#i also wonder if its from almost a decade of ''him'' doing that to me ykwim? like projection almost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

duhnova · 2 months

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Cry-Baby | Choi Seungcheol

synopsis. decked out in leather and riding a harley davidson like he’s got business with the devil, choi seungcheol was the talk of your small town. everyone looked down on him and when you come home for the first time since starting uni you find it hard to believe that the pouty lipped kid you tossed off the merry-go-round when you were six was some slick haired delinquent.

pairing. biker!choi seungcheol x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre. fluff, angst, opposites attract, drama?, kind of college au

warning(s): mentions of parent death, mentions of parent illness, alcohol, let me know if i forgot anything!

this is apart of a 90's collab! you should check out everyone elses fics! - there might be a smutty & more angsty part 2 to this if there’s enough interest! also huge shoutout to @onlyhuis and @onlymingyus for proofreading for me, ily guys <3

When you left for university three years ago you never wanted to return home, the small town always made you feel claustrophobic. But now you’re sitting on a train, about an hour away from your childhood, the sony walkman you got as a graduation present from high school sat in your lap as you listened to the same nirvana cassette on repeat.

The nerves of being home began to get to you as the familiar views of the old trailer park that sat outside your town came into view. An old pickup truck that adorns the same white and blue paint of your best friend's truck drives down the road that travels along the train tracks and it makes you wonder if it’s him coming to meet you at the station.

“We’ll be arriving at the station within the next five minutes.” The worker smiled at you as she continued down the aisle of seats to tell the other patrons of the cart that the train will be stopping for a couple minutes at your stop before embarking to the next station.

You put your walkman in your pocket so that you aren’t scrambling to gather your things when the train stops. Just as you got your backpack situated the train jolted a little as its breaks screech to a stop.

“Ladies and gentlemen we have reached our next stop.” The worker's voice is drowned out by your music as you stand up and grab your suitcase before hopping out the door with the worker's help in lifting your bag down.

“Thank you!” You call out and wave as the door closes and the train takes off again, no one else got on or off.

“Y/N!” You hear a familiar voice call from behind you, the roar of a diesel engine brings a certain comfort to you that you haven’t felt since you left.

“Gyu!” You call out with a smile on your face, the change in his appearance being more shocking in person than you thought it would be, having only seen him in pictures he sent from the crappy disposable cameras he and his friends like to use. All the work he’s been doing on his family's ranch has paid off as his muscles glisten with dirt and sweat.

“I’ve missed you cherry pop.” He hugs you tightly as you laugh at the nickname he gave you years ago because you always had cherry lollipops on you.

“I’ve.. missed you too.” You choke between laughs and the way he was squeezing you a little too tightly.

“Sorry,” He laughs as he lets you go to grab your suitcase instead. “Are you hungry? It was a long travel day for you.”

“I could eat.” You smile as you take your headphones off to let them rest around your neck as you follow your best friend to his truck that was still running and emitting a gross smell of diesel.

“Great, let’s go to pops diner.” He lifts your suitcase over the side of the truck bed like it was nothing before he opens the door for you to get in. The leather of his seats were warm from his heater that left the cabin toasty unlike the train car you had been sitting in almost all day.

“How are you?” You ask about the owner of the diner who was well into his 70’s at this point, his restaurant having been open for almost five decades at this point.

“He’s doing good, got his hip replaced last summer,” Mingyu shifts the car into drive after he reversed out of the spot he parked at. “Still kickin, Cheols mom still works there too.” The mention of your old childhood playmate makes you smile bittersweetly. The last time you two had talked was before you left for college and he seemed angry about everything in life and he took it out on you leaving a sour taste in your mouth and the lack of communication between the two of you over the past few years.

“That’s nice, how is she doing? I remember last you told me she was in the hospital for something.” Mingyu sighs a little from beside you.

“Yeah she was, took me forever to get anything out of Cheol about it but she’s doing good now. Or so I’ve been told.” Seungcheol had always been hard headed and he’d rather talk about other people's problems than his own so it didn’t surprise you that Mingyu had to dig for some type of answer from him.

“Is she working today? I’d love to see her…” Your voice trailed off as you thought about the lady’s son, who you desperately wanted to see as well but how you left things made you hesitant.

“Not today, she’s off for the weekend.” You nod, mumbling that it’s nice that she takes the weekend for herself.

“I know you and Cheol had some blowout when you left but I’m going to see him later after I drop you off, if you wanna come with you’re more than welcome too.”

“What’re you two doing?” Mingyu was surprised you didn’t immediately shoot down his offer, he thought it would take more convincing.

“We’re going to the river for a bonfire with Jeonghan and Wonwoo.”

“They’re home too?” They had both left for college around the same time you had.

“Yeah, they come home every break they can.. Unlike someone I know.” He laughs lightheartedly. You huff quietly, unsure of how to respond. How do you respond anyways? You never wanted to come back, memories weighed heavy on your heart and the only thing keeping you to your hometown was the friends that resided in it.

“Hey,” Mingyu's voice softens. “I get it, you got out when you saw the chance and I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Your voice was just as soft as you watched the familiar scenery zip by. A nice silence fell between the two of you as he focused on driving, the train station sitting a couple miles out from the town you used to live in.

“The bank sold the house by the way.” Mingyu broke the silence, a nervous sweat settled on his forehead as he broke the news to you.

“About time.” You sigh, another weight you didn’t realize you were holding lifted off your shoulders. “Less for me to deal with now.”

“You’re not upset?” Mingyu looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

“No,” You sit up straighter and begin picking at the hem of your jacket. “My father was a drunk with thousands of dollars of debt he owed the bank so I’m not even surprised they sold it to make back what they lost and then some I’m sure.”

“At least an actual family bought it instead of some corporation.” Mingyu tried to lighten the mood. “They just moved in and they have a newborn and a cute dog that I think you’d like.”

“What kind of dog is it?” You side eye Mingyu, appreciative of the fact he moved on from the sensitive topic so quickly.

“A corgi, they said it’s a black tricolor… Whatever that means.”

“It’s the fur color, it’s mainly black with a little bit of brown and white?”

“Yes! See this is why you went to college, you’re smart as hell.” You shake your head with a smile on your face.

“You’re smart too, Gyu, and not going to college doesn’t affect that.” He shrugs as he slows his speed down after approaching the edge of town.

“If you say so cherry pop.” Just as he pulled up to the first stoplight the roar of a loud engine could be heard from a distance.

“I bet that’s Cheol.” You look at Mingyu confused before your question gets lost once you see the helmet less Seungcheol sped by on a motorcycle you had never seen before, his once dark hair was bleached blonde.

“That’s Cheol?” You asked as you watched him disappear down the opposite street you and Mingyu turned down.

“Yeah, he changed quite a bit since you left.” That was an understatement as Seungcheol looked as big as Mingyu, maybe bigger if you dared to think.

“I can see that, can’t believe he bleached his hair.”

“He did that pretty recently actually, said he needed a change and decided the worst that could happen is his hair would fall out.”

“He’d look good with a buzz cut.” Mingyu laughs at the thought causing you to laugh too.

“You should tell him that tonight when we hang out, I guarantee he’ll either blow a gasket or take you seriously and actually cut his hair off.”

“He would drown me in the river first before he’d listen to me.”

“I don’t know cherry pop, you were very influential to him for a long time. Remember how he did your bidding all throughout elementary school?”

“Yeah cause I tossed him off the merry-go-round at recess and he decided he was scared of me until junior high.”

“I think we were all scared of you after that,” Mingyu puts the car in park after pulling up to the diner. “The older kids wouldn’t mess with me either because you scared them too.” The fact Mingyu is younger than you by two years makes you question reality as he’s much bigger then you now and has been since junior high.

“Still wild to think about.” You laugh as Mingyu hops out the truck to run over and open the door for you, he’s never allowed you to open your own door since he started driving.

“Oh, I guess Cheol’s mom is working today.” Mingyu closes the door behind you and puts the key in the handle to lock it as he stares at the familiar woman through the window that was taking someone’s order. “Someone must’ve called out of work today.”

The two of you walk to the front door together, making small talk about anything and everything. Seungcheol’s mother greeted the two of you with a smile and handed you two menus once you sat down.

“It’s good to see you sweetheart.” She smiles widely at you, she was always like a second mother to you growing up especially after you mothers untimely passing.

“It’s good to see you too, you look great.” You smile warmly, despite any animosity you might feel for her son right now you will never be able to hate this woman.

“I’ll start you two off with some water?” You both nod, prompting her to walk away.

“So how’s the ranch?” You scan the menu, already knowing what you want but wanting to check to see if anything new was added.

“It’s good, Cheol doesn’t work there anymore.” Mingyu doesn’t look up from his menu to see your surprised expression. “Mr. Johnson offered him a job as a mechanic after seeing the work he would do on the farm equipment.”

“Mechanics suit him.” You smile at his mother when she comes back with your waters.

“Do you two know what you want?” You both nod, letting Mingyu order first despite the look he gave you after you shrug and take a big gulp of your water. “Are you getting your usual sweetheart?” She turns to you.

“How do you remember what I used to order?” Your eyes widen.

“You’d order the same thing almost every time you’d come here since you were a kid and I’ve been working here longer than you’ve been alive so I have it practically engraved into my memory.” She laughs quietly as she takes your menus. “You and my son are the same in your consistency in ordering the same thing.”

“Oh.” You could feel your face heating up at the thought. You’re happy she didn’t bother to push a conversation as she went to help more people that came in.

“You and Cheol are as opposite as opposite can be.”

“You don’t say.” You roll your eyes playfully.

The banter between you and Mingyu continued on, even after your food came you both found something to poke — and trust me there was a lot to poke at that has happened over the past three years that couldn’t be conveyed over letters and the occasional call here and there.

“We should head out now, get you to the ranch so you can clean up and rest before tonight.” Mingyu paid for your guy's food like the gentleman he is and held the door open for you as you walked out into the warm summer air.

“Am I obligated to go swimming tonight?” Mingyu shakes his head.

“You’re not but we’ll all be swimming so,” He hops into the truck after opening the door for you. “Just to be safe you might wanna wear your swimsuit.”

“Got it.” You nod your head before watching out the window again, committing your old hometown to memory again. The drive to the ranch was peaceful and long, sitting a few miles out of town on the opposite side of where the diner was.

Once you got to Mingyu's house and greeted his family and caught up, you went to the spare room upstairs to unload your bags and lay on the bed to unwind. A quick nap was sure to help the oncoming headache you got so after changing your clothes to be a little more comfortable you crawl under the freshly cleaned blanket and almost instantly knock out.

A couple hours pass by before Mingyu is knocking on the door to wake you up, telling you the guys are heading to the river now and that you two need to get going soon.

Groaning quietly as you sit up in bed and stretch, it felt nice to not have to worry about anything as this is the first summer you decided to not take summer classes as you'd be graduating early after this upcoming fall semester. Getting up and taking your walkman out of your bag again you took out the nirvana cassette and put in green day instead, the music more uplifting and giving you an ounce of energy to put your swimsuit on and a pair of shorts and jacket to cover yourself.

“How was your nap dear?” Mingyu's mother greeted you as you walked down the stairs, your friend standing by the door waiting (im)patiently for you.

“Amazing, sitting all day in those train seats takes a toll on your back.” You take your walkman headphones off and half hazardously shove them into your jacket pocket.

“Tell me about it, I can’t sit for too long now without going stiff.” She smiles warmly as she wishes you two well as you b-line to the door after Mingyu told you to hurry up.

“Couldn’t even give me time to say bye.” You grumble as you shuffle up to the truck where Mingyu was holding the door for you.

“Sorry cherry pop, the guys are waiting for us and we still gotta get drinks.”

“Why are we getting the drinks?” You buckle up and put your headphones back on, both of your tastes in music are dramatically different as he puts in a country cassette into the radio.

“You’re home, they want you to get what you want instead of drinking what they like.”

“They still drink that shitty dollar beer right?” Mingyu nods. “Then we drink the same thing, not much has changed as I still couldn’t afford the expensive stuff being at college.”

“Great, that makes this run cheap.” The ride to the corner store was quick, the street lights lining the road leading from the ranch to town making the trees look ominous.

Once you guys had secured the alcohol you made your way to the river. The long body of water stretched for miles outside of town in both directions, and the one spot you guys have always met up at since junior high was hidden away. You had thick bushes to climb through and poison ivy to look out for as it wasn’t a regular site on the river to be at.

“Mingyu! Y/N!” Jeonghan called happily when he saw the two of you emerge from the bushes. The bonfire was already large and roaring while Cheol and Wonwoo were already in the water swimming.

“Hannie!” You smile and hug him happily, he was always the least affectionate person so when he offered you a hug you always took it.

“How have you been? It’s been years!” He pulls away from the hug to greet Mingyu while sitting down in his chair and pats the one next to him that looked to have been occupied by Seungcheol at one point based on the jacket hanging on it.

“I’ve been good, college has been tough but I'm graduating a semester early.” You smile at Mingyu who hands you a beer before he sets the box down and makes quick work to strip down to his swim trunks so he can join the other two in the water. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been great, graduating a semester later than I should've, but I took a light load last semester because I was back and forth to be here for Cheol while his mom was in the hospital.” you nod your head while taking a drink of your beer. You never realized that his mom being in the hospital was that bad.

“Mingyu didn’t tell me much about her being in the hospital so I didn’t realize it was that bad.” You look out at the three guys who are currently climbing the rock in the middle of the river so they can jump into the water.

“He wanted to write to you, ever since you left it’s all he had been beside himself about but when his mother got sick he wanted to write to you even more.” Jeonghans voice was soft, nervous that the said male would hear your two's conversation and start hounding him for spilling the secret.

“I wanted to write him too, but-“

“But you couldn’t, I’m not as hard headed as Seungcheol so I get why but I don’t get why you couldn’t have let him down sooner.” You sigh, this was a conversation you knew you’d have eventually as Jeonghan was Seungcheols best friend outside of you and he was the only one that knew about you two.

“I wanted to, believe me it was never my plan to break things off the day I was leaving but I was selfish and didn’t want to let him go yet.”

“You are selfish,” You laugh quietly, thanking him. “But he’s selfish too, this town holds too many bad memories for you and he wanted to tie you to it when you finally had the chance to escape it.”

“You know, I asked him to come with me.” You took another sip of your beer, your eyes back on the blonde who seemed to feel you staring as he tilted his head back and gave you a bitter smirk. “When I first got the acceptance letter and I was on the fence about going, he wanted me to go but he also wanted me to stay and so I told him to come with me so I didn’t have to choose.”

“He never told me that.” Jeonghan opens up another beer and gingerly takes a sip of it.

“I’m not surprised, I think he thought it was a joke.” You finally tear your eyes off of Seungcheol to look at Jeonghan. “After that I didn’t tell him I committed and just continued to relish our time together.”

“Y’know, he wanted you to go because this was your dream but he wanted to be a part of that dream and you keeping that from him and then cutting ties with him when you left is what broke him.”

“I didn’t mean to.” You mumbled and looked down at your half empty beer can. “He was the one that told me that if I wasn’t willing to make things work then he didn’t want to hear from me.”

“Well he’s dumb,” Jeonghan takes another sip. “But so are you.”

“I know.” You close your eyes and sigh, letting your head lull back on the chair.

“Are you going to talk to him while you’re home? It is the first time you’ve been home since leaving after all.”

“This isn’t my home anymore.” You don’t bother to open your eyes as you take in the warm night air. This hasn’t been your home since you left and it hasn’t felt like home for far longer, the only thing (or person) that made you feel remotely anchored here was Seungcheol.

“It was your home at one point, and I'd argue it still is because Seungcheol and the rest of us are here.”

“Corny loser.” You mumble, a small smile cracking at your lips before you sit up straight. “I’ll talk to him, I promise. I had been prepping myself all week to mend things between us while I was here.”

“Good.” Jeonghan smiles and downs the rest of his beer. “Now hurry up and finish drinking so we can go join them in the water before it gets colder.”

“You’re going to die in that water, it’s too cold for you already.” You laugh before downing the rest of your beer so you can strip down to your swimsuit, making sure not to toss your walkman around too much.

“I’ll manage.” He shrugs after taking his clothes off too before walking cautiously up to the edge of the water. He barely touches it with his big toe and he curses.

“Told you,” You stand beside him and watch his reaction. “You just gotta go in as quick as you can.” You show him how it’s done as you take a deep breath in and hold it as you quickly walk into the water before you’re deep enough to dive under.

“Show off.” He huffs before he follows in your footsteps, cursing the whole way up to his shoulders.

“You did it han,” Wonwoo pats him on the shoulder. “You’re shivering already.”

“It’s fucking cold and you’re all insane.” He huffs and starts to swim around a little, letting the cold water soothe his warm skin.

“I think it feels good.” You had popped back up next to Mingyu who was standing with Seungcheol who was watching Jeonghan worried.

“It does feel good.” Mingyu lets the water support his body as he starts to swim backwards, no longer being a wall between you and the ire of your freshman year of college.

“It’s good to see you Y/N.” Wonwoo gives you a small smile before he also swims away, leaving you and Seungcheol alone and seeing the look on Jeonghan's face in the distance makes you believe that this was planned. He clears his throat when he seems to realize you two are alone.

“Um,” Is all he manages to say before you’re taking a deep breath and turning to look at him.

“Hi Seungcheol.” He flinches at the use of his full name.

“Ouch, hi litt-“ He catches himself using the old nickname he had for you. “Hi Y/N.”

“God I hate this.” You can’t be bothered to hide the fact that the whole situation makes you sad and angry already, you missed him and he was right there in front of you and you were both acting like you wanted nothing to do with each other, which might’ve been true right after you had left but as time went on it faded into longing and anger at oneself.

“You hate this? How do you think I feel?” He crosses his arms and looks down at you.

“Cheol I-“

“I don’t want to hear excuses.”

“Ok asshole I was going to apologize but not anymore.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him so you could swim away, the conversation you had with Jeonghan felt like complete bullshit now.

“Wait,” he grabbed your arm to spin you back around, the water splashing violently at the fast movement. “I’m sorry, for everything.” It was rare that he’d ever apologize and right now it felt out of place as he had no reason to apologize at the moment.

“I practiced how this conversation would go for weeks and this was not one of the ways I accounted for. You weren’t supposed to apologize first.” You look up at Seungcheol who was just staring at you silently now, his hand still holding tightly on your arm. “Seungcheol I-“

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop interrupting,” You huff, the smallest smile forming on his face “I’m sorry for how I left things and for everything leading up to when I left.”

“Y’know, I spent most of the first year you were gone blaming you, and then I started blaming myself until my mother made me realize that neither of us were to blame and then I spent the remainder of the time just numb.”

“If you stopped blaming me, how come you didn’t write to me?”

“You never wrote to me.” He sounded hurt and you were hurt too but you hated the pain in his voice and it caused you to move closer to him, hoping you could erase even just a hint of it.

“I’m sorry, there was never a time where I didn’t think about writing to you but your words kept playing in my head about how you never wanted to hear from me if I left our relationship behind.”

“It wasn’t much of a relationship then was it, we were just friends exploring each other,” That’s what you liked to tell eachother when you were in denial about your feelings. “I wrote letters, most of them are stamped and sitting in my desk drawer because I couldn’t bring myself to send them.”

“Yet you bought stamps for them?” You raise an eyebrow curiously.

“Yes,” He huffs, trying to hide the ounce of embarrassment he’s feeling. “I’d get these bouts of feelings where I’d want to send them and I’d get all the way to the post office with a stamp on the envelope and the second I’d park I’d back out and go back home only to hide it away with the others.”

“Cheol…”

“I know it’s probably stupid and I’ll just burn them all now since you’re home and-“

“I’m not staying,” You cut him off for some reason. “I mean I’m staying for the summer but I’m going back home to finish my last semester of college so I can get a job at a vet clinic there.”

“That’s ok, this time I promise I will write.”

“You should come with me.” You blurt out like you did all those years ago.

“I can’t leave my mother, she won’t leave this town and with her health fluctuating I just can’t.” He gave you an actual answer this time unlike he did when you were younger.

“I get it, she needs you.. But one day you have to leave this place, don’t you think?” Your hand gently touches his arm as you drift even closer to him.

“I never thought of leaving until you left.” He mumbled as his hands moved to ghost over your sides that were under the water.

“One day?” You sounded hopeful. “Even if we’re old and married to other people do you think you’d still leave?”

“I..” His voice trailed off as your breath got closer to his face. “I’d never marry… unless it was you.” He whispered before he finally kissed you, the weight of what he said disappearing as you both got lost in the taste of each other. After what felt like an eternity you finally pulled away out of breath, a quiet whistle could be heard from behind Seungcheol somewhere and you assumed it had to be Jeonghan since Mingyu would’ve quite literally jumped the two of you.

“Cheol- '' He cuts you off.

“Let's enjoy the night, yeah?” He didn’t want to talk about what he just said, or what the future would hold anymore. It’ll take time, you both realized, for things to go back to normal but for now you were content with how things were because this time he knew what to expect when summer ends, he just hoped that you’d change your mind about long distance relationships. And you hoped he’d change his mind about rotting away in this small town.

feedback + reblogs greatly appreciated! let me know what you guys thought!

#svthub #kvanity #kflixnet #90’s collab #scoups #seungcheol #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #scoups angst #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 11 days

Text

Homeboy

Requested by the wonderful @harlowcomehome

Warnings: language, suggestive talk

A/N: based on the TikTok trend where you call your boyfriend your husband or in this case, your homeboy lol

You propped your phone on the dash of Jack's Jeep as he approached a red light. He rung the leather of the steering wheel between his hands as he watched you fix your hair and makeup in the camera, a little on edge from a stressful day in the studio. You were headed to dinner at Black Rabbit to celebrate your third wedding anniversary.

The last couple of weeks had been stressful in their own right, with Jack's schedule occupying almost all of his time, and taking care of a newborn Brooklyn, so even though both of you just wanted to do nothing but sleep for the next 48 hours straight, you knew you needed to get out to celebrate, even if it was just a quick dinner.

Still, Jack just seemed out of it, and you knew he needed a laugh to get out of his head.

You decided to pull a harmless prank on him that you'd seen on TikTok, where a partner calls their husband their "homeboy" when recording a video to get their reaction. You weren't exactly sure how Jack was going to react, but you were willing to try anyway to get your goofy best friend back.

"What're you doing?", Jack asked between gritted teeth as he floored it at the green light. "Just recording a video", you bit your lip to stifle a laugh, "something quick for Insta."

"Just post a photo or something", he said with a sigh, his eyes darting between the road and your setup.

"That's no fun", you were this close to breaking so you quickly pressed record on the screen.

"Hey everyone!", you addressed the camera, "I just wanted to do a quick outfit of the day. I'm on the way to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with Jack." You made sure to point to your husband, who was in view. "Its crazy to think that I've known my homeboy for almost a decade, and that the two of us-".

The laugh that left Jack's mouth startled you. "Homeboy?" He looked at you, straight faced, with an eyebrow cocked. "Yeah, please don't interrupt", you popped your lips as you turned back to your phone. "The dress is from Dior-"

"I'm your homeboy?!", Jack repeated in an incredulous tone. "What does that make you to me?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I dunno, I'm your homegirl", you couldn't even make eye contact you were trying so hard not to laugh. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that I don't remember saying my vows to one of my homegirls." Jack ran a shaky hand through his messy curls. "Best friends, partners for life, maybe, but homeboy, definitely fuckin' not." You knew he was getting irritated, the back of his neck turning a dark red, but you were also thoroughly enjoying him putting his foot down with you.

"Yeah, but that's what we are. I'm your homegirl, you're my homeboy."

"Homeboy", he kept repeating the word in between scoffs, it didn't make any sense to him.

"Why do you keep repeating it?" At this point you couldn't hide the smile creeping on your face. "You're the love of my life. I don't love any of my "homegirls" the way I love you", he bit back, trying to remain calm.

"I love you too", you leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I got love for all of my homeboys." You stopped the video before Jack could get another word in.

****

Dinner was quiet, and you could tell that your joke didn't land with Jack the way you thought it would. His focus was on his phone for most of the night, scrolling through emails. He broke the silence when the waiter came around with the check. Just as they laid the bill in front of Jack, he placed a hand down on the table.

"My homegirl's got it." He quickly muttered the four words, his face illuminated by the backlight of his phone as it captured his attention again. You quietly pulled out your credit card, giving it to the waiter with a small smile.

****

The house was eerily quiet as you took off your makeup in the bathroom mirror, getting ready for bed. You tracked Jack's movements as he walked in behind you, Brooklyn in his arms. He peppered kisses on her tiny face as he threw his laundry in the hamper and walked back out. Jack had been giving you the silent treatment since dinner, and you knew it was time to come clean and apologize.

"Jack, baby?" You waited for him to put Brooklyn in her bassinet by the bed before continuing. He hummed for you to speak as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry about this evening. I saw this stupid trend on TikTok and thought it would be funny to pull a prank on you. I was just trying to get you to loosen up, but it backfired and I'm sorry."

He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at you. "Ok."

"That's it? Okay?"

"What else do you want me to say?" He moved to stroke at his beard and you could tell he was still upset. "I don't know, that you forgive me?"

"I forgive you." He gave you a hard lined smile. "I forgive all of my homegirls."

"Jack", you whined, "it was a joke! I don't really think of you as one of my homeboys."

"Am I supposed to believe that?" His voice rose an octave. "That the mother of my child doesn't see me as more than a friend? That I mean more to you than that? That you sent me that video yesterday so I always knew you were pulling a prank on me?!"

"Yes", your stomach turned. "Of course! Wait-", you held up a hand once you realized what he said.

"Wait, what?" You shook your head as Jack let out a loud chuckle. He crossed the room to you in two steps and pulled you into his body.

"Baby, you send me like 100 TikToks a day, one of those being that prank trend. I knew what you were doing from the start." You playfully swatted at his chest. "Fuck, that's not funny!" He pulled you in for a hug, your hands wrapping around his neck, his finding your lower back.

"So you're not mad at me?" You mumbled against his shoulder, your lips pressed to his skin. "No, I thought it was funny, but I had to dust off those acting skills and show you who can really pull off a prank." You felt a sense of relief wash over you that he wasn't mad.

Jack pressed a kiss to your temple. "Plus, you weren't very convincing." You felt his hot breath against your ear as he ducked down, pulling you by the back of the neck closer to his mouth.

"I know none of your "homeboys" are fucking you like me every night."

#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jackharlow #jackman harlow #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine

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amsgrey · 1 year

Text

he just sounds like that

Kaz Brekker x Fem!reader (established relationship)

synopsis: Arrogance has no place on a job, but you let it lower your guard. You pay the price, but Kaz helps bring you back.

I kind of like merging Book/Show Kaz and trying to keep accurate to his mannerisms and humour etc so hopefully this is good. I came about this idea after thinking about this scene from TLOU and how Kaz most definitely had an asshole voice. Also, I will probably make a few parts/drabbles about Kaz x Inferni Reader, because I love Kaz no apologies.

Warnings: Mentions of Slavery, reader reliving her time as a slave (briefly), Mentions of scars of wrists from slavery chains etc, A fumbley understanding of the technology of the time and inferni powers (it's been so long since I read the books)

Getting split from the other crows was distressing, but there was nothing you could do about that now. You and Kaz just had to keep going, trying to work your way back to the rendezvous point.

"Tell me again why you thought this would work," You hissed to Kaz, who had been leading you in a circle for what felt like forever.

Kaz gave you an irritated glare, "It did work."

You scoffed, "Yeah, that's why we're lost in this saints forsaken mansion."

Kaz let out an exasperated sigh, "Are you done?"

You and Kaz had known each other for years, the entire time you'd known each other you bantered like this. Kaz would act all irritated and stern, but you knew he silently liked the way you could relieve tension and make even him crack a smile. As the only two Crows born and raised in the farmlands of Kerch, you shared a different connection. You had found each other before The Barrel knew Kaz as the force he was now. Kaz had saved you from Slavers and convinced you to join the Dregs, helping you find a life without fear.

Since then, you followed him through everything, which at this current moment, meant even through the merchant's maze of a mansion. Nina, Matthias and Wylan were somewhere outside, waiting for you, Kaz, Inej and Jesper to get what you were after and meet them. You wondered if they would be growing impatient yet, you were late, which almost never happened on a job with Kaz.

The job had started off as most others, breaking in was always the easy part. You had been privy to Kaz's plans, watching him study a map of the mansion for weeks before he committed to the job. He knew the place like the back of his hand, but he didn't know the extent of the new security measures the merch had introduced.

You and Jesper dawdled behind Inej and Kaz as they led the group through the halls. Occasionally Jesper would pause at a painting or display piece and make comments about its ugliness or stupidity.

The last painting he'd criticized was of an older man, dressed in a bright blue kefta with red embroidery. Jesper had caught your sleeve and pointed it out to you, "Looks like the merch has inferni ancestor."

You had screwed your nose up at the portrait, "I thought he was Kaelish?"

"He is," Kaz said, already at the end of the hall with Inej. He was waiting for the two of you to catch up, like a boy calling his dogs home.

Walking through the mansion felt surreal, mostly because you hadn't been to many places with such decadent displays of wealth. The four of you could move through the hallways unnoticed because the Merch and his family were out at the theatre - or whatever it was rich people did in Ketterdam on Sunday Nights. He had brought most of his guards and men with him, leaving the halls silent and unpatrolled. Kaz had called him an arrogant fool, to declare his mansion impenetrable and then take all his men out to prove it. There was no place able to keep out Dirtyhands, especially not when he had his crows by his side.

Thinking back on it you realized how you all had been too arrogant, thinking this job was in and out, easy. You'd let your guard down - something Kaz warned you to never do in this city - and now you were paying the price.

Everything went wrong when you and Kaz finally found what you were looking for - the merch's family jewel, a sapphire embedded in rich Kealish gold. You had easily broken through the fabrikator-made lock, it might have been made by a Grisha but it couldn't hold up against a Grisha. Especially not one who could melt metal with the same ease as cutting pastry. Kaz had reached for the jewels, as soon as he lifted it off the display the room filled with an ominous hum. Like the sound of a machine slowly whirring to life.

Kaz had pocketed the jewels, grabbing your forearm and tugging you along behind him as he went for the door Jesper and Inej were guarding. Before you could make it metal bars slid down over the doorway. You had tried to use your small science to melt the metal, even Jesper tried to budge it, but nothing worked. Kaz ordered Inej and Jesper to find their own way out as alarms chimed, directing you back through the room to another exit.

You had followed behind him willingly, knowing he knew the way around the mansion. You'd been irritated to learn how wrong you were, Kaz knew the layout of the mansion but the Merch had updated the floorplan. Clearly, another Fabrikator addition to hinder thieves.

"Wait," Kaz held up his hand and you barrelled straight into his back at the sudden halt, "Do you hear that?"

Footsteps.

"Back," Kaz whispered, ushering you back the way you had come.

You got to the end of the hall before you heard more bodies approaching, you were surrounded. Immediately you went to the window, trying to pull at the latch and open it. It didn't work, but you could see light dancing on the tree line.

"Kaz," You called, "Look."

You both squinted into the dark, trying to distinguish who it was in the woods. You saw the glint of steel, like someone was spinning a revolver.

"It's Jesper."

The footsteps were getting louder, there was no way you and Kaz could get out of this on your own.

"Step back," You struck your flint, the sparks allowing you to create a ball of flame. You concentrated it as small as it would allow, pressing your palms against the window until cracks started forming. After a few more seconds the pane shattered, sending the shards falling to the ground below. You were on the second floor, even if you wanted to jump there was no way you and Kaz would be able to land safely. You settled for sending up a burst of flames, Jesper and the others would be on the lookout for it, your SOS symbol.

"Stop!" Someone shouted and all hell broke loose.

You and Kaz fought well side by side, you both knew each other's moves, working in tandem to take down opponents. It looked like you might win for a little while, then a woman rounded the corner with her hands pressed together. Heartrender, you realized it too late.

You were woken suddenly, like your heart was all of a sudden coming back to life. You gasped and spluttered, lungs burning. Your hands were bound above your head, separated by a thick metal rod so that you couldn't summon. Already you could feel the ache in your shoulders, hanging from your arms was something you had been used to when you were a slave. Now, you had to fight back the panic that tried to grip your heart.

You struggled to find your footing for a moment, but eventually managed to stand up enough to take the strain off of your wrists.

Kaz.

Where was Kaz?

"Look, Brekker. Your girls fine."

You squinted to find where the voice was coming from, finding the source across the room. Kaz was standing opposite a burly man nearly a foot taller than him. Kaz's face was bloody and bruised, but he had murder in his eyes. You could see it, feel it, all the way across the room. You realized it wasn't just Kaz and the merchant; the other crows were there too. Inej held a blade against the heartrenders throat from earlier, who had both her hands held far apart to show her cooperation. Jesper was not too far away, his pistols in hand as he stared down a man who stood in between you and him.

What did I miss?

"No harm was done," The merchant continued, his voice thick with a Kaelish accent, "What do you say we part ways, unharmed."

Kaz's face didn't change, "Sure."

The Merchant frowned, a glimpse of fear breaking through his resolve, "I don't like your tone, boy."

"He always sounds like that," Jesper joked, glancing at you.

"He has an asshole voice," You agreed. Not two nights ago you and Jesper had been saying the same thing to Matthias at the Slat. You and Jesper enjoyed teasing the Fjerdan, especially regarding Kaz and his 'demjin' ways.

Kaz looked amused, he had the Merchant in the palm of his hand. "Go. Before I change my mind."

The Merchant almost tripped as he ran away, not even stopping for his Heartrender and right-hand man who followed behind him just as quick.

With the immediate threat gone, you felt your resolve begin to crumble. You had to get out of these chains. They would rub your wrists every time you moved, bringing you straight back to your past.

"Stop moving," An older woman had warned you, "It hurts less."

She was probably right, but you were too terrified to listen. Hours ago you were playing on your family's farm, but now you were chained to the roof in a dark, damp cellar. The chains were rusted and coarse, they rubbed the skin around your wrists raw, leaving cuts and grazes everywhere they pressed.

You were only eight, by far the youngest of all the slaves in the cellar. The chains they used to bind you didn't have cuffs, the slavers had just looped the links around your wrists and locked them tight. All you felt was the pain and the fear. All of this because you were Grisha? You only just learned of your power as an Inferni, how could you be worth anything?

The older woman tried to console you, doing her best to quell your tears and sobs, but even she knew the horrors that awaited you. The horrors you would spend years fighting to escape.

"Y/N," Kaz's voice was soft, he stood in front of you, supporting your weight as Jesper worked on freeing your hands from the chains. "Stay here."

You knew he was trying, you could see his own emotions clawing at him. It was one of the things that bound you and Kaz together, the demons of your past. You understood what it was like to fear touch and he understood what it was like to be betrayed. You helped each other, through the flashbacks and nightmares. You two didn't have anyone else, so you fought to have each other.

When Jesper finally broke through the chains, you lurched forward unexpectedly. Kaz held you tighter, trying to keep you upright even with his bad leg. You stood up, holding your hands out to balance yourself.

'I'm okay," You lied, trying to avoid Jesper and Inej's worried glances, "We should get out of here."

Back at the Slat, you sat staring at your cup of cocoa. Nina had made it for you as her way of trying to help, she could hear that your heartbeat hadn't stopped racing since leaving the job.

Jesper and Wylan had offered you gentle conversation, but you couldn't hold it for long. You had claimed you were tired, bidding your friends goodnight and climbing the stairs to your room. You didn't stop at your floor. Your feet carried you further up the steep stairs, stopping when you reached the attic which Kaz had converted into his own room. You didn't have to knock, you just opened the door and announced yourself.

Behind closed doors, Kaz was less concerned about keeping up his Dirtyhands persona. He smiled ever so slightly as you sat on his bed. A few months ago you had forced him to rearrange his room so that you could see him working while you lounged on his bed. You often ended up like this, watching him work after long days and taking comfort in each other's presence.

This time, Kaz wasn't concerned with his papers, he just looked at you, waiting for you to talk. You had talked Kaz through his own episodes many times, you never pushed him or asked him to move quicker than he was ready. For the first time, Kaz wanted to offer you the same comfort, but he wasn't sure if he could.

You were rubbing your wrists, stuck in your own memories of your time chained.

Kaz slowly joined you, giving you time to pull away. You glanced over at him, watching him as he slowly removed his gloves.

"Kaz-"

Kaz shook his head to silence you, continuing what he was doing. He placed his gloves neatly on the bedside table, turning to you. He reached out slowly and you let him. He gently pried your fingers away from your wrist, taking your hands in his own. He turned your palms up, his fingers slowly ghosting over the scars on your skin.

Kaz could feel the warmth of your skin through his fingertips. It helped him fight off the flashbacks, the warmth reminding him you were safe, healthy, alive.

Kaz's fingers traced over a scar on your right thumb. You couldn't help the small sigh that escaped your lips.

Kaz's head snapped up to look at you, fear filling his eyes.

"I'm okay," You meant it this time. The flashbacks were gone, locked in the vault in the back of your mind.

Kaz could tell that you meant it, see the anxiety leave your face. He drew his hands back, reaching for his gloves again. You smiled at him as he slipped his hands back into them, the leather bringing him the comfort he needed.

Kaz offered you a quiet apology.

"Kaz," You couldn't help the adoring smile on your face, "It's okay."

You knew Kaz could handle contact more when his gloves were on, so you gently took his hand. Kaz watched as you copied his movements from earlier, gently opening up his fingers. You slowly raised his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

"I love you," You said, "Gloves and all."

Kaz smiled, a genuine smile that you only saw in the safety of these four walls.

He let out a quiet reply, "I love you too."

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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aita for avoiding my husband on purpose, like, all the time? my husband (m36) and i (f34) have been married for almost 10 years (anniversary in a few months). we have 3 kids (m10, f8, f1) and he works full time while i stay at home. even before we got married i didnt really have friends other than him, and i always had a hard time finding excuses to get out of the house. frequently, he gets to hang out with his buddies who he also works with, and ever since we had kids he's always going out and leaving me home alone even when hes not at work just to idk. hang out at bars and pretend we don't exist. well lately ive been making time for myself to go out when the kids are at school (my youngest is pretty well behaved so i just take her with me instead of paying a babysitter) and i had managed to get kinda friendly with some of the wives of my husbands coworkers (theyre all members of the same union, so we see each other at those functions every once in awhile). i thought it was all going well and i was having fun and enjoying getting to be social for once, but about 2 weeks ago, the whole family was invited out for lunch (a picnic type thing) with his buddies from work's families. all was going well and for the most part even the kids were having fun, but then my husband got absolutely fucking trashed for no reason. none of the other guys were acting like that, and we've had conversations about him not doing that sort of thing, but he NEVER listens. he's always acting like this, but usually i dont have to see when its in public. well he embarrassed me so fucking much. he was trying to start fights, messing up his clothes, and wouldn't listen to me at all. just in his own world as always. i should've known because its been a decade of this, but i could have sworn it wasn't this bad before. he wasn't like this when we dated you know? so we got home and i was just. grossed out and annoyed. i slept on the couch and pretty much ever since then, i haven't been talking to him. i got a text from one of the ladies saying that a wednesday hangout thing i had been invited to had been canceled, but i pretty much KNOW 100% that it wasn't, and that they just don't want to be associated with me now. the kids don't really seem bothered by the tension around the house (i think its sort of normal to them since hes frequently not around anyways). i wouldn't be near as annoyed if there wasn't a part of my brain telling me "he did it on purpose". i know that's just how he acts but i could SWEAR its almost like he just doesnt want me to have friends. he doesn't want to hear about it, he just wants me THERE at home, watching the kids and existing solely for his convenience. i used to consider divorce, before we had our youngest. but i haven't had a job since high school, and i couldnt put the burden of asking for help on my sisters. they hate him, but i couldnt ask them for that support. and i dont even know what the kids would think, i cant do that to them. but yesterday, my husband brought it up (cornered me in our room pretty much) and asked why i was ignoring him. what if he really didnt know why? i TOLD him, but its like he forgot or just expects me to be "over it" by now. all i wanted was just this one thing, to HAVE FRIENDS, have that time away from being just "mom" and do what i want. he gets to do that so why cant i? or AT LEAST he could put some more effort into being around and doing things as a family? but i still wonder if im being the asshole, for giving him the cold shoulder for this long. he didnt have a happy childhood or good examples for parents so maybe he just thinks this is normal? i never asked because i assumed he knew it wasn't. and he does seem like, disappointed that i wont come to bed. maybe ive been driving him off and that's why he doesnt like to come home? idk at this point, im at a loss. aita?

#aita #am i the asshole

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gazorninplat · 2 months

Text

As much as I love Disco Elysium, I think I was not prepared for Sacred and Terrible Air. Of course, I was expecting to know more about the world of Elysium as a whole, and Robert Kurvitz is a very good writer, but the thesis of the novel (and how it makes its points) flash-banged me.

Disco Elysium this is not, and it wasn’t supposed to be, but I think I can understand better now what the team at ZA/UM was getting at with this specific setting, and these specific narrative angles. Kinda messy, because it’s been a week since I finished it, but here are some things I’d like to highlight:

1. The pedophilia. I surely wasn’t expecting this to be such a central theme of the novel, but a lot of its main points revolve around it. The most interesting use of this, as a narrative device, is how the girlfriend of Jesper basically accuses him of being a pedophile because he cannot relate to the adults around him. He’s still obsessed with a girl he met when he was 13 years old, and fetishizes a scrunchie he stole from her bag two decades ago. Yeah, I guess Jesper, well into his thirties, is still in love with a 13 year old girl. His girlfriend is almost half his age, and they started dating when she was 15 years old and a lingerie model (!). Zigi mentions how pedophilia was a bougie disease, and well… That idea went right into my thought cabinet (I call it “Bougie Babies for Sale).

Still processing it.

Now, let’s go back to the rest of the main characters. With all this in mind, a pedophilic overtone covers their interest in these four missing girls, but Jasper is the only one who acts on it, sort of. Khan remains in a sort of arrested development (he still uses a shirt he had when he was 13), foregoing normal adult relationships, and Tereesz joins the police as an investigator with the idea of still finding them some day (essentially letting these eternally prepubescent girls define his entire existence), leading him to a very dark path. I wonder if the brutality they afford to the “actual” pedophiles in the story (Vidkun Hird and the Linoleum Salesman) comes from the realization that they are not that different?

2. Obviously, though, this fetishization of the Lund sisters is also a fetishization of the past. The novel states it in the first few pages; they disappeared twenty years ago, in a time that most conservative people remember as the “good old days”. Basically their version of the American Fifties. Now, being obsessed with the past is a running theme in both SaTA and DE, but the angle here is different.

I already said it: the past is not remembered, is fetishized with an almost sexual yearning by a lot of the male characters of the book. They want to be consumed by it (and lucky them! It will) and do nothing more than serve it. It reminds me of a poem by Yamil Nardil Sadek, which, translated to the best of my ability, goes like:

She awaits me

sitting on the bed,

wearing leather,

and armed to the teeth,

the Memory.

Yeah, that sums up Sacred and Terrible Air pretty well. Everyone is being consumed by the past, bite by bite, and enjoying it. Vidkun Hird, by the mythologized version of his tribe’s history; Sarjan Ambartsumjan, by a miniature ship model that requires constant, devoted thought or else it will disappear, the three main characters by the memory of that summer with the Lund girls. Even the Linoleum Salesman is being haunted and consumed, of sorts, by his sickness and dementia that only sometimes let him take a peek of the past. Beyond that, there are very few characters that do not spend time being followed by relentless ghosts. Literally, in the case of Zigi. Which brings me to…

3. The Pale. It was a really cool concept in Disco Elysium, and it’s an existential nightmare in Sacred and Terrible Air. It always was, really. But here it lets you take a look into it in a way that’s applicable in real life. The Pale is a metaphor for many things, but actually for a single one: A world where our current Capitalist reality facilitates both apathy and yearning for better days, often idealized in our collective pasts.

My favorite scene, one that was incredibly puzzling but so obvious in retrospect, is a beautiful speech by the ghost (?) of Ignus Nilsen to Zigi. I will just paste it here:

“I said terrible things, yes! I stood on a white horse, in a blizzard, and gave speeches. In the mountains, on the construction site… I swung my sword, with silver sunbeams on the hilt. And all around me fluttered white flags, crests of crowned horns made with silver thread, a pentagon between the prongs of the horns, the branches raised to heaven. Everyone who came here with me became happy, Zigi! Communism is powerful! Believe in Communism, it’s a burst of enthusiasm! I promise! It’s beautiful when you believe in a person, but without it…!”

“Without it, there is nothing.”

“Nothing. It was a blizzard, but it was bright, it was morning. Communism is white, it sparkles! Communism is the morning, it is a jubilation!”

The Pale begins to recede dangerously around the entroponaut.

The fucking Pale recedes with talk of Communism! At first it might appear a little heavy handed (yeah, Communism, by itself, could save the world). But then I got into how Communism could be a solution to the antipathy and chronic nostalgia that sustain Capitalism, and then it hit me. Nilsen, a literal ghost from the past, is talking about a future that could have been. That he wanted to accomplish. That people, probably, can still achieve. The Pale is not eternal, it can be pushed back. Because the Pale seems to subsist on the past, it abhors any talk of the future. A better future. That’s how we solve things, and for a central thesis, is not bad at all.

With that being said, and because I’m just rambling here while pretending I’m working, there are also some things that I just didn’t understand, but maybe it was because of the translation. The original novel is written in a very poetic style, and some of that is still here, but I still need to untangle…

1. The Man. It is said that the day the Lund girls disappeared, they were joined by a mysterious Man that nobody seemed to remember correctly. A character even suspects that she was remembering wrong. Now, the Pale erases people and memories retroactively, so maybe it had something to do with it, but… Who was that? Is there any theory about that Man, or I just missed something? Some scenes and narrations were tough to parse for me (my primary language is not English).

2. Was Malin Lund pregnant? That flash with the fetus was sudden and weird.

3. What was the significance of the three meat piroshkis? They mention that it was unusual that the girls bought them (and if you do the math, you can realize early on that they were not planning to get back home. That purchase didn’t leave them enough money for the bus fare back), but that’s it. Were they for the Man? Also, the narration mentions that Lund girls’ picnic basket contained “the kind of things girls like to eat”, so maybe they were planning to see the boys and bring them the kind of things boys eat? I’m overthinking that? The chapter actually titled “Three Meat Piroshkis” just left me even more confused.

4. I don’t understand how Khan’s pen works at all. The one he brought to the school reunion. That was the part I re-read the most. Anyway, even with that, I loved Sacred and Terrible Air. Definitely one of the most enthralling reads I had, with or without the background of Disco Elysium. I’d still like an official translation that could potentially solve the issues I had, but for now, a Top 10 Book for me.

Go for it now.

#disco elysium #sacred and terrible air #robert kurvitz #literary analysis #random thoughts #book quotes

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ihavemanyhusbands · 2 months

Text

A Feast of Blood

Also on AO3

Pairing: Vampire!Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Vampire!Reader (fem)

WC: 3.5k words

Summary: An AU in which Hannibal is a vampire. // Shortly after turning you into a vampire, your sire, Hannibal Lecter, teaches you how to feed, using Will Graham as subject. Things just get really horny from then on lmao

Warnings: Dead dove DO NOT EAT, SMUT (18 + ONLY), Fem!Reader, lots of body fluids being swapped (saliva, blood, cum // don't read if it makes you queasy), vampirism, blood drinking (consensual), blood mentions, biting, raw p in v (DO NOT DO IT), slightly subby Will?, very slight enemies to lovers if you squint, let me know if anything else!

Tags: @the-devils-littlegirl

--------

"Well fed devils behave better than famished saints." -D.L. Smith.

-------

The night drew closer to the hour between the dog and the wolf, shadows deepening. It had been quiet for the most part, as if the house was also holding its breath in anticipation.

Then the doorbell rang, loud as a death knell, announcing his arrival.

“Dinner time,” Hannibal said with a grin, his tone almost playful.

He got up to open the front door, but you stayed put, smoothing out the hem of your dress. It was nothing fancy since you knew you would very likely ruin it, but you still wanted to look presentable.

You were more curious than nervous about tonight’s lesson, especially since it wasn’t with a complete stranger.

For a week after Hannibal had turned you, he fed you only the blood that he’d procured. He’d wanted you to regain your strength first, but he had stressed the importance of learning to feed by yourself as soon as you were able.

As it were, Will, his most consistent donor, had been called in as the subject. You had met him well before you were turned, though even then Hannibal was well established as your sire.

Will was always reserved, if a bit prickly, towards you. You wondered if he’d thought of you as just another one of Hannibal’s human playthings, gullible enough to believe he’d actually turn you.

It was true enough that Hannibal had fed on you a few times, but it was unlike his other feedings. You had watched him a couple of other times, oscillating between unbridled carnage and self-possession.

The latter was more like bonding for him — The brutal intimacy of the bite, the unspoken trust that no deadly harm would be inflicted, the decadence of your life’s essence flowing through him. Sustaining him.

But of course, he had kept his word, guiding you into the eternal night. And these were pleasures you would get to experience anew, just from the other side of things. You wondered what Will thought of the sudden turn of fate.

He followed Hannibal into the living room, absentmindedly undoing the top buttons of his flannel shirt. You raised your eyebrows at Hannibal, who seemed equally amused at Will’s apparent eagerness.

“A simple hello would be enough of a greeting,” you said lightly, tone just teasing enough for him to know you weren’t sneering.

Will let his hands drop as he became conscious of his actions. “Force of habit.”

“Sit, please, Will,” Hannibal said, gesturing towards an armchair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Will snorted at the irony of trying to relax around not one, but two bloodsuckers, but he sat regardless. His posture was tense, arms rigidly placed on the armrests, shoulders squared.

“Don’t tell me you’ve started getting nervous now,” you said, feeling bold enough to continue testing him. “This isn’t your first rodeo.”

“Well, I trust Hannibal possesses enough self-control not to kill me. You, on the other hand…” He grimaced as if remembering himself, looking down.

You sniffed, offended. “I didn’t pounce on you the minute you walked in, did I?”

Hannibal put a placating hand on your arm. “Don’t take it to heart, my love. I have had years to harness myself, and it has not been an easy journey. And you, Will, must also understand that patience goes both ways.”

Will inclined his head in acknowledgment. “True, I apologize for that.”

Still, Hannibal could understand his spike in anxiety, but he’d decided to be polite and not mention it outright, as you did.

“Something to drink for you, maybe? I’ve got that scotch you like,” he offered, and Will accepted.

As Hannibal went to get it for him, you and Will stared at each other for a tense moment. Perhaps his animosity stemmed from envy at you being a newly minted vampire. You weren’t sure if Hannibal had ever promised him anything, but you were sure your sire would have mentioned it if that was the case.

“Think you’ll be able to stand having me close to you?” You asked, tone mild once again.

Hannibal returned, handing Will a glass of the amber liquid. He raised it in your direction, as if toasting to you.

“After one of these, I’ll be loose and relaxed for you, don’t worry,” he said wryly, taking a swig.

Your eyes were drawn to his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You briefly wondered if you’d be able to taste the scotch in his blood, and if it would warm you the same way it did him.

“Better?” Hannibal asked, one eyebrow raised.

Will nodded, flexing his fingers. Then, with a more determined look on his face, he turned to you.

“Can I sit next to you?” He asked. “Seems like a good place to start.”

You slowly nodded, shuffling to the side to give him as much space as you could. You unconsciously glanced over at Hannibal for reassurance, and he gave you a serene smile.

“That’s better,” he said. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

This time, Will was sensible enough not to react. His head turned towards you, but his eyes didn’t meet yours quite yet.

“That’s a nice perfume. What is it?” He asked, actively trying to soften his tone.

“Oleander,” you said.

“Deceptively sweet, but ultimately deadly,” he said, referring to the flower’s poisonous effects.

He looked up then, eyebrows raised, and you let out an amused huff. “I suppose you’re gonna say it’s fitting.”

“That’s a given, but take that as a compliment, please.”

Hannibal chuckled. “There it is, Will. Flattery will get you much further.”

“Why don’t you sit on his other side?” You asked Hannibal. “Maybe he’ll be more comfortable that way.”

He complied, making Will scoot closer to the middle, his leg lightly brushing yours. That first contact made you tense, hunger stirring curiously within you.

Warmth emanated from him and your sensitive ears registered his heartbeat, loud as a drum. You could see the pulsing blue veins underneath his pale skin, branching out like the roots of an ancient tree. He was deliciously alive, and it filled you with longing.

There were many things in your new, preternatural state that you were still getting used to. Nostalgia was a sheen on your mind you knew you had to shed, but it would take some time. You found yourself leaning closer to him, wanting to be near that spark, but both men misinterpreted this move.

“Easy now, we’re still warming up here,” Will said, but he didn’t move away. “Unless you’re just absolutely famished, then I don’t want you to torture yourself anymore.”

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Do you need another drink, Will?” Hannibal asked, sensing the tension returning.

He shook his head. “I’m good for now. Do you think it might be a good idea to try with my wrist first?”

“Yes, great idea,” Hannibal said. “Though not too much. We’ll save it for the next part.”

Will unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. He offered you his arm, the inside of his wrist facing up. You took it gingerly, your fingers lightly following the patterns of his veins. The touch was so gentle it tickled him a little, making the hairs on his arm rise.

You brought his wrist up closer to your face, looking over at Hannibal as your lips were mere inches from making contact. He nodded encouragingly.

“There is more room for error here, but not by much. Don’t fully sink your teeth in, it’s enough to just break the skin,” he said, making sure you were listening by holding your gaze.

This time, your eyes flicked over to Will’s face, and he also nodded. Your sharp, slightly elongated canines pierced the soft flesh and blood bubbled right into your mouth in a burst of flavor.

You let out a sound akin to a whimper, latching onto the wound. Will sucked in a sharp breath at the sting but stayed put.

“That’s enough now,” Hannibal said firmly, bringing you back to the present.

You painstakingly reined yourself in and lapped it up with your tongue, closing the small wounds. Your lips were smeared crimson as you straightened, panting, chin dipped in slight embarrassment.

“Sorry…” you murmured, licking your lips.

“Don’t apologize, you did good, Mieloji,” he said reassuringly, the Lithuanian endearment making you smile. “Now, how about we get to the good part?”

Hunger lashed your insides like a whip at the prospect of more. They could both see the feverish glint in your eye, and Hannibal knew you were trying your hardest to prove Will wrong. He wasn’t sure, however, of how long you would last before giving in to instinct.

He pressed a little closer to Will, knowing he would have to be more careful this time around. You, on the other hand, hesitated.

“Do you… need a break or something?” You asked Will slowly.

“No. Do you?” He said evenly, undoing a few other buttons on his shirt and pushing it off one shoulder.

You shook your head embarrassingly fast. He chuckled, and it was the first time you had seen him break out into a smile that night. It set you more at ease, encouraging you to draw closer as well.

His breathing hitched as you leaned against his arm. Your face neared the crook of his neck, and you gently nudged his jaw upwards with your nose.

“That’s it, my love, tilt his head just so,” Hannibal instructed patiently, his voice like a purr. “See the line of his artery, how his pulse surges at your nearness.”

Your mouth watered, your pupils blown wide with a beastly desire. Before you could help yourself, you traced the tip of your tongue over his skin. You could taste the adrenaline in his sweat, but a hum of pleasure escaped Will’s lips.

Hannibal chuckled, letting you indulge a moment longer.

“Now remember, the bite must be precise. A single fluid motion, otherwise it can get messy,” he continued, tangling his fingers through Will’s curls, keeping his head in place. “He will whimper, but the pain only lasts a moment.”

“What if he moves?” You murmured, voice low and slightly hoarse, conscience fighting through the fog of your bloodlust.

“He won’t, he’s very well-behaved. Isn’t that right, Will?”

Will nodded his assent, eyes heavy-lidded. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Angling your head to one side for better access, you didn’t let yourself hesitate. Once your teeth tore into the side of his neck, his body went rigid at first, but then it slowly started to relax.

You clasped him against you, lost in the rush of blood his heart was suddenly pumping down your throat. Without you noticing, you hooked a leg over one of his, your body trying to envelop him like a serpent.

It didn’t matter that you’d been bickering mere moments ago, bristling at the mere thought of being in the same room together. All of that melted away as soon as your lips touched his skin. Will’s breathing had turned shallow, the barest of sounds occasionally escaping his lips.

His taste was indescribable, like pure starlight, crackling like electricity within you. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced, and all you wanted was more, more, more. You could perfectly understand why Hannibal would occasionally give in to savagery.

“Slow down,” Hannibal instructed, taking hold of one of your arms. “Slower. That’s it, good girl.”

You peered up at him through your lashes, your eyes bloodshot and utterly inhuman. He caressed the back of your head gently, proud of you for fighting so hard to keep control of yourself. He was on the same boat as you, the metallic scent like a siren’s lure.

“Now stop, before you take too much,” he said, looking over at Will. “Are you doing okay, Will?”

“Dizzy, but I’ll live,” he said weakly, groaning softly as you closed the puncture wounds with your tongue once more. “Do you need me, too?”

“Just rest for now,” Hannibal said absently, eyes fixed on you. “I’ll get myself a taste.”

You disentangled yourself from Will, slowly coming back to reality. The lower half of your face, your neck, and your chest were stained crimson, adorning you like macabre jewelry.

Hannibal immediately drew you to him, kissing you like he was trying to devour you whole. The blood smeared messily between you, tongues swirling in each other’s mouths. When you separated, an obscene, pink string of saliva hung between your lips.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself some despite the desire glazing his eyes.

“I… I will get you some water, and something to eat,” He said to Will in a daze, standing up from the couch slowly. “Just— one second.”

You watched him leave the room, your mind still whirling from the whole thing. Then suddenly, you scented fresh blood once again and looked over at Will in surprise. He had bitten his lip hard enough to bleed, and it was starting to swell. He was breathing hard, and there was a plea in his striking blue eyes.

You let out a desirous, pathetic sound, your body moving on its own accord. Your lips slid over his in an almost kiss, your faces inches apart, breaths mingling.

“You really want me to kiss you?” You panted, eyes heavy lidded. “I thought you hated me.”

He shook his head. “It was envy, and it was want. It was always want.”

You kissed him then, trembling eagerly. It was slow and tentative at first, but intensity built quickly. You were still riding the high of feeding from him, but a languorous heat was also spreading through you; Burning everything else away.

You didn’t hear Hannibal returning, but you felt him take his place back on Will’s other side. One look at him, and you could immediately tell he was just as restless. You broke the kiss for a moment to meet Hannibal’s lips, enticing him further.

And when you returned to Will’s lips, Hannibal’s face drew close, too. Then all three of you were kissing, a mess of lips and tongues and an ever-growing voracity.

You left them to it for a moment and practically tore the rest of Will’s shirt off, exposing more of his warm skin. You trailed open-mouthed kisses all over it and Will moaned into Hannibal’s mouth.

“Please,” he pleaded, as if it was the only word he could say. “Please.”

“What do you need?” You rasped, kissing his neck and making him shudder.

“Have me, use me,” he said as Hannibal pulled back. “Leave nothing behind.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows in delighted surprise, watching you slide onto Will’s lap, straddling him.

“Careful what you wish for,” he said, smirking. “She just might make it come true.”

He stood and helped you pull your dress over your head. Will’s brows furrowed and he let out a small, agonized sound as he took you in. His hands roamed over you reverently, like a worshiper praising his goddess.

You did quick work of his belt, pulling off his pants as much as you could. You reached down and felt the velvety underside of his erection with the tips of your fingers. His hips bucked into your hand and you shushed soothingly, gently, promising to ease his torment.

And then, holding it by the base, you slowly sank down on his cock. His grip tightened on your hips, helping you move as Hannibal dipped down to kiss you. His fingers stroked up and down your throat, keeping your head tilted back and your chest exposed.

Will’s lips latched onto one of the hardened peaks of your nipples, and you felt his stubble graze the soft skin as he rubbed his face against your breast. He repeated his motions with the other one, grunting when he felt you clench down on him slightly. His teeth added an edge that made you buck and writhe, but neither let you move too far.

You palmed Hannibal’s growing bulge over his slacks as you dragged your tongue over his. He covered your hand with one of his, pressing your palm tighter against it. Your hips rolled against Will’s faster, your free hand buried in his hair, tugging slightly.

“Fuck me,” you could hear Will breathe out in tempo with your movements, like a hypnotic chant. “Oh, yeah, fuck me… just like that.”

“Katinėli, let me get a better taste of you,” Hannibal murmured deliriously, tilting your head to the side and biting into your shoulder.

You cried out, eyelids twitching as your eyes rolled back into your skull. It was that overwhelming rush that made the first orgasm violently slam against you. Momentarily, you became nothing but pure sensation, held aloft by the two of them.

When you came back into your body, Hannibal was mending the skin of your shoulder, undoing his slacks. You collapsed against Will, trying to catch your breath. He clung to you, in the last throes of his own release. As it turned out, the intensity of your climax had milked out his own. He smiled beatifically, his eyes heavy-lidded, long lashes fanning close to his cheekbones.

You couldn’t help a weak chuckle, lightly kissing his jaw. “Now you might need a break.”

“When I get my strength back, you’ll see… but for now, yes,” he said, also chuckling.

“All the better for me,” Hannibal said from behind you. Your back bowed as he planted a ticklish kiss on the base of your spine. “It’s my turn to reward you.”

Your gluttonous desire flared back to life, and you were pliant as he helped you off of Will, bending you over the back of the couch. Hannibal extended his hand towards him and said, “A little help?”

Will spat in his hand, and Hannibal slicked his saliva over his cock. You heard him suck in a breath as he pushed into you, stretching you slowly. Will offered you his hand and you threaded your fingers through his, keeping eye contact with him as Hannibal’s hips began snapping into yours.

Your mouth was slackened by wanton moans, your body pressed flat against the back of the couch as Hannibal bent over you. One of his hands was on the back of your neck, pinning you in place, while the other gripped your hip.

“Such a good girl for me,” he panted. “You did so, so good tonight.”

“Please, let me taste you too,” you begged, already losing yourself once more to the hazy oblivion.

He could deny you nothing, so he presented his wrist to your wanting mouth. The pain of your teeth was exquisite, and you drank with the greediness of the famished.

Drinking from each other was like falling in love all over again. Like the deepest embrace, beyond carnality; Beyond even the physical. More of his weight leaned on you as he slid in and out of you, faster and faster, the collective euphoria between you growing. His grunts and moans were like a savage melody to your ears, indicating that he was getting close.

Will was whispering praise and sweet nothings near your ear as you gripped his hand tighter. These soft coaxings, along with the soothing feeling that Hannibal’s blood brought, and you felt yourself dissolve once more like seafoam under the sunlight. The ecstasy was almost religious, a glimpse of the heaven you might never see beyond moments like this.

But if it meant your nights would be filled with such encounters, then you were more than okay with that.

With one last, triumphant growl, Hannibal came inside of you. His cock was fully sheathed in your cunt, his last few strokes short and tight, riding out every last wave of pleasure alongside you.

He slipped out of you, withdrawing his wrist from your mouth. You sat back down next to Will, leaning against him. With the last of your strength, grabbed the glass of water and helped him drink from it. The three of you shared sated, conspiratorial smiles, like you instinctively knew all along things would lead to this moment.

“How about a bath?” Hannibal offered, kissing your shoulders as he hovered near you. “We could all use some cleaning up.”

“That’s a good idea,” you said. “And then we can take better care of Will here. I want to make sure he recovers his strength, after all.”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, you’re so kind to think about me.”

You smiled a Cheshire cat’s grin. “See? I can give as much as I take.”

“I’m never doubting you again,” he said, glancing up at Hannibal. “Either of you. Hannibal was right about you all along.”

You nuzzled his neck. “Hmmm, if only you’d realized sooner, we’d have been much more amicable before this.”

“But I’m yours now too, aren’t I?”

Yes, he was, and neither you nor Hannibal had any plans to let him go any time soon.

-------

#will graham x hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #vampire!au #vampire!hannibal lecter #vampire!reader #minors dni

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Note

Vic!! I have a request pretty pls hehehe,

Creepy dark! Aemond forcing his way with fem!reader as she sleeps after stalking him for many moons? PWEASEEE

what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.

pairing: soft but dark!aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!reader

warnings: explicit language. nsfw smut. slight breeding kink towards the end. consented abduction. aemond is (as usual) obsessive and possessive but is actually kinda a sweetheart in this.

notes: ok so small thing: i kinda put my own twist to this request, because this sort of idea has lived in my head RENT FREE since forevvaaa. hope u enjoy it :)

masterlist

Dragonstone was quiet when arrived, the sea tide calm and peaceful.

Aemond Targaryen could not remember the last time he stepped foot in the castle, if he ever did at all, having spent the entirety of his life behind the bronze doors of the Red Keep. He did not care for the damned island, nor did he hold any love for its people, but his twentieth nameday was fast approaching, and his mother was insisting more and more that he take a wife soon.

“Now, where will you be,” he mumbles to himself as he rips off his riding gloves and tucks them into his belt.

The castle hallways were without light, and no houseguards stood afoot. Aemond smirks. It would be much easier for him to find you, tucked away in your own chamber.

Your personal chamber was nicely furnished, in the colors and style of your shared noble house, and had an aura belonging only to a Targaryen princess. Thick wool carpets covered the floor instead of harsh black stone, and your windows were cracked open just a little, with pretty drapes swaying from the light ocean breeze. The walls were hung with different tapestries, all of horses and dragons, and the doors were flanked by Valyrian sphinxes.

And to the corner was your bed, where you, his niece, lay atop, fast asleep.

Aemond wills his heart to continue beating, and for his cock to behave.

He has not laid eyes on you in almost a full decade, ten years too long for him. Both your parents whisked you away to Dragonstone when you were still a child, soft-faced and in the mid of girlhood.

They refused his mother’s offer for a betrothal between the two of you, and broke his heart to the tiniest of pieces that he wondered if they were still scattered around the Keep. But that was so many moons ago, and time slipped by him.

“Gods be good,” Aemond whispers, moving closer.

What has happened to that little girl, that kid niece of his? In her place sleeps a living goddess, too lovely for mankind. You’ve grown beautiful, a mirror image to your mother, his eldest sister. He bends to kiss your bare shoulder- just a simple and tiny kiss- and you stir in your sleep. It is cute, he admits, but he also can not wait another second longer.

Only the gods above know how much he’s wanted you.

With a hard yank, Aemond draws back the bedsheet covers, causing you to jolt up from the bed. You look around, confused and scared and still half-asleep, purple eyes clouding from drowsiness. In front of you sits a stranger, a man- silver-haired and cloaked in black riding leather. Across his eye, an eyepatch.

Your heart quickens at the sight. “Aemond…?” you call out, unsure.

He smiles, teeth and all. “You do not know how happy it makes me to know you are still able to recognize me, my niece. After all, it has been awhile- ten years, has it not?”

You shrug, trying to wipe the sleep away from your eyes. “What…what are you doing here?” you ask, while patting down the bed, looking for the sheets to cover your chest. “Should you not be at King’s Landing? Why are you here?” Your eyes grow as wide as a dinner plate as you soon add, “Oh no, has something happened? Is it my grandfather?”

But Aemond scoots closer, bringing his face to yours. “Do not fret, nice. I’m here on my own wishes,” and he twirls a thin strand of silver hair around his finger, humming as he watches it fall back around your shoulder. In that sheer Dornish nightgown, you look good enough to eat, and the princeling is feeling beyond ravenous.

“I’m here to collect a debt.”

Lucerys…you think, a sinking feeling in your chest. His stolen eye, that night on Driftmark…

Ten years and Aemond still seeks revenge.

“No,” Aemond says, shaking his head. He moves even closer, grabbing at your shoulders. His palms are rough and callous. “I would dare not hurt you. Anyone but you. You…” he sighs, “-you were promised to me, back when we were children. You were meant to be my wife, and they stole you from me. The only good fucking thing in my life, and it was taken away…”

He studies you, his eye running across your face, down your neck and to your chest.

That Dornish nightgown clings loose to your body, and he can see your nipples perk against the fabric. It sends blood rushing between his thighs. “Tell me, niece, what did I do to deserve that?”

“Aemond…”

“No!” he hisses, tightening his grip on you. “No! You have not the slightest idea of the fucking torture I’ve endured these years. The nights I stayed up, begging to the gods that I might have you. I thought…maybe if they heard my pleas, saw my faith, they would…but no. Ten years, and not a single glimpse of you.” Your breath hitches when he meets your gaze, “I dreamt of you, every damned night. Fought the urges to fly over and collect you from here…”

You shake your head. “Aemond…” you say, softly. “I’m betrothed to another, this cannot be.” You press your hand against his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch, and kiss his forehead. “I have missed you greatly, uncle, but it has been years! So many years. I’m to be married soon.” You pull back, “It is best if you return home, and start finding a lady of your own choosing.”

Aemond sighs, and inside his chest, he feels his heart being ripped apart again.

“You are right, my dearest niece. My sincerest apologies for waking you up, it was quite wrong of me. I shall see myself out,” and he kisses your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “I wish you all the luck in your marriage, and may your husband love and appreciate you till the dying days of his damned life.”

You smile at him, though a bit sad now. “Thank you, uncle. To you as well.”

The princeling turns to leave, and you sit up watching as he makes his way to your door, before sinking back into your bed. “Goodbye, Aemond,” you call out, one final time before your eyes close, failing to see him pause and turn around to look at you.

What was he doing? Foolish man, he thinks. Foolish, stupid man!

Was it in his nature to admit defeat so easily, and to some unnamed wastrel cunt of a man? No. Throughout his life, Aemond suffered nothing but tremendous losses, while being denied the goodness and fairness that a child should’ve had. His lips pucker at the thought.

You were right there, close enough for him to finally claim.

And so he did.

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Aemond tuts next to your ear, a heavy arm slung over your naked breasts as he holds you as close to his chest as possible. It feels as if he is frightened to let you go, worried you would disappear before his very eye, with another ten years slipping by until he finds you again.

His other hand lies between your trembling thighs, fingering you with such an intensity and speed that it leaves you utterly ruined and in tears. “Aemond…” you hiccup, nibbling at your bottom lip as he groans. “Fuck! You sound so good when you say my name like that. Gods be good, you are wet. Absolutely soaking my fingers. Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, using his thumb to rub at your clit. “Yeah…it does, doesn’t it?”

You sniffle, fat tears streaking down both cheeks as you nod.

Oh, it feels good. So good, but so wrong as well.

You were to be married in less than a fortnight, to a highborn lord of House Stark, handsome and kind. How would you explain this to him? Or to your parents, who proposed the marriage between you two? How would you tell them that you were ruined? And it was your uncle’s fault.

“Please, Aemond…”

Aemond grabs at your jaw, cradling it in his hand before pulling it close to his face. “Shhh, it will be alright, my love. Do not fret. You will be okay, just give in,” he whispers, quickening his fingers as he fucks them into you, curling two to hit your sweet spot. You almost scream, so overcome with pleasure that it hurts. “This is where you are meant to be, darling, make no mistake in believing that. My bride, my love.”

My woman, he thinks gleefully, watching how your face scrunches up. Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth press together in a tight line, and it is the most beautiful sight.

My woman, made for me. Made for my love and protection and seed…

Goosebumps prickle along your arms as wet sounds echo across the chamber, followed by a strew of whimpers and moans. It sounds so dirty, so sinful and wrong that you pray to whichever god was listening in that no one would overhear such, especially your parents and siblings. Your father would have Aemond’s head, no doubt, and your older brother might rob him of his only other good eye.

“Oh, fuck…” you moan, flinging your head back, “-don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

A minute or so later, your vision blackens, the room spins, and your jaw slacks as you cum plenty around his fingers, all with such a high-pitched shriek that Aemond slaps a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. “What did I say? Stay quiet!” he hisses before chuckling, smearing the mess around your folds while you make an attempt to catch your breath. “Very good, my love. You did so well for me.”

He brings a finger to his mouth, to suck at the taste. “Your taste is heavenly,” he moans, swirling his tongue around it. He then brings two to your mouth, swiping at the tiny bit of drool pooling before stuffing them in. “Suck. Taste yourself now.”

“Dirty girl,” Aemond hums, a smirk curving on his lips as he watches the way you lick and suck at his fingers. “You are digging a grave too deep to escape, darling.”

Ruin me, you want to say. If I’m to die, I rather it be in your hands than anyone else’s…

He lays you back down on the bed next, making sure your head rests comfortably against the pillows. Ten years, Aemond reminds himself. Ten fucking years. He can feel his resolve slowly weakening by the second. You’re too beautiful, too soft and womanly and perfect for him. Every fantasy he dreamt up during boyhood never claim as close as to this. “I dreamt of this for fucking years,” he admits while kissing your pink and pouty lips. “All the possible ways to take you, to fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Your legs wrap around his hips as he pushes his cock inside you. It is painful- undeniably painful- yet he swallows every cry and wince and moan that you give. Your fingernails dig into his skin from the terrible pain- the stretch and the sting and the weird feeling growing deep within your tummy.

“It is too much…!” you whimper against his lips. ��Hurts!”

“Of course it hurts, darling, it is your first time. Every woman hurts when a man takes her first blood. But you can take it.”

“No,” you whine, trying to shove him away. “No, Aemond, it hurts too much-” But Aemond only kisses your temple, sweet and gentle and lovingly, while rocking his hips against yours. “It’ll feel so good soon, my love, trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, not my precious and sweet girl,” he coos, leaning to rub your noses together, “-my brave girl.”

Ten years.

He could not stop, even if he wished to. No, not now that he finally has you, underneath his body and wet and ripe for his seed.

“I’ll give you our child,” he mutters beside your lips as he pinches your nipple between two fingers and keeps his thrusts hard, deep, and fast. All of it makes your face twist in a soft gasp, your body tightening as you feel that thick rush of pleasure from before, right before you creamed over his fingers.

“Take my seed and have our child. I promise to take you back to King’s Landing and marry you," he vows through ragged breaths, "and spend the rest of our lives making up for those ten years.”

“Aemond,” you pant, clutching onto his shoulders and dragging his face down for a kiss. His skin is sweaty and flushed, and he has never appeared so beautiful before. You love him. You love him so much, how did you spend ten years without seeing him? It makes no sense. You understand his woes now, clear as day, and you want to rid of them forever.

“I love you! I love you, I love you, make me your wife, please. Please!”

He feels your cunt tightening around his cock, and he is ready to give you everything: his heart, his soul, and his seed.

Come the morning, his son will be swelling within your belly, and he will have you seated atop Vhagar, flying back to the Keep to make you his wife, in both the eyes of the gods and the laws of the land.

The next day, at dawning, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter does not join her family to break fast together. Her three half-brothers and two half-sisters raise eyebrows as they munch quietly on their meals but keep silent, all until little Joffrey asks where his older sister might be. Rhaenyra does not know, and neither do the houseguards, the men of the small council, and the maesters, and it worries her greatly.

Her husband, though, is quick to remind her that the princess- ever their trueborn child- enjoys morning rides on dragonback. “Give her a few hours and she will surely return with a new story to tell us,” Daemon says, while sipping on his wine.

But a few hours turn into the rest of the day, and soon evening creeps by.

A raven arrives from King’s Landing, bearing the family a note:

“I’ve taken what was owed to me. Such a pity you all forgot that what was mine is still mine, regardless of time.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x you #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #request #vic writes 🧸

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sqirtle · 2 months

Note

Hello! Your isat siblings au is very good and now has me wondering about how stuff like Sif's wish might play out differently since they're not so horribly isolated. How do they end up thinking about discovering that they're an Islander if they've grown up more constantly reminded of their memory problems (the people who taught him vaugardian are people he's still living and traveling with)?

Unrelated but brain still whirring, do you think the way Sif and Bonny end up joining the party would end up looking different?

i explained the islander thing a few asks ago, but its because nille noticed they were! nille was also a teen when the island dissapeared, and, in the game, shes the one who taught bonnie how big of a deal it was! so of course she'd know. she's from the northern coast, after all :3 (im still figuring out sif's wish btw)

about how they meet the party, though! i was writing that scene just a few days ago, so i'll put that under a readmore :3

"It's fine, we're fine, Bug-"

Bonnie pushed weakly at Siffrin's arms, a pout in their face, "You keep saying that, but you look like crab, Frin."

The cloaked one sighed, "Language."

Bonnie huffed. Siffrin smiled.

He stared at the road ahead, and fixed Bonnie's position so they wouldn't fall, and continued walking.

It had been days (weeks? close to a month? he'd lost count and despite all of his "progress" he still couldn't bring himself to ask Bonnie for help with this one) since they'd had to run from Bambouche, and while he liked to think himself a capable adult, the sudden change to traveling on his own after living comfortably with Nille and Bonnie for almost a decade, now, had thrown them for a loop.

They were hungry, tired, and stressed. He had managed to keep Bonnie fed well enough, but he didn't risk staying anywhere for too long, fearing the curse catching up to them.

Catching up to him, and leaving Bonnie alone, like it had caught up to Nille. Catching up to Bonnie-

He tried not to think too hard.

His legs shook with every step. Bonnie was not too heavy for them to carry, of course not, but they were exhausted.

He set them down.

“Frin?” Bonnie asked, tilting their head.

“Break time.” He stated, slumping down next to them.

Bonnie nodded easily, laying their head on his shoulder, “Do you think.. that we will find a clean town?”

Clean town, dirty town… That’s how they’d taken to differentiating curse affected towns from normal ones. Bonnie had come up with it.

They were yet to find a clean town.

“Maybe. But only after tomorrow, Bug.” There was no use promising a certain date, but wording it like that was kinder, he thought.

“You think so?”

Siffrin smiled. “Yeah, for sure, Bon.”

He'd just had to make sure to word it differently, next time.

Then, suddenly, out of the corner of their eye...

They rested there for a few minutes. The forest was not quiet, as wind was picking up, making the leaves rustle loudly.

A sadness. Paper type, by the looks of it.

They hurried to stand so they could pick Bonnie and run, but…

Three people were fighting it.

Well.. fighting it seemed like a stretch. It looked like they were struggling against it, in Siffrin's personal opinion.

Really struggling. One of them was K.O.’d, the other looked like a rock type, and the other…

He swallowed. He looked at Bonnie, who was dozing off in his arms, and made a decision.

"Bon, hey," he nudged them, and they turned to him, "Stay here for a sec, I will be right back, okay?"

Bonnie blinked, and nodded, their eyes full of trust.

Siffrin smiled, patted their shoulder.

Then, he lunged forward.

"AH!!" One of the strangers exclaimed, and fell back in surprise. He ignored him, and attacked the sadness with their favorite attack, and exclaimed:

"Knife to meet you!" as they attacked.

He fell on his feet, the sadness poofing behind him, and he huffed a shaky breath. He then turned to the strangers, an easy smile on his face, "Hello," he waved.

They stared silently for a few seconds.

The one in the middle- a girl- smiled wide, and reached forward to grab their hand, "Hello! Thank you so much for your help!" She beamed.

Siffrin jolted a bit from the sudden contact, but smiled back, "It was, uh, it was no problem!"

One of the other two who were hanging back, an older lady, nodded along, "Yes, thank you." She said, looking out of breath, "That sadness..."

"Was tough! Really tough!" The other person exclaimed, "I could barely get a hit in!"

"Good thing I took it by surprise then-" Siffrin said, turning back his head to look for Bonnie, "I- nice to meet you, really, but-"

"Wait, wait, wait!" The girl said, not letting go of his hand, "Quest! We're on a quest, to stop the king's curse!!"

Siffrin turned back to her quickly at that, "The... curse? Like the freezing?"

"Yes!" She beamed, "And you seem strong! Won't you join us?"

Siffrin blinked, gaping a little, "Me?"

"Yes, you!" The girl insisted.

"I-" They paused, thinking. If they could help them... then, Nille...

"Okay, I'll help!" He said resolutely.

The man behind the girl put a hand on her shoulder, "Mira! Won't you introduce us?"

She blushed, "Right! I'm Mirabelle, I'm immune to the King's curse! He," She pointed to the man, "Is Isabeau, and she," She pointed to the lady who was still catching her breath, "Is Madame Odile! What's your name?"

Siffrin smiled, "I'm Siffrin- and I have my little sibling with me back there," He pointed back to the bushes with his thumb, and took a step back, "I'll uh, be right back?"

Mirabelle's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Oh! Oh, uh! Sure!"

He quickly ran back to his sibling, trying to calm his still racing heart, "Bonnie, you can come out now." He said, pushing aside a bush.

Bonnie's head popped up behind it, "Was that a sadness?" They asked, "I heard people. Did we find a town?"

Siffrin ruffled their hair, making them groan playfully, "No, but I did find some nice people who say they're gonna stop the freezing."

Bonnie stood up, surprised, "REALLY?"

He smiled, "Yes, really! They want us to tag along, what do you think?" He asked gently, already knowing the answer.

"CRAB YEAH!" Bonnie exclaimed, excited, "Nille- she- she's gonna be okay!!!" They smiled a toothy grin, relieved.

Siffrin nodded, patting their shoulder, "Yeah, yeah."

He took their hand in theirs, and walked back to Mirabelle's party. They ignored how tired they felt, and gave everyone a easy smile.

Chin up, Siffrin. You've got a sister to save.

#isat #isat siblings au #isat spoilers #isat au #isat act 3 spoilers #i think. i cant remmeber #isat siffrin #isat mirabelle #isat isabeau #isat odile #kinda idk #isat fic #in stars and time #isat bonnie #isat act 4 spoilers #isat act 5 spoilers #pato art

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dragonflylady77 · 3 months

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i got you a whole flower shop

A Harringrove Valentine's Day fic I wrote this afternoon

present for @shieldofiron and also @lovebillyhargrove

oh and it's on ao3

Steve walks into a florist shop on Valentine's Day but his plans change after he gets a text not meant for him and he finds himself faced with Billy freaking Hargrove looking like every wet dream Steve has ever had in the past fifteen years since he finished high school.

“Sorry, I’ll be right with you.”

Steve made a vague noise of acknowledgement, too busy staring at the message he’d opened as he’d stepped into the first flower shop he’d spotted.

“Can’t wait to see you tonight baby. I’ll tell Steve I have to work late. Love you x”

He blinked a few times but the words didn’t change. The text was clearly not meant for him. Or maybe it was, he rationalised. That was one way to break up with your boyfriend without having to have the conversation.

He ran a tired hand over his face and put his phone back in his pocket. He wouldn’t need flowers after all. He tried to remember how much stuff he’d left at Jamie’s place during the few months they’d been dating and wondered if there was anything he’d miss if he didn’t get it back.

“I am sorry but it turns out I don’t actually need flowers after all,” he said, his eyes floating over the various buckets of colourful blooms in front of him.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” The voice sounded surprised and familiar and Steve turned around to face its owner.

“Hargrove?” Steve said in shock, stepping closer to the counter. He hadn’t seen Billy Hargrove since graduation fifteen years ago. “What are you doing in Chicago? I always thought you went back to Cali…”

Billy shrugged and Steve took a moment to really look at him. He still had those light brown, almost golden, curls that Steve had always wanted to run his fingers through, piled high in a bun, his face fuzzy with scruff, blue eyes trained on Steve. That part at least was familiar. Steve let his eyes move down, taking in the white tee, tight across the front under the black apron with the shop’s logo on it, Billy’s biceps bulging when he crossed his arms over his chest. Steve’s mouth felt very dry all of a sudden and hoo, was it always this hot in this store?

Billy raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He did, however, run that tongue of his along his bottom lip, another familiar sight, one that resonated inside Steve’s chest, in a place he’d been ignoring for years.

“Um, sorry, didn’t mean to…” Steve fumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. Fuck. He was being so awkward for no reason. He was usually a little bit better at human interactions.

“It’s okay, pretty boy, I know my good looks can be distracting,” Billy replied with a chuckle and Steve felt his face heat up. “To answer your question, my car broke down outside of St Louis and I realised I’d been kidding myself. There was nothing in Cali for me anymore. And I couldn’t leave Max alone with Neil.”

“Ah. I-I heard about him but Max never said—”

“I told her to keep a secret. Couldn’t risk Neil finding out. I made it back to Indianapolis on the Greyhound. Met a nice lady on the bus who offered me a place to stay for a while. Worked my ass off in a bunch of different jobs. Mona and her partner kinda adopted me, so when they moved to Chicago, I followed.”

“That’s why Max went to college in Chicago, isn’t it? Because you were there too?” Steve asked, a few things making more sense now that he knew about Billy.

“Yep. Got her out of the dorms too. She loved it at Mona’s as much as I did.”

Steve smiled. He was glad that Billy and Max had gotten away from his asshole father. He had only managed it himself recently, after more than a decade of working for his dad, being belittled every time Richard Harrington was in the office, no matter how good Steve actually was at doing his job. He’d jumped at the chance when he’d seen that job listing in Chicago and he’d cherished forever the memory on his father’s face when he’d handed in his resignation.

“That’s great, Billy,” he finally replied, and meant it.

“What about you, princess? What brings you to the Windy City?”

“Oh, I live here too. Been here about three years, I think. I don’t have to tell you how good it felt to be able to tell my dad I was leaving and he could shove it.”

“Ooooh, go Stevie! Always knew you had it in you.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Took me twelve years but I got there in the end…”

“That’s what matters.” Billy grinned. “So, what are you after? Roses for your girl, on account of the day? Or something more original?”

“Oh, um, I, um…” Steve sighed. “I was gonna get flowers for my boyfriend, but after the text I got before, I don’t think I will.”

“Boyfriend?” Billy was staring and Steve realised he probably needed to elaborate a little.

“Yeah… My best friend Robin helped me realise some important things about myself after high school. She made being queer in Hawkins a lot easier. We were flatmates for ages then she moved to Chicago to be with her girlfriend. You know her, actually, Heather? Holloway?”

“Oh. Wow. Yeah, I remember Heather. So you’re…”

“Bi. Yeah.”

“And you have a boyfriend.” The way Billy said it, it wasn’t a question.

It left a bad taste in Steve’s mouth. He got his phone out of his pocket again and sent Jamie a text saying they were over.

“I had a boyfriend.” Steve snorted. “Whoever he meant to text when he texted me can have his cheating ass.”

“You don’t seem too cut up about it,” Billy said, his eyes roaming over Steve and Steve found that he liked it. All at once, memories of basketball training and all the posturing and looks Billy would send him in the showers and hallways of Hawkins High took on a different flavour. All the pet names Billy used to call him when they were teenagers… the same ones he’d used a couple of times in the past ten minutes they’d been chatting.

“I’d only been seeing him for a couple of months, wasn’t anything serious.” Steve decided to take a chance. He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the counter. “It does mean I am now free tonight…”

Billy mirrored his actions, the smile on his face genuine and warm. “Is that so, pretty boy?”

“Uh huh… yanno, in case anyone was wondering.”

“That’s certainly pertinent information.”

“I thought so.” Steve leaned a little closer, smiling when Billy did too. “What time does this fine establishment close?”

“Right now,” Billy replied, without a glance at his watch as he removed his apron and set it on the counter next to them.

“Really? Won’t you get in trouble with your boss for closing early on Valentine’s Day?”

“I’m the boss and I have a hot date,” Billy said with that smirk that had always made Steve’s blood boil. Only now he could name that emotion for what it was: lust. There was something else in Billy’s eyes, something more magical and durable.

“Anyone I know?” Steve asked, his heart beating double time in his chest.

Billy didn’t reply, instead he rounded the counter and came to a stop in front of Steve with a grin. He cupped Steve’s face with both hands and breached the last inches separating them, bringing their mouths together. Steve moaned, his hands on Billy’s wrists to hold him there. He opened his lips to Billy’s questing tongue the second he felt it, pouring all that he was feeling into the kiss, and getting it back ten fold.

Steve let go of Billy’s wrists to grab his waist and dragged him closer. He couldn’t get enough of Billy, hands roaming up his back and down to cup that ass Steve had been dreaming about for months after high school, sparking his bi awakening.

“Fuck, Billy, I’m sorry it took me so long to find you again,” Steve said, breaking the kiss to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Billy’s.

“S’okay, Stevie, you’re here now,” Billy said, dipping his head for a quick kiss. He buried his fingers into Steve’s hair and locked eyes with him. “Never letting you go now I’ve got you, though, I hope you know that.”

“Fine with me,” Steve said as he wrapped his arms around Billy’s middle, delighted to feel Billy’s hard body against his.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve. I don't know what flowers you like yet, so I got you a whole flower shop.”

Steve laughed as Billy locked up for the night then they went up to the apartment Billy was renting above the shop where Billy cooked them dinner. Then they spent all night in bed, worshipping each other, and it was the best Valentine’s Day Steve had ever had.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #dragonflylady77 #valentine's day #florist billy hargrove

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seikkoi · 19 days

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ꜱᴜɢᴀʀ | dom!tony stark x sugarbaby!reader ( ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ!ᴀᴜ )

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ [1, 2, 3] | ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

There was nothing that could keep Tony from having exactly what he wanted—and he deserved a little sweetness in his life. All he had to do was keep from ruining you in the process.

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. non-canon, non-superhero au, sub/dom undertones, slight emotional/verbal manipulation, obsessive + possessive behavior, age gap (reader described as mid-twenties, t.s as mid-forties), mildly dubious consensual situations, explicit mentions of alcohol and drug use, generally not for the light of heart, rough sexual content, reader described as petite word count: 10k

“I have not been meeting with Steve.” you scowled behind gritted teeth. Balled fists return to your side. Pin-point daggers shoot back, unphased.

It’s an absurd notion on its own, that you betray him in the slightest. You also know you’ve had sneezes last longer than that conversation–how the hell did Tony know about it?

“Try again.” He doesn’t return your heat in his voice, leaving that to be felt through his grasp.

“Fine, I ran into Steve, but come on, you seriously think I would–”

“Not sure what to think given how easy it just was for you to lie to me.”

“You’ve been lying to me from the start!”

You pulled yourself from his grasp, tossing the bag onto the island. Cream marble and translucency make for wonderful camouflage, almost losing itself in the light entirely.

“I’d hardly call my personal habits comparable to sneaking around.”

Adrenaline does what it knows best, keeping you pliant and pissed. Two things that erode rationalism like rust. The iron spreads to whatever argument you would’ve made had there been more time to prepare. Or sense to see the mosaic pattern here. Time stills for no more than a few seconds–and that’s all Tony needs.

“So, go ahead, please. Tell me more about what I should think .”

He says it so permissively, you might have obliged if his jaw loosened even a bit to do so. That tiny breadth of space is stalked through by shiny leather oxfords. You’re given a not so pleasant reminder of his stature when he's in front of you again, more overwhelming than before. The cool stone island digs into your back.

“Here I was actually worried something could have happened to you–turn’s out you’re searching for, what , exactly?”

The reversal almost worked, really. The reminiscent guilt came back as it always does. You felt the same way for wanting to leave back in California months ago. Even all that time ago in that dimly lit boutique. Tony showed you time and time again how much he loved you– wanted you, and here you were, finding another reason to push him away.

You were so close to giving in. The marble’s nearly swallowed the powdery bag whole by now, for it takes you longer to see the plastic outline bouncing back at you.

Tony waits, hands tucked into the pocket of his suit pants (in a very deliberate attempt to hide his own unease). His eyes still bore back into you like a hawk, and you wanted to surrender to them until their pin-point, reddened nature dawned on you. Then, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the tempo beating fast your own. The shake in his hands when he held you in place.

To Tony, you meet his eyes with something far more heart-piercing than anger, and he gets a sick feeling of deja vu. You wouldn’t know–his face stone cold from years of practice. But this close, you can see something worse.

“You’re wasted right now .”

You don’t bother making it a question (it’s a quiet scoff). Nor do you bother to wait for the response he’s struggling to muster. Decades of life yet he lacked a great deal of experience in getting called on his shit. All the air seems to leave the room, saving just the few breaths you have remaining in your lungs.

“We’re done.”

You use them wisely, calmly , even, to head for the elevator and as far away from this as possible. Despite the fact your ears are ringing. Don’t ask where you find the willpower. You push past him, rather easily because Tony moves for the sanctity of his shoulder and knee.

Your fingers go to grace the brass buttons, but Tony crosses the threshold with far fewer steps and positions himself between you and the opening door.

“ Move , Tony.” you say sternly, though it feels ridiculous raising your voice at someone whose gaze you have to look up to meet.

“Don’t want to keep Mr. America waiting, of course.”

“Seriously?” you scoff, eyes rolling. “You’re still on that?”

“I don’t know, you still wanna lie to me?”

“How many times do I need to tell you–”

“I know you were with him, so you can cut the bullshit.”

“I told you, I ran into Steve. That’s . It. ” you respond, making another move for the button just for Tony to shift an inch to the left.

“You two looked very cozy outside that bar. Let me guess, he ordered a Manhattan and you just couldn’t say no.”

“For god’s sake, no . He came out while I was waiting and asked me not to tell you–end of story.” You’d hoped that added details would be enough to assuage him–at least to move out of your way.

“So, you decided all on your own to rummage through the bathroom?”

As many of his questions tend to be, he already knows the answer. Even still, the look you give is telling on its own.

“I mean, really–” he chuckles dryly, “Please tell me what is so special about him that you keep trusting him over me.”

“He, for one, isn’t controlling or watching my every move–out of the way, Tony.” you repeat, exhausted.

Tony’s eyes dart down to the elevator panel he’d done such a phenomenal job of blocking, before glancing back at your pleading face. That seems to do the trick, because he presses the call button himself and gestures open arms into the small space.

“By all means, knock yourself out.”

Shocked, but without another word, you enter. As you turn and press L for the lobby, you expect Tony’s irate face staring back at you.

Instead, you catch the patterned fabric lining the back of his suit vest as he walks away.

Once the elevator doors shut, Tony loses his last semblance of composure.

A sheer crystal serving tray by the stove behind him, topped with an array of ornate glasses, is thrown straight across the kitchen where it crashes to a million pieces at the plush living room rug.

He truly does not enjoy your penchant for storming off today or any other day.

Today is the worst, though, for two reasons. One, he’s not certain that letting you leave was the best move in the long-term. Two, you promised never to do this in the first place–you fucking promised.

Another innocent bystander (this time a glass pitcher) joins the pile in the living room.

Stuttery hands brace the counter. It’s of little effort for him to keep a hardened facade in the face of anger, but now that you’re not here to see it, the stone mask cracks. Shame, guilt, anger and that sneaky trickster known as self-righteousness blend up into something new entirely. There’s no pride in this for him, truly.

The billionaire was so certain when he saw the photos. You and fucking Rogers of all people, talking so close. Paranoia and a lack of reasonable perspective means his first thoughts are not pleasant in any shape or form. He wasn’t controlling , everything he did was preventative. This was self-confirmation (and a shit ton of jealousy). You’d simply done the thing he was most afraid of.

Or it was the thing he was most afraid of.

The counter stays tight under his grasp until his hands sport two fresh indentations, cursing himself and trying not to think about how breakable the chandelier is.

Just as he was sure of the photos, he was sure of you . You wouldn’t leave him, you were here to stay, you wanted him–right?

Only now under the cool touch of marble does he realize those ideas could never possibly co-exist.

No one as good to him as you would betray him, you wouldn’t. But you could reach the breaking point he sought so heavily to avoid in the beginning.

All alone in his tower built atop money and bad habits, the chandelier is spared as the great Tony Stark starts to break instead.

That is until he remembers he isn’t alone.

“Jarvis.” he calls out, and the older man emerges from the hallway no louder than a mouse.

Don’t feel embarrassed, the walls and loyal ears have certainly heard worse. Discretion is 90% of his job after all. In fact, right now he’s pretending not to notice the tears running down Tony’s face.

“Find out where she went.”

Tony keeps his head trained to the countertop anyway, just in case. Jarvis turns to follow through his instructions, but stops as soon as he starts. Decades of serving the Stark family is enough to know he’s probably better off holding his tongue. He speaks for your sake.

“Sir, I suspect she went home.”

At this, the wetness is dried by his shirt sleeve, already grabbing his coat to follow you.

“Sir,” Jarvis quickly interjects, Tony’s fingers on the call button. “Might I suggest…waiting until the morning?”

He doesn’t need to say why. Tony can guess well enough.

You actually had no destination in mind. The thought of home felt disgustingly empty, and the reminder that you only still had it because of Tony would definitely stay persistent. You couldn’t bear to think about what you might've done to pay for it otherwise. Going to a friend’s would require an explanation you absolutely could not give. For a while, you wander just as before. You must look insane to the people passing by–makeup definitely stained and running.

A rudimentary pros and cons list is drafted, revised, deleted, and drafted once more. Sure, you didn’t have a slew of loves to compare it to, but you knew the one you had for Tony was irreplaceable. No one ever made you feel this wanted , this loved , this special . No ex of yours left a dozen roses by your door–or waited in the car for hours while you slept. They didn’t fill their lacquer kitchen cabinets with herbal teas just because you mentioned liking them once . Hibiscus and rooibos flooded Tony’s kitchen so long as it kept you happy . Every other relationship was a caustic whirlpool. Tony was a dizzying fantasia. You gleefully closed your eyes so many times that the thought of opening them made you nauseous.

You swallow stale bile and keep walking.

The dusky hue in the sky grows to a fine oceanic blue above you until you gain enough sense to go home. Out of spite (and totally not because you have no other way), you take the subway home, cheeks raw from the night’s sharp wind on your tears.

Your heels clank awkwardly on the metal descent, echoing on the platform. It’s empty, sharply different from the vamping nightlife outside. It’s not long before your train hustles down the track, stepping on to an disturbingly, equally empty train car.

You slump into the first empty seat you see. In a calmer mood, you might’ve bothered with your phone, instead staring into your reflection on the glass pane. The gentle rocking starts soon after, and you work on putting your mind somewhere besides bergamot and red.

Tony does not like waiting.

He would be working, if he could find even a shadow of concentration. All he can think about is you– the grit in your voice.

At some point in his marathon around the penthouse, the small pile of glass is quietly cleaned away. Out of sheer boredom (and latent regrets), he considers creating a new one.

Why would you leave him– how could you leave him?

In the idle night hours, pacing from room to room, Tony almost wishes you had cheated on him. Then, he could be right. He could skip past silly little thought pieces over his vices addiction and fly straight to indignity. It wouldn’t be his fault, would it? He wouldn’t have to explain a damn thing to a world that didn’t care for him.

Everyone betrayed him in the end, even you.

With enough clarity, he might be able to see the shame hiding under all that self-righteousness, but alas. Years of practice and all.

The best he can do for now is scalding admonishment.

And a pinch of paranoia that his own actions caused Steve to seek you out–again. Tony knew the soldier was stupid, but that would be moronic . He made himself perfectly clear this morning, no shot Steve chose this as the method for exacting his revenge. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret amongst Tony’s circle that you were to be left ignorant, you weren’t like them . Really, he’d purposefully (and harshly) informed this as much. If Steve wanted to embarrass him then he failed succeeded miserably. The fact he would even attempt such a thing is the greater offense.

Tony’s self-indulgent, not an idiot. Even under watered layers of complexes, he knows the greatest offense lies ten feet away on his kitchen counter. In fact, it’s what keeps him awake through the night. Awake and thinking–thinking about how fucking flawlessly he was keeping everything under wraps. This infallible image he crafted for you was gone. No longer could he hide behind a glass barrier of false separation. Foolish Tony–believing a second chance would come so freely.

He made the same mistake twice. The odds he’d get a third chance were slim to none. At the time, he felt lucky to even have Pepper. Clearly he’s doing something worth rewarding on this Earth, because then he found you. Or, alternatively, God realized what a disservice he’d done by walking missile Tony’s way in the first place.

You were invaluable. Nothing like his playboy flings or one-night stands. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew his life would never be the same without you.

You promised , and he intends to make good on it even if you won’t.

Tony can’t recall the last time he waited for a damn thing in his adult life (much less to sober up), and he doesn’t care much for starting something new today. Then, he remembers just how much patience he has for you. He waits for you patiently as you oggle every mural, piece of street art, or weird boutique. He waits as quietly as can be while you sleep, and he waited months for you to feel comfortable enough to spend consecutive nights at his home.

There’s a pit growing in his chest–one screaming that his hard work might be swirling down the drain. How stupid he was for letting you storm off. With each passing second, you were sinking further from his grasp.

To hell with waiting.

After all, he’s Tony Stark –he’d deny himself of nothing he desired. He didn’t work this hard to settle for less than that.

In his defense, he does attempt to do the courteous thing of calling before showing up randomly in the middle of the night. Your phone, hopelessly abandoned deep in your purse, rings to no answer. It totally doesn’t make him more irate.

One extremely lonely, and infuriating train ride later, you make it home. You jump when a knock vibrates through your apartment–though you know there’s only one person who’d show up in the middle of the night. Still, you tiptoe across the living to peer through the peephole anyway. While you were not super enthusiastic about seeing him outside your door this soon, the defeated slump in his shoulders gives you some satisfaction.

A very brief, stereotypical through-the-door conversation ensues. You shout for him to leave, to which Tony provides the usual platitudes to just open the door and you respond further with a stout fuck no . You roll your eyes at his continued pleas, and turn for your bedroom. He could sit out there and talk to the door all night like a madman if it suited him, but you weren’t going to spend a precious second on this earth listening to it.

You don’t even make it past your couch before you hear what you swear to god cannot be your lock turning. God, Buddha, and everything else divine must have been busy, because Tony stands in the entryway, illuminated by the kitchen stove light.

“Have you lost your mind ? Where the hell did you get a key?”

He shrugs and looks around like it’s obvious.

“The lease holder is usually given a key, especially if they’re paying.”

The aghast scoff can’t wait to leap from your throat.

“You know what, fuck you .” you spat, flying past him to the door. “No good deed , huh?”

Somewhere between you storming out earlier in the night and his decision to come here (or maybe walking up the creaking stairs) he seems to have gotten the impression you were in a joking mood. There’s nothing but sweetness in his voice now, yet you still can’t trust that you know where his head’s at. Your night had been tumultuous enough without him showing up.

Your fingers just barely wrap around a cool metal knob, the hall light leaving a thin warm line on your face. Tony braces a heavy palm above your head the second it does, closing it shut with a frame wobbling thud .

“A bit rude to run out on me twice, don’t ya think?” he smirks, looking down at you.

“A bit rude to force your dirty money on someone then hold it over their head, don’t you think?” you mock, stupidly trying to pull the handle open a second time, unbudging against Tony’s palm, biceps testing the elasticity of his silk shirt. You were getting tired of constantly feeling trapped.

You wish you’d stay far away, in the safety of the living room where citrus didn’t take you over. Where that hopeless little part of your brain could stay quiet and not scream to wrap your arms around his torso. Also because the door doesn’t move a fucking centimeter, so it was a waste of energy regardless.

“If you wanted someone who’d let you work yourself to death or end up on the street, you should’ve called that guy from your high school reunion back. You know–the real handsy one with the mohawk.”

“I’ll get right on that if you move out of the fucking way.”

“Please, like I’d ever allow that.” Tony laughs, and you’re wondering why you appear as some sort of one-woman comedy act by every man in this city.

“What the hell do you want? I told you–I’m done with this.”

He ends his chuckle with a tsk , leaving you in the living room to sit at your kitchen table. The feet of the metal chair make a discordant screech across the linoleum and he turns the seat towards you before sitting.

“You don’t mean that, honey.” Tony smiles, tapping his shoes against the floor.

“I meant it.”

He gestures back towards the entryway.

“Nothing but space and opportunity to run away again, what’s stopping you?”

“You just said you wouldn’t let me.” You’re giving it your all not to shout, to scream at him for how insane this is. If you were still at the tower, you might not have bothered–far away from neighbors with loose lips and thin walls.

“I’d never allow you to waste your time with someone else. Storm off as much as you like–that won’t keep you from me.”

It’s all cool words and charisma, with a sickeningly violet weight that flips your stomach. He’s far across the space, and the door is still within inches of your grasp.

“Find literally anyone else to sit here and play this game with you.”

“What part of ‘ I want you, and only you ’ do you not understand?”

The kitchen stove light still illuminates his figure, casting a dim shadow over his back to shadow his figure across the floor. His feet continue to tap idly, head resting on his palms as if confused to why such a statement even needed to be told to you (again).

“You were getting along just fine before you met me, go back to that–I don’t want any part of whatever the hell else it is you’ve been lying about–”

“I’m not letting you go.”

That sweetness is his voice is pushed out to make room for pure desperation. The words waiver as they leave him, clearly fighting against whatever instinct wanted to hold it in, though you can’t help wondering if that’s all that caused the shake. An air of silence falls, where he watches you from the kitchen with stabbing eyes. Walking away is logical, but something unnatural freezes you in place. Plus, you’re not certain he wouldn’t fly to the door again the moment you touch it.

“Why me?”

Another short silence and this time you’re the one to take advantage of it, louder than you needed to be.

“And why accuse me of sneaking around? I barely even spoke to him how the hell did you know–”

“Were you not?”

Your nostrils flare, nails digging into tight wound palms. Water droplets leave the kitchen faucet in out of time drips. This is why your fingers shook and bore a million typos to correct. Lying to Tony Stark was one of the stupidest riskiest things you could do.

“I just needed time to think–”

“To play Nancy Drew..” He corrects. It’s not tempered, just matter-of-factly–like a lawyer pointing out bad evidence.

“I needed to see for myself–”

“ Asking totally wasn’t an option.” Tony meets your volume with too much ease.

“Like you would have told me the truth !”

“I’ve never lied to you–”

“Oh, right , you only speak in half-truths, or say it’s nothing to ‘concern myself with ’!” Your anger pulls you across the creaky floors of the entryway, feet tethering on the wood boundary lining off the tile of the kitchen.

“You’re not–”

“That’s the real reason Pepper left you, isn’t it? Not any of that bullshit you tried to sell me L.A–she left because you play like some larger-than-life billionaire and not the shady piece of shit you are.”

You don’t have to continue your slow stampede into the kitchen, as the chair makes another unsettling screech on the tile when Tony suddenly stands. An indignation only complimentary to your own is expected, but it isn’t what you get.

“I didn’t come here to be judged by you.” His mouth barely moves to say it–as even the slightest parting would cause him to shout back and have the fight you seem to be dying to have.

“Why the hell are you here?” A better phrased, more favored question in your opinion would have been ‘ why did you break into my apartment after I dumped you? ’, but the answer’s surely the same.

Tony can glare down lasers at you as much as he likes, he’s not getting his way (for once)–you aren’t crumbling (for once).

“I need you.”

That disgusting, heart-string tugging desperation comes back and it turns out you still haven’t built your defense strong enough. You’re taken aback, because you had prepped for a full blown argument. You had enough ammo loaded up to keep this going all night. But somehow, it’s a heavier three-word declaration than I love you . It’s not a murmur or with a racing chest.

And it is wholly true. Life had him placed on a giant, constant stage. Where he needed to be someone else–someone stronger and with rougher edges. It kept him enclosed. Where everything he hated about himself was reflected in everyone and everything around him. That kind of cycle is self-feeding. A snake gnawing at its exhausted tail for eternity. It was a spur of the moment decision to stop for a drink that night. Truthfully, he had more than enough already coursing through his veins, but the tower felt emptier than usual in his mind, and this career warrants you very few friends.

Maybe it was the flickering neon signs–glowing brand names across the sidewalk. The bustling noise flooded the rest of the quiet street like an overflowing bucket. It was a grimy, crowded hole in the wall–small, and cut away from the sprawling residential neighborhood around it. It reminded him of his life before he fucked it up. When no one knew his name or where he came from.

You were just an added bonus. He had planned to relish in the chaos of everyone around as he drank for inebriation instead of taste for once. But dark red nails pass him the glass, and he finds himself stuck watching them for the rest of the night. Despite the man Tony was, he wasn't anyone to you, and a woman like you shouldn’t have been anything to him.

He comes back simply out of craving. That anonymity , that freedom. From responsibility, from judgment. Tony realizes he’s befriended the snake too long. He accepted everything around him as a product of fate and piss-poor luck.You changed that. You made him remember a long forgotten fact–that everything he wanted was within arms reach.

Suddenly, your eyes take great interest in grout speckling the tile below. There wasn’t enough room for disbelief in the quaint walls of your apartment.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t see me, as–I don’t know, me?” he exhales, running over his face as he re-takes his seat.

“You,” you trail off, shoulders loosening just to earn a small tremble. “--actually mean that.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You’re gathering the bravado to say something along the lines of ‘ well asshole you were high as a kite when you told me you loved me and never said it again ’. Maybe without the asshole part. A difficult act indeed.

"I didn’t sign up for any of this." you murmur, trying to quench any further questions and avoid a very stern ‘ I told you so ’. But Tony's gaze remains fixed on your arm, making your nerves spike. “–if I had known everything, your work–”

“You wouldn't have agreed to see me, really ?” Tony grins and cocks an eyebrow that you miss in your deep inspection of the tile. “You weren’t clueless when we met.”

“I wasn’t but–”

“But what?” He sharply interjects. He can’t stand how your eyes land anywhere but him. This conversation is giving him deja vu, and not the whimsical kind. It’s the kind that wraps around the body and stops the flow of blood. “All of sudden you wanna have a ‘ come to Jesus ’ moment and find some moral high ground?”

Tony’s, unsurprisingly, not wrong. You had good enough sense the moment he slipped into that barstool, asking for a whiskey list as if the knife-shaped tear in the cushion couldn’t tell him that was pointless. A brief glance and finger of Jack Daniels was all he got from you. You spent the rest of the hour catering to the usual Friday night crowd of drunks, only thinking of him again when the shiny green bills made a funny reflection underneath his empty glass.

Honestly, you were more surprised no one took it for themselves.

It’s when he shows up a second night that you bother with conversation (purely out of gratitude and nothing else, right?). It’s the second night when you stay so, so much later than you should have, talking to someone you knew you shouldn’t be. You ignored it all then, just as you have for the last eight months. Burying your worries under a mountain of attachment and clouds of insecurity.

You were lucky. Shit, you feel that same gratuitous pang right now. Grateful that he still wanted you. Actually, to put it in his words– needed you. You’re not certain how much longer you could’ve kept it buried if you hadn’t asked Steve directly. You didn’t want him to be right, but all he did was validate every worry and order a swift excavation of everything you hoped wasn’t true.

“I kept telling myself that it was nothing, but–”” you trail off quietly.

“ But ?” he repeats.

You definitely can’t meet his gaze now, waiting for him to call you naive or tell you that this is somehow some huge misunderstanding. He doesn’t speak, though, and you can’t stop your mouth from opening under the weight of everything spinning in your head.

“But Steve says you’ve been doing this since you were in college.”

“That’s how Steve tells that story?” He scoffs.

“Come on, what else? Lay it on me, doll.” You watch a misshapen shadow stretch the length of the kitchen as Tony makes a dramatic beckoning of the hand.

“Why? So you can figure out what you don’t have to admit to?”

He takes a deep sigh that shifts into a short chuckle.

“You’ve been told a very half-cocked story, my apologies for trying to fix that. Trust me, Steve’s had it out for me for a while now.”

“I trust him a lot more than you right now.”

“That would be a bad choice.”

You snap your head up at the scorn. Where you gained this inclination to shoot back at everything with fire–you don’t know. You swear it’s just Tony, where sometimes you just want to match his arrogance tenfold.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that? I’ve learned more about you from him and so far, he hasn’t been wrong.”

“You know more about me than anyone, without running around behind my back.”

“Yeah, there's just the woman you’re still married to, the cocaine in your bathroom, your company, whatever the hell it is you do while I’m sleeping because you surely aren’t–”

“Alright, alright, okay,” he interrupts, tossing his hands up in defeat and leaning back. “Would you just sit down for a sec–humor me, will you?”

Sullenly, you pull out the matching metal chair across from him. As you sit, folding your arms over your chest, you wonder how fate has aligned that you’ve met such an infuriating and intoxicating person. And why you were even giving this hail mary display the time of day.

“Let me tell you a story, it’s a good one, swear.” Tony flashes a diamond grin and it takes everything in you not to return it. It does cool your nerves somewhat.

“Better be a good one.” you respond, and Tony promises it’s worth hearing.

“I’m in my last year at MIT taking this exam for this real stick-up-his-ass professor–I’m talking this guy doesn’t have the muscles required to smile, just all nonsense. It’s my last godforsaken test before winter break and I’ve gotta pass this to be done with this soul-sucking school–”

“You? Stressing about school? Already this story’s got holes in it.”

“Did you miss the part about this guy being a hardass? Because I could’ve sworn I mentioned it.”

“The test was all about theory and it didn’t matter how much you knew, you had to answer it the way he would. I actually had to focus for once and I’m on this question about integrating quantum computing with electrical grid systems, you know how the ions might–”

“Totally, right.” you remark once you realize a science lecture is inbound. Tony’s ramblings often came late and always flew completely over your head. Tonight, you’re just finding it hard to care.

“You are a really bad listener, you know that?”

That earns an instinctive smirk from you, but you sigh and let him continue.

“I’m ten equations and at least five paragraphs into this question and my pager starts going off. I don’t even bother checking what it is–I just hit silence and keep going.” he tells it like it’s a true epic, the sort you swap at tailgates or weddings to try to one-up someone else’s, but you get the sense it’s not.

“An hour later with like, the worst cramp in my hand and 500% certainty I failed, no big deal, I finally check the message–call Jarvis back and he tells me my parents were in an accident. The weirdest thing was I didn’t even think they were dead–”

“Tony–” you start, though you weren’t even sure what to say.

“Honestly,” he chuckles dryly, the bravado in his voice silking away. “I was kinda relieved, for a second. The old man would’ve ripped me a new one for failing that test and I just thought he was a little banged up–too busy nursing a broken arm or something to check my grades.”

Tony’s laugh fades off into a somber sigh, shifting in the wobbling chair. The count of drips in the sink to your right tells you it’s been silent too long. You still don’t have the words to fill it. What kind of words would they even be? Of comfort? Humor to dispel his sadness? If he even was , that is. You gave up on trying to read him.

“Anyway, my point is . I wasn’t ready to do this– I was 21, getting an electrical engineering degree, notice how that has nothing to do with medicine or biotech. So I did the cowardly thing–let someone else take the wheel and I’m still paying for it twenty years later. Believe me, I’m not loving this either.”

“Then why don’t you stop? I mean you still have a legitimate company, stop using it to make things you don’t want to make.”

“It sounds so incredibly simple when you put it like that. Gee, wonder why I didn’t think of that earlier.” He makes an exaggerated face of amazement. “Look, I didn’t want you to know because I don’t need someone else telling me how to handle things–it’s my company, it’s my job to sort this out.”

“Does your job require you to test the product yourself?” It’s a lot ruder than you mean it to be, but it’s the real issue corroding your mind.

“That’s one of the benefits we offer at Stark Industries.” he laughs.

You still aren’t feeling humorous, scoffing and standing the moment you realize he isn’t taking a word you say seriously. Tony’s fast behind you, stepping between you and the arch into the living room.

“Okay, okay. But you’re worrying yourself over nothing, doll. I’ve got it handled.” he assures you (poorly), bracing your shoulders with his hands.

“Yeah, from here it looks totally handled.”

Contrary to the snare in your words, you weren’t a heartless monster. You weren’t playing moral adjudicator like Tony might think. You can recognize this as one of his rare moments of emotional theater, but you can’t be bothered to care knowing what comes after if you fall for it. Especially when you can tell from how not-serious he’s taking this that there’s not a chance he’d stop using anytime soon. You were just tired of being lied to. And you weren’t going to keep watching him self-destruct. All you needed right now was your bed and hot, long shower to put this day behind you.

Tony sighs, abandoning your shoulders to pinch his nose.

“It’s just…You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em. This business, Pepper, things I can’t even put into words. I...I'm just trying to make sense of it all. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you’re around a lot more. Which is great. I do love you, I'm lucky. But, honey, I can't sleep, not when there's so much to be done to get out of this.”

You’re stunned into silence again. Because Tony speaks a thousand miles a minute and you’re still getting used to hearing ‘ I love you ’ from a sober mouth.

“Tony, this isn’t–” you stammer.

“I know, I know, you’re gonna say this doesn’t change anything but I can’t do that without you, I won’t.”

Calloused hands brace your sides instead. Warm and loose instead of strict and holding. You can feel the static though. There’s an electric heat jumping between fingertips and white fabric that wants to hold you tight until you can’t tell the difference between his skin and yours. You’ll never see it another time so clearly, but the glaze in Tony’s eyes is desperate– unyielding . You’re scared to give in and only slightly less worried about what it means if you don’t.

You were pissed that he kept something from you– again . You still were. The whole world seemed privy to exactly who Tony Stark was, except you. You were an outsider looking in through frosted window panes. Like the new kid watching everyone else giggle at an inside joke you couldn't possibly understand.

But you couldn’t say he didn’t care for you. The most damning part was that you loved him . Whether it was truly reciprocated was another question, but you couldn’t think of any other reason he’s standing in your kitchen at three in the morning, letting the stained brown walls wash out the blue details in his suit vest.

So, you rather than blindly submit, you place a wager.

“Then promise me you’ll get help.” You force your voice to be stable, confident. You meet his eyes with the same bravado, stepping back from his grasp. If done properly, and he needed you as much as he so claimed, then you win your self-made bet.

You notice he doesn’t reach out to hold you close, instead staring pensively into you for a moment longer than you would like.

“Okay, done.” he answers, shrugging nonchalantly. “That all?”

“Really? That simple?” you ask, baffled

Tony shrugs again, the crisp folds of his vest giving way to a stout laugh then a sigh.

“If that’s what it takes.”

Afterwards, you’re able to easily separate your life into three segments. There’s life before you started dating billionaire Anthony Edward Stark, life after, and life when you started dating Tony . They are too separate individuals, afterall. You learn that in due time.

Anthony Edward Stark is a wealthy businessman, arrogant, withholding, charming, and a few notches above dedicated to you. He hates vegan food and wasting time.He's utterly hopeless in the kitchen, with a preference for iron red and a penchant for dry martinis (always dry, you learned this from serving him a classic out of habit on night two). There’s a collection of Black Sabbath albums hiding under his office desk, and there’s a slightly larger collection of ballpoint pens in the trash can nearby–caps gnawed to uselessness in one too many spirals of concentration.

Tony is much the same, in all respects. Eeeeexcept there’s that ex-wife he seemingly abhors. And the designer powdered death he proliferates through the city. And the addiction he promises to hold at bay. He keeps his end of the bargain, though and vicariously becomes someone new once he sleeps a whole lot more. Okay, okay so there's a lot. Overall, he is calmer. The fiery temper is dulled, replaced with an occasional unwarranted annoyance at the most mundane of things. At first, it’s concerning to you–watching his face screw at tailgating cars or broken zippers. Then, you find it pretty amusing, seeing someone so perfectly sewn together furrow their brows at long lines instead of losing it altogether at moments of chaos. Though you quickly figure out why he avoided sleep in the first place.

It doesn’t happen until your third night back at the tower. A drizzle coats the high windows of the bedroom, the moonlight barely enough to see the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You’re deep into sleep, curled into Tony when you’re jolted awake by a sudden movement. Your eyes flicker open, confused and scanning the silk sheets before he twitches again, muttering in his sleep.

Barely awake, you shifted onto your side, planting a hand on his chest. With his arms no longer wrapped around your side, another twitch sends them flying to his chest. His skin was warm, damp, mutterings continuing to fall from his lips–angry broken pleas for someone or something to stop. You’d think the windows were open with how bad he shivered.

“Tony,” you called out softly, rocking his shoulder. “Wake up.”

It takes a few more attempts, each shake growing stronger as you gain more clarity. One of them must have woken him, arms leaving his chest to push your arms away. Fresh off a nightmare and no more awake than you were, he used much more force than needed, completely overshooting your hands to inadvertently strike your cheek.

You winced at the unexpected blow, your hand instinctively flying to your slight sting. Swearing softly, you met his wide-eyed gaze. He moves away from you in the same instant, breathing heavily at the edge of the bed

“Shit–I’m sorry– Fuck,” His hands ran across his face and through his hair more times than you can count, still struggling to catch his breath. “I didn’t know you–”

“It’s okay-Are you okay?” you interrupted, far more concerned about the way how terrified he sounded in his sleep and barely feeling it anymore regardless.

“Yeah, all good, bad dream.” Tony swung his legs over the edge, head resting in his hands. “Shit, that shouldn’t have happened.”

You wanted to press him about it, but decided against it while his voice is this shaky.

Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal. You don’t say anything when the shakes turn to muffled sobs. Instead, you move to sit behind him and run a hand over the soft skin of his back until his breath returns to normal.

Neither of you speak about it. Not then, the next morning, or ever again. It just becomes a new part of reality. Anthony Edward Stark doesn’t sleep. Tony has nightmares that can turn into full panic attacks and render him a tremoring mess. Afterwards, he takes a cold shower and returns to bed without a word. Not that you know what to say anyway.

This is somehow harder. To watch him lose control. You were, as most lovers are, impeccably biased. Tony’s life was enviable to anyone with a brain, and yet he was as fractured as anyone.

“Honey, you plan on eating?” he asks, tapping the rim of your porcelain plate with his fork.

You’re brought out of your deep thoughts and back into the present where roasted lemon fills your nostrils from the salmon below. You blame the restaurant–far too quiet to keep from drifting off. The candlelight flickers gently over the small table, creating small dancing shadows of you and Tony on the white linen.

You met his inquisitive brown eyes, giving a small apology before grabbing the cold metal fork. Despite its mouth-watering smell, the taste is anything but. You attempt to hide your displeasure, but such an act is useless this close.

“What’s wrong?” Tony abandons his own meal to question you.

"Nothing, it's just... a little overcooked for my taste," you reply, trying to sound lighthearted. You were never the kind of person to send a meal back, and certainly weren't about to start at a place with a Michelin star.

“Could have sworn you ordered medium.” His posture stiffens, eyebrows raised.

“Simple mistake, it happens.” you shrugged, preparing for a second attempt.

You don’t get the chance, as Tony stands abruptly, grabbing the plate before your fork could make an impression.

“Be right back." he assures you, a cold detachment in his voice.

Without waiting for a response, he strides away from the table, towards the back of the restaurant, leaving you confused.

After a few moments of waiting, a sense of unease begins to gnaw at you. You rise from your seat and, with hesitant steps, vaguely follow the path he took to a set of wide swinging doors. The soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the narrow hallway, casting long shadows against the walls.

As you approach the kitchen, a waiter hurriedly scurries out, giving you a glimpse of Tony inside, one hand typing away idly at his phone and the other resting on a prep table, wrapped tightly in a blue rag.

Blood stains the pristine white of the chef's uniform, his nose crimson and dripping onto his graying beard as he flips a fresh piece of salmon. He spares you a brief timid glance when the doors swing. One hand dabs poorly at the splotches while the other white-knuckles a metal spatula. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you step cautiously into the kitchen, abandoning the warm lights of the hallway for the fluorescent kitchen overheads.

"Oh, hey there," Tony says casually, an icy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“He’s remaking your salmon.” he explains enthusiastically, returning his attention to his phone.

You stand frozen, watching crimson bleed through the rag. You guessed the chef didn’t take too kindly to criticism, and you know Tony doesn’t take no for an answer.

Maybe you didn’t know what calm looked on Tony after all.

You assume you should be grateful. Grateful that he did as you asked and stopped hiding behind his own layers. You got exactly what you wanted after, Tony, wholly and entirely bare for you to see. No more paranoia that you weren’t enough or that this would all come crashing you both down into murky waters. Well, there was still a chance of that. Only now the waves are crystal clear, revealing everything you begged to see.

At least he got more sleep this way.

You relished in waking up next to him–when it wasn’t from night tremors, of course. You could watch the sun streak through the curtains and glow around his features, calm and peaceful. It’s a moment of absolute solitude you look forward to each night. Listening to nothing but the faint calls of birds and muffled rumblings as the city woke up 93 floors. You bide the time hill wakes by running your fingers along his chest and shoulder, memorizing scars by feeling alone.

This morning you awake too early, daybreak barely starting and an inability to fall back asleep. Quietly, you pull yourself from Tony’s tight embrace and tiptoe your way downstairs for a cup of tea. You forgo bothering with the lights, getting enough light from the shy horizon to make your way around. You open the kitchen fridge in the hopes of finding a lemon, only to jump nearly out of your skin when a sound comes from the island behind you.

“ Christ !” you yelped, slamming the door shut and turning to the source.

Harley laughs and takes another bite of his apple, making the same loud crunch as a moment ago. “Aw, did I scare you?”

“What is with you people and sitting in the damn dark?” you question rhetorically, walking to the end of the kitchen to turn on the lights. You tighten the short silk robe around your pajamas, standing across from him. “I was trying to surprise the old man for his birthday, which you are ruining, by the way.” he remarks, pointing a wagging finger.

“Tony’s birthday?” you ask, confused. “I didn’t know–”

The young man interrupts with a dismissive wave as he swallows another bite. “He doesn’t like to make a ‘ thing ’ of it, don’t sweat.” He gives complimentary air quotes, sitting back in the barstool.

“Fair enough.” You turn back to the cabinets to complete your original task. Behind you, Harley’s teeth piercing the fruit fills the early morning silence, interrupted by the flicker of the stove as you heat the kettle. You feel him eyeing you the entire time but decide not to feed into this time for your own peace.

“Thanks, by the way.” Hot water is making its way into a lilac mug when he speaks again.

“For, y’know.” he adds when you pivot with a puzzled face.

“No, I don’t know.” you respond exasperatedly, feeling a dig coming your way. You dip the tea bag into the water, stirring as he just stares back at you. You roll your eyes and head towards the stairs, deciding for certain that conversation with that kid was pointless.

“Were you not the one who got him clean?” He waits until your feet touch the first step to say it, forcing you to pivot.

“I’m not taking credit for his life choices.”

“Fair enough.” he mimics your tone from earlier with a gentle shrug.

With that, you leave and retreat back upstairs.

The lukewarm tea slides down your throat with better ease in the bedroom. Tony continues to sleep beside you as the sun greets the sky, until you're drifting off too..

When you rise again, the chaotic rumbling of the city drifts up and through the windows in full force. You stretch out slowly, tuning into the sound of Tony’s voice and staticky music from the bathroom. You flip over to the source, seeing Tony at the sink fixing a slender graphite tie to his neck. Quiet as a mouse and far too comfortable to leave the silk sheets, you simply observe through the open door. Unaware to his spectator, he continues half-singing half-muttering verse after verse of Back in Black . You have to stifle a giggle–not in judgment but in adoration. You didn’t think Tony Stark would belt rock lyrics as he cursed his hair for not blow drying exactly how he wanted.

Eventually, he spots your watchful eyes, after he secures chrome cufflinks and stoops down to straighten his pants. You smile when you realize you're caught.

“Hopefully you’re enjoying the show.” he grins, exiting the bathroom as he loops a thick leather belt around his waist.

“It’s alright, could have better acoustics.” you taunt.

Tony feigns offense as he kneels on the bed beside you. The soft mattress doesn’t make a sound for his weight to settle over top of you. Suddenly beneath him, cypress aftershave and evergreen shampoo drown out your senses. You know he’s not doing this to turn you on, it’s a byproduct of his nature–but now you just want to ruin the hair you watched him spend five minutes perfecting.

“Anyone else would be appreciative to AC/DC , or is that beyond your generation?” Tony asks, bracing an arm beside your head to fiddle with a free strand of hair.

“I worked in a dive bar–think I know dad rock when I hear it.”

“Ouch.” he winces, a short chuckle following after.

“Hey, never said it was bad.” you add, and he gives you a questionable hmm in response.

You’re fixated on the way his body compresses your own–the texture of his thumb on your face.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” you say after a moment of silence. To this he stiffens, his gentle expression changing in the same way.

“Hmm, guess that is today.” he muses.

“I take it you haven’t been downstairs yet, then.” you say, thinking of Harley. Tony groans you curse the loss of his weight as he stands.

“Nope, and I already know the kid’s down there raiding my refrigerator and getting crumbs everywhere.” There’s a strong disdain in his voice, reminding you of the phone call a few weeks ago.

He disappears back to the bathroom, swiping a watch from the granite sink. You stay silent in the airy cloud of sheets, tongue dancing behind your teeth. Clearly, a moment of silence is too telling for Tony. While you're fixated on the ceiling, he creeps back into the room, startling you when he hits the bed once more.

“You want him gone, say the word.” he declares, playfully. You’re barely listening, or really even bothered to think about Harley. It’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he’s just hovering over you and not crushing you into the mattress or kissing you or –

Your train of thought is derailed when a hand laces behind your neck, fingers settling at your nape and a thumb below your chin. Tony smirks when your eyes flicker to his, increasing the pressure with his thumb until your lips part for air.

“I believe I asked you a question, doll.” He relents for a moment, only enough for your throat to strain as you answer.

“I don’t mind.” you whisper, letting your legs graze his suit pants. There was a small hope the cool fabric would soothe the warmth breaking out on your skin, but the itch just drives you insane.

“Good.” Tony releases his grip to plant a kiss on your forehead. In the next breath, his feet touch the floor again and you contemplate if the lost pride is worth begging him to touch you.

You don’t get a chance to decide, as he gives some short winded promise about returning before the afternoon and exits the bedroom.

After a frustrating shower, and against both Harley and Jarvis’ better judgment (and very stern insistences), you decide to do something nice for Tony’s birthday. Well, as nice as you can without spending his own money.

It takes the better half of the day, and you have to ban a persistently nosy frat kid from the studio the entire time. You feel guilty about not knowing sooner. Then, you maybe would’ve pulled off something more his style. And then maybe like the finished product. It feels, and honestly, looks rushed (because it is), but in the end you feel worse about giving him nothing after all he’s done for you.

It’s a small canvas–easy enough for you to carry down the spiral stairs without breaking an ankle. It’s a quarter to three when you make the final stroke. Once you’ve managed to get the stained ink from your fingers, voices start to flood from downstairs. You manage to do a half-decent job wrapping, which gets you way too excited to gift it. Sure, you’d given art as presents to friends before, but not since you were 10 and those were C-tier cards at best. This wasn’t your best work, though it still gave you the same sense of love.

You call out Tony’s name as you head downstairs, hearing his and Harley’s voices echo from the living room. The muffled words are sharp and tense. You don’t notice the third voice over theirs, or the thud of the feet. You don’t even see her until you enter the space.

“Well, who do we have here, Tone’?” Two rows of perfect porcelain teeth gleam at you over Tony’s shoulder.

He turns to you the moment she speaks, brows tighter than a steel drum and fists tight by his side. Harley stifles his chuckle behind the kitchen island.

Silence pulls new red heat to your cheeks. The living embodiment of every insecurity you’d forgotten stood ten feet away in Louboutin heels. Tony’s stories painted enough of a picture of a flawless woman. Actually seeing her, now that was new territory. Her strawberry blonde locks were meticulously curled, in a mauve dress without a single wrinkle in sight. You felt embarrassed with your undone hair, in stained clothes and matching ink-ridden hands.

You start an equally embarrassing stammer of your name, to which Tony interrupts.

“Nope, not a chance.” He meets your eyes with fire before turning back to Pepper. “How the hell did you get up here–Actually, I don’t even want to know. Leave now.”

Pepper grins like they're old friends catching up. You feel like you shouldn’t be witness to whatever this is, awkwardly holding the canvas.

“Aw, Tony ,” she drags out with a click of her tongue. A slender hand reaches down into a thin leather briefcase, placing an envelope on the island. “Just thought I’d give you your present in person.”

“An email would have sufficed.” He grits.

“Well that wouldn’t be very polite, hm?” She cocks her head like it’s a serious question.

“Exit is directly behind you.”

Some quippy remark brews and dies on her tongue. A small glance is spared your way again, before she leaves.

Tony doesn’t move until the whir of the elevator starts. Harley clears his throat and retreats to the back hallway without another word.

“Tony–” you call out as he passes you for the stairs. He grants you a dismissive wave that cuts you short and swells your throat. All but stomping he makes his way up the stairs, leaving you alone with all the tension they left behind.

The white envelope goes unattended. Tony didn’t bother with it, but you do. Setting your gift against the stair railing, you tiptoe over to it. It’s unsealed–a solitary white letter tucked away. The ornate New York State emblem is a pale distraction for the words below.

ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪᴠᴏʀᴄᴇ

An agreement for complete dissolution separation of any and all assets for both parties.

Signed by Pepper Potts in midnight ink.

#tony stark #mcu fanfiction #tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark smut #marvel fanfiction #seikkoiwrites

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junk-story · 2 months

Text

Interview: Ongaku to Hito and Sakurai Atsushi - Ichikawa Tetsushi x Kanemitsu Hiroshi, Part II

This interview is on pages 52-57 of the magazine. Footnotes are included in numbered parentheses and can be found at the bottom. For Part 1 of this interview, click here.

~~~~~~~

Ichikawa: It may have been a shock, but in short, [BUCK-TICK's] material elevated. Really, because they were able to turn their work into art, we can grasp now how they were able to bring forth a decadent rock masterpiece like 21st Cherry Boy. Although that kind of dark decadence is seen as a negative, they established it as an excellent form of entertainment, which is fantastic. When I listened to that, I wondered, “Why has Sakurai made a breakthrough to this point?” What did you make of that?

Kanemitsu: I think he was able to gradually create distance between himself and the band - in a good way. It wasn’t because their relationship had worsened, and there were still times where they’d be up until the morning drinking, but, as you might expect, after nearly 20 years had passed since they debuted, their relationships with people had expanded too, right? When that happened, this sort of scene, where Imai-san would finish an interview and the other 4 were drinking while they waited for him, it almost completely disappeared. This positive sense of individualism is how BUCK-TICK came to be born.

Ichikawa: I see. In the 21st century, I was listening to the works of B-T as a fan only, so I didn’t bear the weight of that darkness.

Kanemitsu: What I call acting out the darkness, that elevated their work as entertainment. But normally, when you have this individualism come to be, it leads to actively pursuing solo activities…and that can be troublesome, certainly.

Ichikawa: That’s the self-indulgence I talked about earlier. (laughs) When that happens in a regular band, they disband and it’s over. Suddenly some new thing starts, and the other members end up not knowing what to do. But Sakurai ended up feeling guilt about this, because he was a man with a kind heart. Thanks to that, the unique worth they had as a band that continued for 35 years with its original members came to be.

Kanemitsu: In what ways did you feel Sakurai-san’s kindness?

Ichikawa: Well, in many ways, the Sakurai Atsushi I carry with me is still a yankii(1), you know, a good-looking yankii full of chivalry. We talked about the time when his mother passed before, but there is no shortage of that kind of material. For instance, the launching issue of Ongaku to Hito. I asked Sakurai to be in it as well, and even though it wasn’t around the timing of any [album] release, he said, “Well, since it’s a magazine Ichikawa-san is creating, I’ll do it”, and in the middle of a national tour he came back to Tokyo from Numazu after the concert was over, and it was after midnight at an oden food stall in Sendagaya where we had a no-makeup photoshoot and interview. He was a man who could simply do such things.

Kanemitsu: What about Sakurai Atsushi made us so charmed by him, do you think?

Ichikawa: Hmmm…his face?

Kanemitsu: Well, that’s some brutal honesty!(2) But certainly, it was important. (laughs)

Ichikawa: Wahahaha. There’s that issue with Sakurai Atsushi on the cover where he’s wearing an unremarkable white shirt and has a slight smile, right?(3) That one is among my top three favorites. For some reason, it was a time where there weren’t any interesting releases, and there was no content to be had during this lull, so we ended up in a tight spot for an artist to put on the cover. To be honest, we made the offer to Sakurai like, “heeeelp!”, and I was grateful when he readily consented. They also didn’t have any releases coming up, so I suggested we try a risky(4) cover with no decadence, where Sakurai had a casual appearance and is looking into the camera with a smile; he had also become more concentrated(5) at that time and said, “Let’s do it!”

Kanemitsu: That’s why he cut his hair without anyone’s permission. (laughs)

Ichikawa: I’m glad we didn’t go that far with it. (laughs) But really, Sakurai Atsushi could not be detached from my magazine. There were always plenty of guys skillful at conversation, but I have never met another frontman who, even though he wasn’t good at speaking, could expose his inner thoughts to such a point. Of course, there were also those with negative feelings, like, “It’s all just to tickle the B-T girls’ fancies”, but I hoped, even without him knowing, if we could drain the low-water swamp called Sakurai Atsushi, something amazing would happen. I wanted to do something with this man. It was the same for you too, right, Kanemitsu?

Kanemitsu: I didn’t have that “I want to do something”. But I did have something like a maternal instinct. (laughs)

Ichikawa: (wry laugh) I understand that too. You can’t leave him alone.

Kanemitsu: Because at some point, there were only a few articles about the album releases outside of ours.

Ichikawa: Why was that? As I said earlier, during my time, he spoke frantically as if it was needed to confirm something to himself - so in other words, something must have changed where he could become more self-contained.

Kanemitsu: It was like Sakurai-san created his own style. As though, dressed up in decadence and gothic imagery, he tried to act out his ideal Sakurai Atsushi.

Ichikawa: The same as kabuki. The great name of “Sakurai Atsushi” was focused as he would be in the traditional Japanese arts.

Kanemitsu: Yes, yes. I think that was a good thing.

Ichikawa: It finally makes sense to me. So that’s why it happened. That Prince of Darkness character was created.

Kanemitsu: There was what you call the Prince of Darkness character, but he also loved cats, which brought out his playful face. If such a person were to appear on TV with Shiina Ringo, everyone would be hooked.

Ichikawa: A rare creature, really. (laughs) This may be inappropriate, but it seemed to me that Sakurai could only bring the curtain down(6) on Sakurai Atsushi in the way he did, or by going into a life of seclusion, unknown to anyone. Because he was carrying such sin(7) with him.

Kanemitsu: Well, as someone who saw him from the 21st century point of view, I feel that he’d aged well in this way, and he wanted to enjoy the rest of his life happily. It’s just that he was a sensitive person, so he was affected by things like children being displaced by war, the oppression of people based on gender, and so on, and when he tried to get closer to the emotions of the weak, he would be forced to remember his own pain, so I suppose in the current era, it was hard for him to live…that’s what I think, anyway.

Ichikawa: Hearing the talk about the Sakurai Atsushi of the 21st century from Kanemitsu today, it makes sense now. For me, who only knew the Sakurai of the 20th century, the Sakurai of the 21st century is like a different person. I was very fascinated with him all the same. I don’t mean this in a bad way, but it’s like he established a whole separate persona. How can I say this…maybe I could call it guilt. I could see his guilt so clearly through his songs in the 20th century, and it was made invisible in the 21st century. And, invisible things aren’t bad ones. Because that just shows how accomplished he was at fulfilling his role as Prince of Darkness. That’s also how he elevated to being a charming big name.

Kanemitsu: As a musician, an artist, the purity of his expression had reached a level so high as to be incomparable [to anyone else].

Ichikawa: His skill in the 21st century clearly went up. But, although the Sakurai Atsushi of the 20th century was still a work in progress, that progress had turned into a serious dead end that was plain to see. So there were many people who were able to empathize, and I think he himself, the band, the media, and the fans all came together, able to become a community with a shared destiny. It’s strange, but in other media, BUCK-TICK was just shown as a cool band, right? However, at Ongaku to Hito, it wasn’t like that in either the 20th or 21st century.

Kanemitsu Because we got to see them as 5 people with 5 different styles of character.

Ichikawa: In other words, they’re “Osomatsu-kun”(8).

Kanemitsu: Hahahahaha!

Ichikawa: When I was doing it, they were “Osomatsu-kun”, and while Kanemitsu’s been doing it they’ve been “Osomatsu-san”. Their appearance between the Showa and Heisei eras was totally different, but the original people were the same. In both the 20th and 21st centuries, Sakurai was Sakurai, and his foundation and attitude didn’t change, only his appearance from that of an unusual self-deprecating man to the Prince of Darkness did; as a result, he was popular in both cases. So, as Ongaku to Hito, speaking from our beginning, he is the person we should be the most grateful for, and he was the kind of man who made me feel like I had to include him in our publication.

Kanemitsu: He was. No matter how cool Sakurai Atsushi looked on the stage, everyone knows that he actually also had these traits.

Ichikawa: Of course, with that presence, that appearance, and the look in his eyes, no one would know he was actually this cute and loveable character.

Kanemitsu: Through the medium of Ongaku to Hito, you and I wrote about those parts of him, so now everyone knows.

Ichikawa: That’s true…a long time ago, when I was doing a late-night Friday FM radio live broadcast, I had Sakurai on as my first guest. We were at the Satellite Studio in Ginza, and even though I hadn't asked them to come, Takuro and Hisashi [of GLAY] came. We finished at 3 AM and the 4 of us were drinking when Sakurai said, “Will you come to my place?”, which was unusual. When we went there, the windows - all of the windows - had these pitch black curtains on them, it was like being at a planetarium. (laughs)

Kanemitsu: Hahahahahaha!

Ichikawa: We drank in that dark room until we eventually were struck by sleep, but even when I woke up, it was pitch black and I had no idea what time it was. (laughs) When the sun was at its peak, I woke those 2 [from GLAY] up and they went home, but while that was happening, Takuro said to Hisashi, “If you’d told me 10 years ago that I’d go to the home of BUCK-TICK’s Sakurai Atsushi and drink together with him, I never would have believed you”, and I’ve never forgotten that. It was purely moving, emotionally.

Kanemitsu: Everyone wanted to become like Sakurai Atsushi.

Ichikawa: It must have been a dream for them. However, it’s a dream that no one could achieve. This sounds misleading, but I think you have to want to be like Yoshiki [of X JAPAN], if you’re going to abandon yourself to despair(9). (wry laugh) But no matter what gimmicks you make use of, you’ll never be Sakurai Atsushi. And for better or worse, it was tough.

Kanemitsu: I’ve said this many times, but him finding that gothic style was big.

Ichikawa: The gothic atmosphere seemed like maybe the one he was most comfortable in. The decadence created a kind of surreal and abnormal worldview. But Sakurai Atsushi himself was not abnormal at all, nor was he trying to intentionally deviate strongly from what’s accepted(10). It was just the suit of armor(11) that best fit when he was confronting the world, definitely.

Kanemitsu: It was Sakurai Atsushi’s suit of armor, wasn’t it. But whether he ended up putting it on or not, he empathized with people’s sadness, and he was a person who could shed tears. And because that seeped out, everyone loved him. Those feelings [of empathy] were expressed in what became his last album, Izora.

Ichikawa: I see. Well, perhaps he would have continued on expressing it, if he could.

Kanemitsu: I really think so. There were yet many things he could do, and many he would have wanted to do.

~~~~~~~ Footnotes: (1) I think most people into this scene are familiar with this term, but in case you aren’t - yanki/yankii refers to a young delinquent, usually one who dresses in a sort of street/biker style. (2) If someone has ever said to you, “wow, tell us how you really feel!”, it has the same sort of feeling to it as that, although a bit more polite since Ichikawa is the elder of the two, lol. (3) I believe he is referring to the January ‘95 issue cover, based on his description. (4) Risky in the sense of something not usually done. “Nikopachi” is the type of photography he describes, and online sources generally spoke negatively of it as something not befitting professional photography. (5) Literally “boiled down”. I think this is a reference to paring back his visuals from what they were earlier in their career. (6) This is a metaphor for Sakurai’s passing - but I liked the nuance of his wording and tried to retain it. (7) This word really does not translate well - in different contexts it can be sin, guilt, karma. I translate it again as “guilt” below as it’s more befitting the context, but in all cases here, it’s a sort of heavy emotional load brought upon oneself. My husband’s preferred definition translated to “a living with the burden of past wrongdoings and feeling a sense of remorse”. (8) Per Wikipedia: a comedy manga that revolved around of group of brothers who cause all sorts of mischief. (9) I asked for more clarity on this - what he is getting at is, it’s possible, if you really want to, to become like Yoshiki, but no matter what you do, you can never become like Atsushi. (10) The direct translation for this was “be a heretic”, but heretic is a loaded word in English, and this does not have any Christian overtones. (11) He specifically says “mobile suit”, as in the suits from Gundam.

#buck tick #buck-tick #sakurai atsushi #ongaku to hito #quartz translates

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