know baby, i know. you’re gonna cum for me, mkay? don’t hold back. let it all out baby.” you sucked on his neck and placed loving pecs on his shoulders, increasing the pace of your strokes. “aw, fuck baby. ahh, don—don’t stop baby, please,” his voice sounding a tortured rasp “i can’t stop—i won’t. i promise. not till you cum.”
sub!roman felt the room spinning. it was dizzying. addicting, even. his mind was clouded with only one goal. he felt he body shudder before letting his mouth open on a whimper. chills raced through your spine. your wetness drenching your boy shorts. seeing him like this set you off. needy for anything you’d give him. “you said you’d always give me what i want. cum for me, baby.” your name fell from his lips as a breathless chant. his body going ridged against you before violently shaking and flexing his abs. “y-y-ahh, fuck! i’m cumming, i’m cumming.” warm hot spurts pouring out from his dick onto the top of your fist. roman always came a lot; it creating a waterfall, dripping down the sides of your hand.
sub!roman couldn’t say a word. you continued stroking, wanting to milk every bit of stress out of him “you did so good. you feel better, baby?” his head was spinning. between fighting his tremors off, catching his breath, and your hand still stroking him created an overstimulation. he let out another small whimper as he felt his dick ache for another release. his dick never falling limp, “you wanna cum again? hm? you deserve it. you work so hard, ro.”
2.2k, blackwall/amber cadash.
for as long as they’ve known each other, blackwall and inquisitor cadash have been keeping secrets from each other and from the world. when blackwall’s secret comes to light, amber feels it’s only fair to reveal a truth of her own.
Inquisitor Cadash is no stranger to lies.
Before she was the Herald of Andraste, before she was anyone at all, she was a kid in the slums of Ostwick trying to drum up whatever extra coin she could from unsuspecting passers-by. She was always a charmer, with a knack for convincing anyone that whatever useless trinket she was selling was worth buying. It was all but inevitable, for a surfacer with few other prospects, that her talent would catch the attention of the Carta, using that honeyed tongue to smuggle and sell lyrium to the highest bidder.
Not much has changed in the Inquisition, really. She’s still selling lies to anyone who will listen, just packaged differently and with much higher stakes: yes, I’m the Herald of Andraste. Yes, I’ve been chosen by your god, and yes, that makes me someone you should follow.
She’s not particularly proud of it. But she’s learned by now that what she believes is much less important than what the people around her do. Trick them into thinking you’re something holy, and they’ll move mountains.
As any good liar, Amber knows another when she sees one. She’s always known that Blackwall harbors some dark secret, and of course she’s wondered, but she’s never been one to trouble herself much with people’s pasts. There has always been an implicit understanding between the two of them—one without which she doubts they could have ever attempted a courtship—that their pasts are their own business, and she’s been content to leave it at that.
This, of course, all changes when the bastard goes and turns himself in.
When she goes to see him, he won’t look at her. He glances up briefly as she approaches his cell, just enough to see that it’s her, then returns to staring at his hands from where he kneels on the floor.
A cold panic has been building within Amber since she stood in the crowd before the gallows and heard his confession. He’s going to hang. He’s going to hang for something he did years before he met me, and he’s here on purpose, and he never said goodbye. Some of it recedes as she stands before him, the worst-case scenario of him being lynched by a mob of angry Orlesians not yet come to pass, at least.
“You weren't supposed to find me. You were just supposed to think I was gone.” His voice is a ragged, utterly broken thing.
“So I gathered. I wasn’t supposed to know where you went, or what happened to you, or why you abandoned me in the middle of the night without a word. Too fucking bad, Blackwall.” She’d intended to come in with more empathy for the man who’s certainly having one of the worst days of his life, but her worry for and fury at him have been warring in her mind since his disappearance.
He flinches as though she’d struck him. “I never wanted to hurt you. For what little that’s worth. I thought you’d be happier thinking I was a noble man, a Grey Warden, instead of this.”
She takes a careful step forward and sits cross-legged in front of the bars, easily close enough to touch him. She doesn’t, but he shrinks back anyway, like he’s afraid she might. “Well, I’m here now. You may as well tell me the rest of it.”
He sighs, visibly relaxing by a fraction when she makes no further move towards him. “I suppose it can’t get any worse.”
She sits silently as he tells her all of it. It’s a long story, and her focus slips once around the middle, but he knows the signs of that well enough by now, waiting patiently for her to regather her attention.
When he runs out of words, she’s quiet for another moment, not speaking until something like a plan has formed in her mind. “Okay. This isn’t ideal, but we have a few options. Storming the jail outright is probably unwise, but doable worst-case. Leliana could probably sneak you out, but… I know people who make a living off jail breaks. We’ll just need a delay on your execution, which I’m sure Josephine can arrange…”
She trails off as she realizes that Blackwall is staring at her, disgusted disbelief written plain across his face.
“Are you mad?” He jerks forward, rattling the bars of his cell. “Haven’t you been listening? I deserve to rot in here.”
There’s something almost feral in his eyes, but she doesn’t back away. “Listen to me, Blackwall. Or—” she falters, silently cursing her memory as she struggles to recall the unfamiliar name.
“Rainier,” he mutters.
“Rainier. Whoever. You came here to stop an execution. And that was very brave, and you succeeded, and you dying here isn’t going to make a single thing better. So now I’m going to get you back to Skyhold, and we’ll figure the rest out from there.”
She hadn’t for a second considered doing anything else. This isn’t the first friend Amber has had to break out of jail, or the first lover who’s confessed a crime to her. This, after all, is why she agreed to join the Inquisition—leverage to keep her people safe, no matter the circumstances.
“There’s nothing to figure out,” Blackwall snaps. “You know it all now. There’s no future for me outside this cell, and I was a fool to ever pretend there was.”
Every time he’d warned her they had no future together, she’d assumed he’d been referring to the Warden’s Calling. She’s almost insulted as she realizes that it’s been this all along—this, as if she doesn’t also have blood on her hands.
“You think you’re the only murderer here? I spent twenty years in the Carta. Would you see me hang for it?”
“You left that life behind.”
“So did you.”
“I ran from it, like a coward, and I left my men to die in my place.” He rises suddenly, like he’s unable to bear kneeling in front of her anymore. She stands with him, though he’s so much taller that she has to crane her neck to look at him properly.
“And I didn’t leave the Carta until an opportunity fell into my lap.” Despite her best efforts, her voice is rising to match his. “Let me be clear. I am very fucking angry at you right now, because, again, you left me and went off to die without a damned word. But I know what it’s like to have a past you’re not proud of. Maker, Blackwall, I married into one of the worst Carta families there is. You think I’d turn my back on you over this?”
“As I understand it, your marriage didn’t work out.”
“Because of the future she wanted. Not the past she’d already lived.”
“I’m not a good man, my lady.”
As if she’s a good woman. As if that’s ever been a prerequisite to her heart. “I love you. I don’t care.”
She’s never told him she loved him before, at least not in so many words. She’s certain he already knew, but he flinches again anyway. “You should care.”
“Well, tough shit! Is that a problem?”
“It’s not right! You would drag yourself down with me. You would drag the whole Inquisition down with me if you allowed me to return. You’re better than that, better than using your criminal ties for a traitor and a killer.”
“You—you—” She’s starting to stammer, as she tends to when she’s agitated, and she can’t help the tears of frustration that well in her eyes. She forces a breath, pulls her words together. “You put me on a fucking pedestal, you always have, and you’re wrong. You talk like I’m corrupting the Inquisition for my selfish means, but the Inquisition was built on my selfish means. Do you—do you want to know a secret, Rainier? You told me yours, so it’s only fair. This whole thing is a sham.”
In the end, it’s far easier to say than she thought it would be. One frustrated outburst, and the truth she’s guarded so closely all these months is out there in the world, no taking it back.
“What do you mean?” Blackwall asks slowly after a few agonizing seconds of silence.
“I don’t believe in any of this.” It’s a relief to finally say it out loud; some of the pressure in her chest that’s been there since the Conclave eases, just a bit. “I don’t believe in the Maker, I certainly don’t believe I’m the Herald of Andraste. I’ve been lying since I woke up in Haven, because I saw a chance for a better life and I stole it.”
“But you've always—” Blackwall’s eyes go distant, likely recalling everything he’s ever heard her say about her so-called faith. “What, truly?”
“Truly. And now you’re the only one who knows. So, what will you do? Expose me for a fraud? I won’t stop you.”
“No, I—of course not. I’m just…”
“Rethinking every conversation we’ve ever had?”
That, of all things, gets a snort out of him. “You know the feeling, do you? What a pair we make.”
“Frauds and liars both.”
He sinks back to the floor of his cell, his manic energy apparently spent, and she follows him back down. They sit there quietly for a moment, watching each other from either side of the bars. She wants, so badly, to reach out for him, but she keeps her hands at her sides.
“Was it to get away from the Carta?” He asks finally.
She nods. “I didn’t agree to stay until Leliana promised to bring Ingrid to Haven. I thought being such a… prominent figure would give us some protection if they came looking for us. I never expected it to go this far.”
“You wanted a better life for your daughter. There’s no shame in that.”
“Sure, fine. My reasons were good. But I’m, I’m important now, right? The things I say have weight in the world. And I’m pretending that’s a gift from a higher power and not dumb luck.” She shrugs. “Not saying I mind it, necessarily. Or that I wouldn’t do the same again. But I’m not going to pretend it’s noble.”
“What you do now is noble, though.”
“That’s my point. Look, you told me once that you signed on to the Inquisition because of the person I am, not who I was. One liar to another, maybe that’s what matters. Who are now, and who we want to be.”
And damn it all, she does want to be something better than she was, doesn’t she? However this whole mess started, she’s in too deep to back out now, and she doesn’t think she would if she could.
“You didn’t kill anyone for your lie.” Blackwall, stubborn ass that he can be, is still trying to argue the point.
“That’s not really true, though, is it? People follow me into battle because they think I’m blessed by the Maker. Some of them don't come home.”
“People follow you into battle because they see a woman worth following.”
“And if I weren’t the Herald, they’d see a lyrium-addled Carta thug who can’t think straight half the time.”
He looks aghast. “Surely that’s not how you see yourself?”
“No. But I know how people looked at me before all this. And I’d rather them see something else, even if it’s built on a lie.”
Blackwall’s hands twitch, like he’d been about to reach for her but reconsidered at the last second. “Your people adore you, and not just because you’re the Herald. Your mark closes rifts, but it’s not what makes you a leader, and they know it. Andraste herself could disavow you, and they wouldn’t stop believing in you.” A pause. “I wouldn’t stop believing in you.”
“See, you say things like that to me, and then you wonder why I want you around.” She says it lightly, but he scrubs a hand over his face like he’s just barely holding himself together.
“I—” he breaks off, voice strangled, “I didn’t want to leave you. But you deserve better than this.”
“Damn what I deserve,” she says fiercely. “I want you.”
The sound that comes out of his mouth at that is half-laugh, half-sob. Tentatively, Amber reaches her hand up through the bars to touch the side of his face. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.
“You are remarkable, my lady,” he says, barely above a whipser. “And you’re doing good, no matter the reason why you started.”
“So are you.”
He reaches up to take her hand in his, pressing a kiss to it before releasing it back to her. “What happens to me, if you get me out?”
It’s not quite acceptance, but it’s close enough for her to work with. “I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she admits. “But I’m not leaving you to die here.”
“That might not be your choice. Whatever you may want for me, Val Royeaux wants my head on a pike.”
“I wouldn’t worry. I'm the Herald of Andraste, remember?” She winks at him and he finally, finally, gives her a ghost of a smile. “I tend to get what I want.”
Whatever happens next, there are two fewer secrets between them today, and despite the rest, she feels lighter for it.
Dream moves slowly, keeping to the shadows in between the torches. The rain has long soaked through his clothes and the wind is cold, biting at his skin, even though the flowers that dot the grass promise spring will come soon enough. He can feel his hands going numb but he doesn’t put on his gloves out of stubbornness. Surely a bit of bad weather is trivial at this point. There are worse things.
His footsteps make no sound on the damp grass, although the drizzle of rain on the roofs and cobblestones of Kinoko Kingdom would surely hide them anyway. He knows there’s no one to hide from, but he still forces himself to be silent. Maybe that's just common sense when he’s this deep in enemy territory but he knows that’s not why. He’s not scared, just vaguely embarrassed.He’s concealing his presence for his own benefit. Like if he walks softly enough he can pretend he’s not here at all.
He finally reaches his destination; a cozy house near the center of the village. Dream rolls his shoulders. His armor is in there, somewhere. Sapnap is too, hopefully asleep. That would certainly make things easier. There’s a warm light coming from a bedroom window. He takes a moment to watch it flickering, rain dripping down his face . A memory sticks out to him.
It had been soon after they’d met George. It was strange living with a new person and the adjustment period had been interesting to say the least. It had taken a while for them to work out their dynamic, but it helped that George never felt intimidated that Sapnap and Dream had known each other for longer. Or at least, he’d never let it keep him from voicing his opinions.
“Put the lights out before you sleep, idiot,” George had sneered at Sapnap one morning. “ These candles have been burning for hours. Do you want to catch fire in your sleep?”
Sapnap lounged on the bed. “You know I’m fireproof, right? That doesn’t sound like a problem to me.” Sapnaps face had split into a smirk that he hadn’t yet grown into, still more bratty than intimidating.
“Okay, congrats, you’re fireproof,” George said, doing air quotes with his fingers. He was just acting like he didn’t believe Sapnap about his abilities just to piss him off, and Dream couldn’t help but snort in amusement at Sapnap’s offended expression. “The house isn’t, though. What’s easier, blowing out a couple candles or redoing, like, weeks worth of building?”
“Like you did any of it.”
“I’ll make sure they’re out,” Dream had intervened. It hadn’t taken long for the two of them to go from bickering to full on fighting back then, and calling George lazy was always a sore spot. “I’m the last one to go to bed anyway. It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course you will. God forbid Sapnap be responsible for something. Are you going to tuck him in too?” George had said, never one to let things go.
“Aww, are you jealous?” Sapnap teased. “You want a goodnight kiss from Dream?”
George had rolled his eyes and left the room. Sapnap had waited until he was gone before putting out the offending candle with his fingers, a shit eating grin on his face.
Dream sighed. They would get along. Eventually. Hopefully.
In the present, Dream lifts his mask so he can wipe his face. When he tries the door, it’s unlocked and Dream can’t help but laugh at the brazen confidence. Safety is never guaranteed. It doesn’t matter who or where you are, you can never be too careful.
He steps into the house. It’s better decorated than he expected, which tells him Sapnap probably didn’t have a hand in the design whatsoever. He never had much talent for building.
Finding the chest with his armor set takes some doing. It’s not so much that the armor is well hidden as it is that all the chests in the house are a disorganized mess.There’s a helmet here, a chestplate there. Eventually all he’s missing are the boots. He’s quiet as he searches but he’s not too worried. Sapnap has always slept like the dead, even more so when it’s raining. Still, his heart rate picks up a little when he opens Sapnap’s bedroom door.
He can’t bring himself to look at Sapnap directly, but he sees him sleeping in a lump of blankets out of the corner of his eyes. There’s something about his childhood best friend’s sleeping frame that makes him queasy, and he turns away quickly to go back to checking chests. Once he finds his boots, he stands, looking at the candle on the nightstand. It’s almost burned out, just a lump of wax with a flickering wick, casting a warm glow across the room.
Dream reaches out without thinking and pinches it with his fingers, putting it out.
Etho and I/Cleo are married, and Grian is both of ours boyfriend.
Dinner Night
Cleo had prepared a dinner for her, her husband Etho, and her boyfriend Grian. She made a simple pasta dish, angel hair and red sauce with no chunks just like Etho liked. She never understood the hate behind chunky sauce, but ever since being with Etho she’s come to get used to it. The dinner was nice and candle lit, with the plates and silverware organized. Grian had helped cook the dinner, preparing the spices Cleo needed to put in the sauce and- keeping her company in the kitchen while she worked, sneaking quick kisses every now and again whenever they could. It was nice to be so domestic with Grian, Cleo thought. She really loved both of her lovers, more than the world could explain it. Even in this crazy death game, she couldn’t bring herself to ever betray the two.
Now, sitting at the dinner table, they ate together. Etho was talking about his crazy day, and how he was enchanting with Grian for most of it. Love wasn’t lost after all. Cleo liked listening to the two men in front of her talk, she was a great listener after all. Her favorite thing to do while they were talking was admire their features, especially Ethos. With his mask on constantly, it was always a challenge for her to see him unmasked. He was a gorgeous man, similar to Grian. She loved both of their soft faces, their eyes, their personalities, everything about them was enough to make her feel all giddy inside.
After dinner, they all cleaned up together, and once the dishes were done and prep was put away, they sat up talking for a little bit longer before heading to bed together. Small domestic moments like these, made Cleo grateful for every second she lived.
- i know he looks hot behind a wheel.
- rests his elbow on an open window and rubbing the stubble on his chin while waiting for his light
- puts his arm around your seat while reversing in order to look back
- always has the windows rolled down
- he likes the wind in his hair. he’s like a dog
- does NOT let you get aux tho
- pretends to be annoyed when you finally get to play your music
- firm believer of the ‘my car my music’ rule
- drives a kia btw
- you guys get into a lot of car fights
- yeah u know that one kendrick lamar song, that’s y’all
- (i’m talking about We Cry Together btw)
- also hates letting you drive. HE wants to drive. it’s HIS car.
- will try to convince you he’s sober enough to drive after a night drinking
- i won’t lie bajis a skilled driver. notice how i said skilled and not responsible
- he’s just so impatient
- had gotten so many speeding tickets
- major tailgater.
- yeah he’s an asshole
# draken ryuguji
- i would love to stare at darkens side profile while he drives
- okay he drives with one hand and it’s so hot
- like two fingers on the wheel type thing ahhhhhhh
- always opens the car door for you. without fail.
- will talk to you from the standing outside the car with his hand resting on the hood of the car while you sit in shot gun-- does that make sense?
- secretly doesn’t like when you drive because he doesn’t know what to do in shotgun, he always needs his hand to be preoccupied with something yk
- he hates using a GPS.
- 100% convinced that he doesn’t need it. 100% does need it.
- draken also is convinced he’s capable of driving after drinking. he eventually comes to his senses though
- let’s u play your music, definitely made a car playlist together
- softly mumbles or mouths the lyrics to a song playing its so cute
- he loves driving
- rests his hand on your thigh constantly
# chifuyu matsuno
- also a hand-thigh rester
- chifuyus a good driver, very responsible
- but he expects that kind of responsibility from everyone else on the road
- and he has extreme road rages when those responsibilities aren’t met
- which is pretty out of character for him but
- it’s gotten to the point that he’s reaching his head out the window shouting at the ‘blind asshole’ who cut him off without their turn signal on “helen keller-headass”
- really doesn’t mind you driving
- ok i really picture chifuyu as more of a subway rider
- like that hot guy you see on the metro wearing a suit (chifuyu in a suit omg)
- always gives up his seat to older ladies, and younger ladies, and pregnant ladies, ladies in general
- imagine chifuyu loosening his tie after getting on the train
- i cant do this anymore
do YOU want a fic with jack and ruggie being friends? do YOU want more characters doing random shit on their day off? do YOU think ruggie should be allowed to use leonas credit card whenever he wants? do YOU want to know why jack has a knock off riverdale tote?
if you say yes to any of these questions then read terms of sale. it’s me thinking ruggie bucchi is really really cool for 4k words
A little rhodeytony/ironhusbands fic because, you know, they’re awesome and I love them <3
Also this is the 80th fic I’ve posted on ao3 what madness is this?!
Link here
*******
Tony’s dead.
He has to be for something like this to be happening, and what is happening is James Rhodes, Rhodey, his best friend, his honeybear, the man he has been in love with since he was a dumb kid with even dumber ideas, is kissing him.
Hard and solid, right on the lips, with one hand braced against his chest and another holding the side of his head.
It’s like one of his many fantasies come true.
Except in those, he isn’t watching it happen through the barely open slits of his eyes, and there isn’t a rushing need for air roaring in his lungs or horrifying flickers of cold darkness and abhorrent threats looming far too close for comfort. There isn’t the blurry outline of other familiar faces watching them, or at least not usually, and there is definitely never a single trace of tears or sorrow.
But there are tears in Rhodey’s eyes now as he pulls back with a gasp, staring down at Tony with such broken devastation that it feels like a knife has been plunged straight through Tony’s gut for how much it hurts to see. The hand on his head leaves and settles beside the other on his chest, pushing and pulling uselessly at the battered suit, metal fingers clanging loudly in the overbearing quiet surrounding them.
''Rhodes," someone, maybe Nat, says softly, far too knowingly. "He’s - "
"He’s not," Rhodey snaps harshly, pulling and pushing harder now. "He’s not. Tony, you asshole, wake up!"
Tony’s always got a kick out of winding Rhodey up, doing the exact opposite of what he says just to see that exasperated smirk cross that beautiful face, but there’s no trace of that smirk now and Tony so desperately wants to do what Rhoday says this time. He doesn’t want to be responsible for those tears as they start to spill over and stain Rhodey’s cheeks.
He’s always hated seeing Rhodey cry. It’s not a common occurrence, but each time has lodged itself in Tony’s mind with ironclad resilience, ready to rear up and make him flinch should his thoughts stray too far down dark paths. The first time had been when Tony had woken up in hospital after getting alcohol poisoning during their second year at MIT, blinking open his eyes to find Rhodey tucked up by the side of the bed, shoulders shaking as he wept silently into his hands.
After that, Tony tried harder. He didn’t always succeed, but he always tried, because he never wanted to be responsible for making Rhodey cry.
The need for air is absolutely relentless now, a caustic fire roaring up into his throat and wrapping around his brain and squeezing tight. If he’s not already dead, then this is not how he wants to die.
Not when there’s so much he has to say.
Not when he’s making Rhodey cry.
"Tony," Rhodey’s voice cracks as he slumps forward, bringing his head down so their foreheads are touching, eyes closing as more tears fall free to land on Tony’s nose.
Tony’s fantasised about this sort of thing too. Moments of tenderness, far beyond the lazy way they lean on one another and sprawl on couches together during their downtime; the kind of gentle touch that always manages to turn Tony’s blood live with electricity because it’s Rhodey.
Rhodey.
Rhodey.
"Rhodey."
Tony’s voice hits the air in a barely there whisper, but Rhodey still hears it. With something like a laughing moan, he rears back to look at Tony’s face, hands coming up to frame his cheeks while more nearby voices sigh and groan loudly in relief.
"Tony? Tony, you’re - you can hear me?"
"You kissed me."
Someone, maybe Thor, chuckles while Rhodey blinks rapidly for a second, more tears falling and a myriad of emotions flickering across his face until a smile finally breaks free.
"Kiss of life, you colossal idiot. The hell were you thinking, huh? I told you to wait."
("Tony, don’t you even think about - "
"Got no choice, pal."
"Just wait, okay? I’m two minutes out, just - just wait for me, damn it!"
"Wish I could, I really do."
"Tony - "
"Don’t miss me too much, okay?"
"Ton - back - don’t do - lose y - please - "
"...Bye, honeybear.")
"Never was one for following orders," Tony wheezes. "Was kinda on a time limit, you know." He lifts a hand to feebly clutch one of Rhodey’s, their armoured fingers wedging together. "Did we win?"
"We won," Steve says, appearing over Rhodey’s shoulder with a dazed grin.
"You won," Rhodey corrects. "Flew the nuke through the wormhole, then fell back through right at the last second. You saved everyone."
Tony hums, letting his eyes drift shut for a brief second. "Huh. Ain’t that something."
"It was the worst moment of my entire life," Rhodey mutters. "You - You can’t do shit like that to me! You were gone, then you were falling through the damn sky and you weren’t slowing down and - "
"And you caught me," Tony finishes, opening his eyes again and smiling even though it somehow makes every bone in his body throb to do so; smiling because he knows that he’s right. "You caught me."
"Hey," Rhodey gives him the gentlest of shakes and brings their faces close once more, "you fall, I catch you. That’s the deal."
Then, between Tony lifting his head the barest inch and Rhodey leaning down just a little more, they’re kissing, as easily as if they’ve been doing it forever. It’s somehow soft and fierce all at once, blooming with all the things they haven’t said but somehow know anyway; a kiss that says I’m so glad you didn’t die just as much as it says I love you; a kiss that makes Tony think of fits of laughter and stolen hoodies and the feeling of Rhodey forever by his side.
"I’ll always catch you," Rhodey whispers against his lips as they pause to catch their breath. "Seeing as you still seem to be so against riding with me."
Tony laughs softly, pressing his nose into the crease between Rhodey’s nose and cheek. "I’ll ride you anytime, anywhere, Sourpatch."
"I hate to break this up, boys," Nat says dryly over Rhodey’s exasperated chuckle, "but we’ve still got work to do."
"Of course we do." Tony tenses and groans as Rhodey pulls him to his feet, steadying him by the elbows. "Anyone wanna get food later? There’s a Shawarma place not far from here, I really wanna try it."
There’s murmurings of agreement at this as they start to head out, with Hulk in particular looking hilariously intrigued by the offer, his big green face creased in consideration. Tony nods in satisfaction and accepts the invitation to lean his weight against Rhodey’s side. It’s different than all the other times he’s done it, though the familiarity and comfort is as strong as it’s ever been.
But this time, the spark of something more thrums on both sides, as palpable as growing static in the air just before a storm, and Tony thinks almost nothing of tilting his head and stealing another kiss, sighing softly when Rhodey hums deliciously at the brush of Tony’s tongue against his bottom lip.
"This isn’t over," Tony promises as they pull away, staring at each other with eyes wide and raw, like it’s the first and last time over and over.
Then Rhodey’s grinning again, and the tears now twinkling in his eyes are happy ones, full of promises that Tony can’t wait to live out.
I’m obsessed with the dynamic between anders and my surana in awakening. my warden betrayed jowan to avoid rocking the boat in the circle, and that choice was the biggest regret of her life and catalyst for her character arc, but like. pov you’re anders.
one day you’re gearing up for escape attempt number seven and you’re hearing the rumors about how an apprentice’s attempt at escape was foiled because his best friend ratted him out. the friend is the circle’s pride and joy, irving’s star student and by all accounts a sweet girl, but you’ve spent your life in the circle desperately looking for a way out and you’ve never been able to trust someone who seems to be so willing to stay. she’s sent off to the grey wardens and you think good riddance, one less person to worry about when you make your escape. better jowan than you, when it comes down to it, but you’ll never understand how someone could do that to a friend.
and then it’s a year later and this girl you hate just saved the world, and you think of course, little miss perfect from the circle has become fereldan’s darling too. but then she finds you in a cell surrounded by dead templars, and she doesn’t care. she makes you a warden to save your life, and she claims she just needs the numbers but there’s something almost like guilt when she looks at you. you intend to keep hating her, but you have to admit she’s different than how you remember her—a little more outspoken, a little messier, and a lot more willing to cause some trouble for what she thinks is right. before you know it you’re talking about books together, and then when she finds a kitten she brings it to you because even though you were never friends at the circle she still remembered that you like cats, and then you’re in a warehouse and she’s killing templars so that they can’t take you away. when you thank her, she tells you “friends stick up for each other”, and for a second she looks very young and very sad. you’ve never asked her if she regrets what she did to jowan, but you know the answer in that moment. i’ll never leave a friend to rot again, her expression says, and you think you believe her.
