#literally just me ranting for almost 4k words
Text
so Octopath 1 is still really good
After having played through (almost) all of both Octopath games somehow I'm feeling nostalgic about the first game already
Octopath Traveler 2 delivered on all its promises of more interaction between the travelers - down to the battle quotes they have, acknowledging each others' help and contributions. The stories especially are improved upon so much that it's actually kind of amazing to see just how seriously Square Enix took the criticism from the first game!
But I also still just like to look back on the first game and the stories that I loved and with that overly long intro it's time for me to rant about my top 4 picks for the stories from the first game lET'S GO
There's actually a LOT that I love about the first game's stories even as they're contrasted by the stories of the second but I only have real thoughts about these top 4 picks - SPOILERS! FULL STEAM AHEAD!
4) Cyrus Albright (or, when static characters fucking rock when their philosophies are given generous nuance)
Starting from the bottom of these top 4 is Cyrus's story - but honestly the gap between his story and the bottom half of all 8 stories is pretty damn huge
I'll admit right away that Cyrus's Chapter 4 has elevated his story in my eyes over the others, but as far as I'm aware his story's climax is one that most of the fandom can agree is one of the peak moments of the first game. His passion and philosophy for education had everything going for it in terms of set-up and atmosphere and - can we like? Talk about the Ruins of Eld???
A secret, ruined library filled with tomes lost to history. Tables and chairs scattered in rooms like it was meant to be some sort of school once. And here's Cyrus - a professor with a deep love of history and knowledge, walking among its walls and witnessing for himself just how much was hidden from the world. How must this man feel, walking into this beautiful Eden filled of Trees of Knowledge. With its walls decorated with warnings of death, doom, and destruction. Knowing that the end of his journey is at the heart of this paradise.
Cyrus's story in my opinion is fucking amazing at telling us who he is, and this final dungeon is the culmination of that - down to the atmosphere of his dungeons. It doesn't start at Chapter 4 though, I'd argue it starts all the way from Chapter 1 - which I have. A very intense love-hate relationship with solely because of Therese - but it's just actually really good? It just frustrates the shit out of me is all
But Chapter 1 tells us that Cyrus is a teacher. It tells us that he's a really GOOD teacher, who is passionate about his profession and is beloved by his students for both his patience and his good looks. He's incredibly dense to that second part, and his colleagues understand that but it doesn't stop them from holding a grudge against him. He loves books and the idea of knowledge being free to all and is, in his own words, 'philosophically opposed' to the ideals of his superiors. He is stupid with women and romance and people use this to their advantage. He is incredibly forgiving towards his student who literally tried to ruin his life by accusing him of pedophilia and doesn't understand that she did it because she wants to hop on his dick.
And Cyrus is like this for the entirety of his story - a sort of static character that's really just on a journey to return a library book. Even then, just because his character doesn't develop (or at least in ways that would be immediately obvious to us), there's something to be said about the steadfastness of his personality despite all the atrocities that he encounters. Chapter 2 shows us what kind of people he trusts. Chapter 3 shows us his fury as a teacher who cares intensely for his students. Chapter 4, then, gives us Cyrus - raw, unfiltered, and passionate as he tears into Lucia for her egocentric and dangerous elitist views on education with both his words and his magic.
His story ends gloriously in a way that's very distinctly Cyrus. He comes across the terrible secrets hidden within the tome that he's been searching for all this time, wondering if even something as evil like this deserves to be shared with the rest of the world. Cyrus, the Scholar, says yes - if only so he could protect the bright future he sees for mankind. At the end of his story, he's back at the Academy to start working towards said future, starting his lecture with a TRULY great excerpt from Susanna Grotoff's Knowlegde is Light.
oh hey speaking of Susanna Grotoff!
3) H'aanit (or, simple stories are great actually! especially when the characters actually fucking matter!)
See, I'm one of the people who honestly did not mind the weirdass ye Olde English speech that permeates the bulk of H'aanit's story. I think it's a weird design choice, but I can deal with it. I feel like that's one of the reasons people really don't like H'aanit, or her story.
One of the other reasons I think people don't like her story too much is because it comes across as too simple - almost Tressa-esque in its depth, because when you boil it down H'aanit's story literally is just to hunt a monster. It's a veritable eldritch horror of a monster sure, but the game also doesn't really tell you what the true significance of this act is until you beat try beating its postgame that's structured like ass. It's a woman with a weird accent and a snow leopard hunting down a quarry.
But I'm a firm believer in 'just because stories are simple, doesn't necessarily mean they're bad or without substance', and though it doesn't have the same level of philosophy that elevates Cyrus's story from just 'guy trying to return a library book' - it more than makes up for it with the way it handles its characters.
H'aanit's story has bar none the best, most organic, and heartwarming character interactions in the game and I am VERY prepared to try and fight people on this. You don't have to go very far into her tale to see this - from the way that she speaks with Z'aanta and Eliza alone, you can form a pretty solid image in your head about what kinds of people they are. H'aanit is the straight-laced, stoic, yet socially-awkward apprentice to Z'aanta's eccentric and cheerful trickster mentor persona. Eliza balances them both out, being a responsible friend to Z'aanta and a laidback friend to H'aanit. In Chapter 2, we meet Natalia - and I realize Chapter 2 NPCs don't get a lot to them, but honestly I found Natalia to be the refreshing earnest everyman character in H'aanit's fairly noble quest of legendary quarries and lost masters. Natalia is a good friend to Z'aanta and is very kind to H'aanit, and even feels guilty that she can't do more to help her.
Then we get Chapter 3 and we meet Susanna Grotoff - who is CRIMINALLY fucking underrated. Susanna is the elusive scholar who Cyrus quotes at the end of his story, and is also apparently a Seer - which she admits right away to H'aanit is a load of bullshit. But H'aanit trusts her implicilty because of this admission, and oh yeah Alaic's here too. I'll admit I didn't really warm up to Alaic right away, until postgame happened and we get to see him open up to our Travelers about how he and Susanna met. Honestly I could go on for hours just describing these two but we still have Chapter 4 and - oh my god the King shows H'aanit such immediate trust and respect and he's a decent ruler I like him a lot
I think that's the key ethos here though - everyone in this story treats H'aanit with no small amount of respect and gravitas. Her reputation as Z'aanta's apprentice might precede her, but come Chapter 3 where she's bested a dragon and she has become his equal, and then defeating Redeye to surpass him - and she is viewed by others who know her with awe for her abilities.
Despite this level of prestige though, H'aanit remains much of the same. H'aanit remains a stoic and steadfast huntress who is still socially awkward, being hesitant to show and receive familial affection. At the end of her story, she comes back home satisfied knowing that her master is saved, and she begins to tell stories of her own. It ends with her beautiful piano theme in the background, sounding as though she's just gotten done telling the end of her story to the local village children to lull them to sleep - and not to worry, because she will be happy to tell it again. It's a very quiet resolution to a fantastical journey, and I think its celebration of stories and interpersonal relationships elevates H'aanit's tale over Cyrus's in my book by JUST a bit.
2) Alfyn Greengrass (or, when the break the cutie trope takes the broken pieces and reforges them into something stronger)
Ok look I'll say it right away - I know how divisively people feel about Chapter 3. Chapter 3's very existence hangs on stupid decisions made by the characters, like, Ogen, maybe just TELL Alfyn that Miguel is a criminal - and MIGUEL, M A Y B E DON'T DO THE HORRIBLE THING WHILE ALFYN IS STILL IN TOWN HELLO??? YOU COULDN'T AT LEAST W A IT ANOTHER FEW DAYS???
even with those feelings I still think Alfyn's story is great.
There's a lot that I can say about Alfyn that I wanted to say about Cyrus and H'aanit - and it's that this truly feels like a story that's tailor-made for him, to tell us who this guy is and how he deals with the bullshit he encounters. Alfyn's story is written almost episodically and it does kind of make sense given his motivation. He's just a guy who wants to go around and help people - it doesn't particularly matter where, just that he gets to do good. And we do! See him do that! Kind, studious, and well-meaning Alfyn sacrifices a lot for his patients as we see in both Chapter 1 and 2, and he's very passionate about his craft and is softhearted to the point that he forgets to collect payment for his treatments. He believes so wholly in his apothecary's ideal (formed by his own memories of Graham saving his life for no charge at all) that honestly? His Chapter 3 almost falls over backwards trying to destroy this idealism.
Miguel Twinspears has been memed to death and Ogen is questionable. Just to get that out of the way. To get more stuff out of the way, I don't think the game really intends for its players to agree with Ogen and his cynical views about the weight of lives. This is the entire point of Ogen - to be a foil to Alfyn, who is naive, boundless, and indiscriminate in his generosity. Miguel, as cartoonishly evil as he is, is still VERY MUCH capable of existing in the real world. Alfyn hasn't yet fully matured, and both Miguel and Ogen were the story's solutions to making him croak. The best part about that gambit is that it worked - sending Alfyn into a depressive spiral until he finds a resolution in Chapter 4.
Miguel is unabashedly evil and takes Alfyn's kindness for granted - he is Alfyn's first taste of true malice. Ogen's cynicism forces Alfyn to question everything he knows about being an apothecary, and it's very important that these two concepts were introduced in parallel. This is the chapter that forces Alfyn to reconsider the implications of what it means to have the power to save lives - for god's sake a CHILD nearly died because Alfyn chose to help the wrong person despite the warnings around him. Here's the thing though - Miguel being a jackass isn't Alfyn's fault, and that's something that Ogen's philosophy neglects to account for. There's very real conversations to be had about accountability here but my god this post is getting way too long and I still have one more character to gush over
Chapter 4 picks up right where Chapter 3 left off, where we find Alfyn lost as to what he's meant to do. THEN we get Ogen on his deathbed and surprise it turns out he's not indiscriminate about his philosophy because he applies it to himself as well because yeah. murder is horrible. granted there's also conversations to be had here about horrible medical malpractice but that's WAY out of my expertise so -
now by all accounts, after the events of Chapter 3, would it have made sense for Alfyn to give in and let this man die for his sins? hell no. Because that's not who Alfyn Greengrass is - and as Alfyn asserts, it's also just not what apothecaries do. It's a powerful kind of acceptance that's fueled in part by Zeph's (homoerotically-charged) encouragement and the memories of the man who saved him - and this drives him to face down a creature of legend just to make a cure for a man with a broken soul.
can we also just take a minute to gush about how Alfyn's journey starts and ends with him trying to find a life-saving ingredient and how it has layers to it because Ogre Eagle feathers were the key ingredient to both his and Ogen's cures - lighting the spark in Alfyn and re-igniting Ogen's will to live - and apothecary is fighting a WALKING PANACAEA. THIS IS A COOL FIGHT GODDAMNIT.
i'll. gush more over Alfyn once I finish up my essay on Ophilia and Temenos. but for now we still have one more story.
1) Olberic Eisenberg (or, resolving a midlife crisis is worth it when I care so much about the sad old beefcake)
for those who know me, this might be mantit bias. And verily I say unto you, that's partially correct. for others, this might be Eisenbright bias. and you are also correct because I will admit that my appreciation of both Cyrus and Olberic's stories is elevated a considerable amount when I think about just how synchronized they are as role models when the future is concerned
(SERIOUSLY. PLAY THEIR CHAPTER 4s SIDE BY SIDE. THEY'RE IN PERFECT PARALLEL ABOUT THEIR OATHS TO THE FUTURE DESPITE BEING SO DIFFERENT AND BEING ON DIFFERENT SIDES OF THE HISTORY BEING WRITTEN - the person who writes the history and the person who lived it - AND THEIR DIFFERENT TALENTS AND ABILITIES AND-)
okay I'll be real and say I did not expect to care so much about the old guy so much going into this game, but I actually will. struggle to articulate how this story has made me feel, but I will say that Olberic's story is the only one from the first game to have given me any sort of extreme reaction that wasn't frustration over Cyrus's Chapter 1. I cried for other stories, but Olberic's had me genuinely at the edge of my seat and jumping for joy whenever I see Erhardt pop up in Riverford to aid him.
To be honest, I don't really know what it is about Olberic's story that I can call the edge that it has over the seven others. Cyrus's story had excellent presentation for both his philosophy and his character. H'aanit's was the perfection of simple storytelling. Alfyn's was thought-provoking and had me emotionally invested in his plight. Writing it out, I think I can say Olberic has all of the above - at least, in my opinion. I can't very well say he has much in the way of developing side-characters though -
- well okay. The blond elephant in the room is the glaring exception.
Erhardt is half of Olberic's story and is consequently his primary motivation throughout his journey. The introduction of Erhardt is through a recurring nightmare that Olberic has of the day Hornburg fell - culminating in the moment Erhardt fatally wounds King Alfred. Olberic's Chapter 1 does a very good job of telling us who he is, and where he stands in his story - he was once a renowned knight beloved by his Kingdom, until it fell due to the betrayal of his brother-in-arms. He is now in hiding at a humble farming village named Cobbleston, having kept his past and name a secret for 8 years. Olberic is brought low by loss, and is plagued by nightmares and grief that he doesn't share at all with the people he's now taking refuge with. It's also very clear at this point that Olberic considers himself as little more than a man with a blade - purposeless now that he has failed to protect what mattered most to him. It's not until a lead on Erhardt is revealed to him that he feels alive in any way, as Gaston notes.
As Olberic goes on his journey, he starts having doubts about his decision to avenge his homeland once he starts learning more about Erhardt. To Gustav, Erhardt was troubled, but warm to him and his fellow vagrants, as well as a trustworthy friend. To Wellspring, he is similar to Olberic - having found purpose in protecting the town from lizardman threats. These doubts culminate in what is - to my opinion- perhaps the single best scene in the fucking game.
Watch it in Japanese, by the way. It's only then that you'll get to experience the full brunt of the emotions and sheer burdens that both Olberic and Erhardt carry because Jesus CHRIST they went hard on the delivery for this scene.
After slaying the Lizardman Kings, Erhardt and Olberic meet back up again to have their long-overdue talk about why Erhardt decided he'd kill King Alfred. To most people his backstory isn't anything new, really - he lost his hometown to the fires of war, and King Alfred had failed in protecting it. Out of vengeance, Erhardt decided to join Werner's company and act as the mole in the ranks of the knights of Hornburg so he could bide his time until he could finally kill the King. The thing that sells this scene however, is the sheer agony and regret in Erhardt's voice as he tells Olberic everything - and tells him that he regretted living a lie, that all he could remember now was the times he spent with the knights and with Olberic as friends and brothers-in-arms.
Now what happens next is. Strange.
It's at this point in the story that the player feels TRULY disconnected from Olberic, where Olberic's own desperation comes to light as he demands to cross swords with Erhardt in the form of a Challenge prompt that you can't refuse. Olberic states very clearly that he finally understood why he wielded his blade, and you would think that was the end of it - that it wouldn't have needed to come to blows anymore. But Olberic is neither being a paragon nor a villain here - he's being human in the only way he knows how - in the throes of battle. Erhardt himself obliges, understanding that it's only through this that either of them could have closure from the events that changed their lives forever. They fight, all while Olberic's character theme plays in the background.
Now. This scene is interesting to me in a lot of ways. Erhardt had basically done to Olberic what he thinks the Kingdom of Hornburg had done to him - rob him of the only home he had ever known. He then assimilated himself into the ranks and despite his mission he came to see it as home too, soon enough. Despite that, it didn't stop him from killing the King - but seeing his revenge through only left him hollow. I could draw several comparisons here to both Primrose and Olberic regarding this stance on revenge, but right now just know that Olberic could have very well ended up like him if he were an angrier man. Olberic right now is simply a man consumed with grief and loss and left with no real way of dealing with it other than this. And by the end of the battle, Erhardt yields - and Olberic spares him, ending the duel and resolving instead to avenge his Kingdom through confronting the man behind Erhardt's machinations.
admittedly, I didn't think Werner was compelling enough as a villain - but I DID appreciate his horrifying pragmatism, clawing his way to the top by any means necessary and sacrificing an entire Kingdom in the process, and then going on to take over an entire district and host public burnings every month. charming guy. I do find it thematically interesting that Olberic's final opponent is a tyrant who just does not give a shit about the people he governs over though - you really couldn't get any more antithetical to King Alfred than this. Also fitting that he would be one of the key players of the revolution to free Riverford from Werner's reign and wOAH HOLY SHIT ERHARDT FUCK Y E AH
that. that was the scene I jumped out of my seat for, yeah.
by the way uh. so the line 'Your blade may be unbending, but did the man not break?' is extremely good. If there was any way to succinctly summarize Olberic Eisenberg before that climactic moment, that would be it.
this is gonna be the part where I gush about Olberic's resolve into looking forward to the future and - it means a lot more than just him vowing to continue using his sword to protect others. It means that he's finally starting to free himself from the hell he's been dealing with for the last 8 years. It's him finally accepting that he's MORE than the blade he wields. It's him accepting that he has somewhere to return to and protect and hold dear to his heart - and he realizes this while trying to help people take back their own homes with the support of the best friend who had lost his home twice -
i really like his story, and I really like Olberic. Him returning to Cobbleston for a while as he goes on a new journey and being embraced by Philip is incredibly satisfying. This man deserves his fucking rest and holy shit this post is 3800 words long
>>>
tl;dr go play Octopath Traveler 1
#octopath traveler#cyrus albright#h'aanit#alfyn greengrass#olberic eisenberg#octopath#octopath spoilers#literally just me ranting for almost 4k words#go play the first octopath it's still great#i should have just written an essay but#listen i totally could except i'm in the middle of finals submissions so rip#and i'm already writing an ophilia and temenos essay so
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Character Study: Aemond from House of the Dragon
Almost 4k words. My thoughts on Aemond Targaryen. This is me trying to make sense of his character and guessing his motivations. I'm focusing mainly on the show so I did not mention Daeron.
To the greens, Aemond was the spare. To the blacks, he was even less than that.
In the show, he was born after The Green Dress stunt at Rhaenyra's wedding, when Alicent got rid of her Targaryen red and black dresses in favor of Hightower green, signaling her true allegiance. Sides are declared. The die is cast. In the book, Alicent's stunt wouldn't be pulled until a year after Aemond was born, but I like the show's timing better.
I like the idea of Alicent being in full-on war mode while she was pregnant with him. It would be fitting, knowing she would give birth to a baby boy with a choleric temperament. The boy who would one day grow up to be the young man whose actions started the Dance of the Dragons.
Aemond as might as well pull an Athena and come out of the womb fully dressed in armor and ready for war.
From the time Aemond was old enough to understand, the tension between his mother and half-sister had been so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
In the show, Aemond and Jace are roughly the same age, so Jace was probably born not long after Aemond (I'm guessing their age difference is a year max). Then Rhaenyra churns out two more bastard kids throughout the duration of Aemond's youth. Growing up, this boy would’ve been mighty familiar with hearing questions about his nephews' legitimacy as more and more rumors of Rhaenyra's trysts with Harwin Strong spread throughout King's Landing.
To properly understand Aemond's childhood, we need to talk about Aemond's momma, Alicent Hightower. Mommy dearest.
Alicent was literally a teen mom who had been forced to grow up too quickly. After Viserys fired Otto and her friendship with Rhaenyra disintegrated, she had almost zero allies in court. She was scared, paranoid, and bitter. Alicent was nowhere near prepared for the motherhood and queenship that was thrust upon her. I'm pretty sure that she often found herself needing someone to vent to, and I think Aemond would've been that someone for her (My Son is My Therapist).
Alicent was, by definition, an emotionally immature parent. In this scenario, it’s common for parents to turn to their children for emotional support. She couldn’t turn to Viserys, Aegon was rowdy and does his own shit, and she and Helaena never quite connected. That left Aemond, who strikes me as a naturally attentive and observant child.
This is just a theory, but I don’t see why it couldn’t have happened given the circumstances. It would certainly explain why Aemond and his mom are so close. (And why Aemond gives "older sibling who acts like a parent" vibes.)
I mean, have you seen this scene? The softness they have for each other? How in tune they are with each other’s emotions? They act more like equals than Mother and Son.
With Viserys being a shitty father who'd rather play with his legos than pay attention to his son, Alicent would also be the only person Aemond would look to for guidance, to make sense of the world.
I'm imagining Alicent ranting about Rhaenyra's irresponsibility while a young Aemond listens, absorbing every word.
Here I am, upholding the kingdom, the family, the law, while she flouts it all to do as she pleases.
The audacity of her to name her common-faced bastards as heirs while you and Aegon are pushed further down the line of succession.
Where is duty? Where is honor? Where is sacrifice?
It’s a wonder to me that her sons’ eggs ever hatched. We all know what they really are.
Aemond takes Alicent's words to heart and he treats them with a level of seriousness that is rare for most children his age. He strikes me as a very precocious kid. I see him as an overthinker, which would mean he has a tendency to mull over things for long periods of time and find deeper meanings where most would fail to. (A trait that would serve him but ultimately destroy him in the end.)
Like the good student he is, Aemond takes in everything that Alicent has to say. And if my My Son is My Therapist theory is correct, then out of all of Alicent’s children, Aemond would be the one most privy to her thoughts. It would explain why he's so similar to her in beliefs and personality. Everything he knew, he learned from Alicent.
Helaemond shippers like to point at this scene and say Aemond had a crush on Helaena and idk about you but it sounds like he's just echoing his mother. This is a 10-year-old boy.
Thanks to Alicent, Aemond would see the world as being split into two groups: the “worthy” and the “unworthy”. The worthy are the ones who uphold honor and duty. The unworthy are the ones who do not.
His sense of worth would be directly tied to this metric. Aemond has a strong desire to prove himself worthy by being the perfect prince, the perfect son. He cares deeply about how others views him, and he becomes a perfectionist.
Aegon being a useless drunkard and Rhaenyra being a lawbreaker would only motivate him further. (Yes, Rhaenyra naming her bastards as heirs is literally illegal. It's high treason. It's an offense that would result in being disinherited and even executed, I can't stress this enough.) I can do better, Aemond thinks.
So, being the only boy in the family without a dragon would do monumental damage to his self-esteem.
I'm imagining him listening to Alicent rant about how Jacaerys and Lucerys are unworthy of having their dragon eggs hatch. Being the over-analytical little shit he is, Aemond would've come to the conclusion that the eggs only hatch for true Targaryens. And suddenly he's worried because what if I'm not worthy of my name?
Even my idiot older brother and my bastard nephews have dragons. What does that make me? He thinks. Aemond would've felt so small.
As if it wasn't bad enough to know that he was only the spare to Aegon's heir, to watch his father neglect him while pouring affection to his half-sister and her kids, to know that he was the least important member of the family. (Knowing you're not the favorite child hurts even for normal people; imagine growing up in a family system where every child is ranked from most important to least.)
It sure didn't help that Aegon, Jace, and Lucerys took advantage of his biggest insecurity to bully him.
Now, we don't know exactly when this bullying started or how long it had been going on, but the Pink Dread incident was nowhere near the first time. To find a pig and to attach wigs on it takes a bit more effort than your average taunts. There's a lot that has to build up for that to happen. I'm guessing the bullying had been going for a few years.
But the pig was definitely the crescendo. With each taunt and sneer the boys had thrown at him, Aemond's self-esteem had gotten worse and worse. When the Pink Dread happens, something in Aemond snaps.
It was more than just a pig with wings. It was utter humiliation. It was telling him no matter how perfect you try to be, you will always be lesser.
Knowing this and all the pent-up anger that Aemond would have towards his brother and the Velaryon/Strong boys, it probably took him a lot of self-control to not explode right there and then.
In Fire and Blood, Aemond is described as being a feisty kid.
"Aemond was said to be half the size of his elder brother but twice as fierce."
In the show, he's more chill, but I don't think the book is wrong. F&B is written like a history book, and history only remembers what was notable. Aemond has this sort of vibe that says "I'm chill on the outside but I'm screaming on the inside." Like his mother, he holds in all his feelings for the sake of appearances but you can bet that during the times when he does let it out, this boy would have an anger that burns hotter than the seven hells. And it would be enough to give him a reputation.
Aemond tries to be on his best behavior and bottles up his emotions... until he can't anymore. Being a perfectionist, he has a do-or-die mentality. This aspect of him was ever so apparent when he sees Vhagar at Laena's funeral.
The oldest, largest, and most dangerous dragon in the world... out in the open, without a rider. And one desperate boy who has had enough of feeling weak and inferior.
Hell, it was like dangling a carrot in front of a rabbit.
This is my one and only chance, Aemond thinks. My brother and my nephews want to laugh at me? Fine, I'm going to claim a dragon that'll make theirs look like a pig.
At this point, Aemond could care less about the dangers. Give me the biggest dragon in the world or give me death.
Vhagar sees Aemond and goes, "This little shit has balls... I like it. But let's see how he does in the air." She tests him by flying like an absolute maniac but when she realizes that Aemond has persevered regardless, she deems him worthy of being her rider. Vhagar likes her riders strong-willed and courageous. Aemond didn't claim Vhagar, Vhagar claimed Aemond.
And that validation from Grandma Dragon was all Aemond needed to go on a freaking power trip. This lonely boy — who had been bullied for years, whose only "friend" was his mother — was suddenly given the highest level of approval from an ancient war dragon who people write songs about. Becoming Vhagar's rider gives him newfound confidence and Aemond feels on top of the world. He's still riding that high when the Strong boys and Daemon's daughters attack him.
It's this same rush of power that makes him utter the forbidden word.
Bastards.
I don't think Aemond actually hates Rhaenyra's boys for being bastards. I mean, look at this scene where he goes up to Jace during Laena's funeral. The look of sympathy. He wants to say something to offer condolences about Ser Harwin's death, but he knows he shouldn't. And the future love of his life is literally a bastard of House Strong.
During the fight, Aemond calls Jace and Luke bastards as a way to get back at them for making him feel weak. He's saying, look who's the inferior one now.
Then Lucerys stabs him in the eye and all the euphoria he felt a few minutes ago goes down the drain.
It only got worse from there.
Instead of giving him sympathy, his half-sister politicizes his trauma, makes the entire thing about her and her sons, and accuses him of treason. His father is angrier over the fact that he called his nephews bastards than the fact that he was maimed. The little shit who took out his eye doesn't even apologize.
And where had his useless older brother been all this time? Drunk beyond repair.
The only one who seems to care is his mother, and Aemond watches as she gets excessively gaslit for wanting justice on his behalf.
He's sitting there in the armchair while all this goes down, one of his eyes is literally gone, and his injury is probably so painful that his head feels like it's going to burst.
I let my feelings get ahead of me one time and this is what happens, Aemond thinks.
Any other kid in his position would've felt entitled to act out, but Aemond swallows down his emotions and puts on a brave face. He protects his mother from his father's wrath and even steps in to defuse the situation by placating her. Mommy's little therapist.
This ten-year-old boy was forced to take on the role of an adult while his eye had been freshly slashed from his skull. The trauma of that night would stay with him for years afterward.
Three things were certain in Aemond's mind:
He can't count on his father to defend him.
He can't count on his older brother to defend him.
His half-sister cares more about the throne than his safety and most likely his life.
When the family returns to Kings Landing the next day, Aemond leaves his childhood behind at Driftmark.
He develops hyper-independence and spends the next several years trying to compensate for his disability while preparing for the Targaryen Hunger Games that will come one day. Aemond would be the first one up at dawn, already in the training yard, and he'd be the last one to retreat to his chambers at night, reading page after page in the library and sometimes even falling asleep there.
Well, okay, maybe he's not exactly the last one to bed.
I'm imagining pre-teen Aemond coming out of the library at the hour of the owl, only to bump into a staggering teenage Aegon who was just sneaking back into the Red Keep after a late-night rendezvous, high as a kite.
This is the idiot who is to be king, Aemond thinks. (Rhaenyra's gang can delude themselves as much as they'd like but Aemond knows the precedent set by the Great Council of 101 AC, the primogeniture, was bigger than the wishes of a dying king and an entitled princess.)
No matter how hard he tries, his clown of a brother would always get what Aemond had always been more qualified for.
Because Aemond was only the second son.
Worse, a second son with just one eye.
Aemond's quite insecure about his looks; I'm sure he thinks his scar looks ugly and horrifying. It's canon that he wears the eyepatch to not frighten the ladies. The sapphire is there so he looks cool when he does want to frighten them.
I don't think he would've had a lot of crushes. Not because he doesn't care about romance or sex, I think it would be because he's scared of getting rejected. He hears the court calling him Aemond One-Eye and people whispering about his fiery temper behind his back. As a side effect of that traumatic day in Driftmark, I think Aemond would now anger quite easily, as trauma survivors often do. And when he isn't angry, he's putting on a stone mask of confidence to seem indestructible. It would definitely come off quite cold to others, but after all the helplessness he had felt, Aemond adopts the "I'd rather be feared than loved" mentality.
He knows he's not crush-worthy material (don't fight me on this, it's different for fandom girlies because we know his story, but imagine if you didn't and you met him in real life, only knowing him based on the rumors? and, while I think ewan mitchell is handsome af, he's not conventionally pretty.).
I have other things to do than think about girls, he tells himself.
Then Aegon takes him to a brothel on the Streets of Silk on his thirteenth birthday. His older brother basically rapes him by proxy via a woman who is twice Aemond's age. (We don't know if this trauma did anything to affect Aemond's sexual preferences but we do know that teenage Aemond would never look at girls his own age. He falls in love with Alys Rivers... who's like 40. Aemond also has mommy issues so there's that.)
When Aegon marries Helaena, Aemond does his best to protect his sister from his brother's abuse because he knows what it's like. Both being victims of Aegon, he forms a special bond with Helaena and takes on the role of being her protector. This protectiveness he feels is extended down to Helaena's children.
A few years go by and Aemond settles into a routine that consists of him picking up after his brother, taking care of his sister and her children, being a confidant to his mother, and essentially taking the position of the family patriarch. On top of this, he has a rigorous training regimen and he's studying everything he can about history and political philosophy so that at least someone will know shit about ruling when Aegon becomes king.
This boy had so much on his plate.
Eventually, the matter of Driftmark's succession brings Rhaenyra's clan back to court. Bro definitely had flashbacks when he heard the news that they were coming. During the petitions scene, he's tense and on guard. He's trying to act like seeing Rhaenyra and her kids doesn't bother him, but his hands are clasped high behind his back as if he's trying to keep it all in.
At this point, it was about more than the loss of his eye. It was about more than just that night. More than the pain of the injury, and more than the phantom pain that he probably still feels occasionally in the place where his eye had been.
(Edited: I found this amazing post explaining that Aemond most likely had chronic pain resulting from nerve damage. So he probably had more than phantom pain. Which makes his trauma ten times worse.)
No, this boy has been hurt mind, body, and soul. He looks at the blacks and he sees all the years of helplessness, loneliness, resentment, anger, and insecurity that he had been through as a result of their actions. (I've said before that Aemond is a ruminator, and ruminators are often the best grudge-holders.)
Daemon beheads Vaemond for saying the same thing he did when he lost his eye, showing absolutely no mercy. Then, during dinner, the little shit who took out his eye had the audacity to laugh at him when he saw a pig.
Aemond's like, y'know what, I've been acting cordial all day for the sake of being respectful but these people don't deserve it. Fuck it.
After Vizzy T dies and Aegon runs off, Aemond volunteers to find the fool. He prides himself in being dutiful and loyal, it's literally his entire sense of identity, and if it means tracking down his idiot of a brother just so the fool could be crowned — so be it.
That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it though. Aemond finds himself alone in the streets of Flea Bottom with Ser Crispy — the man who taught him how to fight, the man who has been there for his family ever since he was born — and decides to take the opportunity to vent and grant himself some much-needed catharsis, if only for a few seconds.
I think all the resentment that he had felt during the last few days finally boiled over when he saw Luke at Storm's End.
There he was, selling himself up for marriage, trying to do what's expected of him even though he probably feels like a puppet on a string — just so Eggy gets to keep his crown. And this boy, this boy who took his eye out, who bullied him, who laughed and never apologized, waltzes in. The same boy who, a few days ago, was named heir to Driftmark, even though he was a bastard and a second son.
Aemond is triggered. He's a trauma victim; his mind immediately reverts back to the state it was in that fateful night in Driftmark. Mentally, he's no longer the dutiful young adult. The helpless little boy in him comes out and he sees red.
"I want you to put out your eye."
My theory is that Aemond had been dreaming about taking Luke's eye as retribution for years. It's pretty common for victims of violence to fantasize about attacking their abusers — it's a defense mechanism to prepare them for violence to come, and in Aemond's case, violence was guaranteed to come. My dude has probably been suffering from intrusive homicidal ideations for while.
The show told the tale from Luke's POV so we see the boy running out the hall after Borros ends the conversation, only for a mean nasty Aemond to chase him on Vhagar. In the book, however, another secondborn decides to stir shit up after Luke leaves the room.
And there it might have ended, but for the girl Maris. The secondborn daughter of Lord Borros, less comely than her sisters, she was angry with Aemond for preferring them to her. "Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?" Maris asked the prince, in tones sweet as honey. "I am so glad you chose my sister, I want a husband with all his parts."
So what I'm thinking is that Aemond did try to drop his anger when Luke took his leave. But then the girl picks at his insecurity (bro doesn't know shit about girls and he takes everything so seriously, there's no way he could've seen that she was just jealous).
And that was the final straw. The boy who has tried so hard to be perfect loses control. Honestly, this moment has been a long time coming.
Aemond chases Luke on Vhagar to scare him. He wants to make Luke feel as helpless as he did when they were younger. It makes him feel powerful, and after feeling stepped on for so long, he's letting himself enjoy it while giggling like a maniac in the pouring rain.
Vhagar, however, had other plans. I think she sensed his anger and madness, just like Arrax sensed Luke's fear and anxiety. Aemond might've been playing around, but Vhagar had a mind of her own.
Aemond's only friend (who doesn't also double as a mom or a training teacher) is his geriatric dragon, so of course he would be a tad overconfident in their bond. He definitely wasn't planning for Vhagar to dive in for a little snack.
And that's the story of how the lonely boy who tried and tried and tried to be the perfect son went down in history as a kinslayer.
I can't wait to see him in season 2, absolutely wrecked with guilt. And who's going to believe that mean ole Aemond One-Eye never meant to kill Lucerys? Kinslaying is a serious offense in Westeros. Aemond fucks up one time and now he's going to be ostracized for the rest of his life (which isn't too long 💀).
I can't wait to see how his dynamic with Alicent is going to change since he's no longer this golden boy.
I can't wait to see him become absolutely deranged when Blood and Cheese happens. Aemond thinks he knows what guilt feels like? Think again. The guilt of killing Lucerys was only the prologue. With Blood and Cheese, Aemond wouldn't just be losing a nephew, he'd lose his sister too. Helaena becomes a ghost of a person, and Aegon... I think Egg would be so mad at Aemond. The roles between the brothers would suddenly reverse.
Also, I can't wait to see how they'll portray his relationship with Alys Rivers. (I will sue if they make Alys a skinny, young cottage-core girl. Give me an actual middle-aged woman and make her a witchy girlboss with a fire that matches Aemond's. Give me Katie McGrath.) I want to see him meet Alys and be like "Fuck the Baratheon girl, I'm going to hell anyway so I as might as well enjoy life while I can." I want to see the dutiful side of him unravel as his desires get the best of him. I want to see him drunk with power when he becomes Aegon's regent.
#aemond targaryen#hotd essay#hotd thoughts#house of the dragon#team green#hotd aemond#hotd meta#hotd analysis
244 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm genuinely wondering how you write so much and enjoy it bc I just wrote 1,8k words and I am fucking done for tonight
I've been getting a couple annoying asks such as "You never update" or "You don't write requests"
Like wtf, this isn't my job, I'm not getting paid to do any of this shit
Anyways I'm just ranting rn but Part 7 was fucking amazing as per usual like I'm still processing all of it
Feel to rant to me whenever y'all!! It can be really hard to hold all this stuff in, and IDK about everyone else, but it's not easy to talk to your real life people about your work on tumblr.
Like I have said a lot of times, I literally have daydreamed about the plot of JP for months, and have little post it notes and scraps of papers with the plot and ideas for the characters littering my room. I published 4k words in the first part when I hadn't ever written before. I actually wrote part 2 (almost 3k words) the same night because I was so excited, so jut write things you love! Ignore anything that doesn't inspire you.
I honestly have a couple of things that help me write super long pieces. The first thing is that I have a rlly cute desk mechanical keyboard that clicks when I type, so it motivates me to write. I also dedicate several continuous hours to write. Like I just let myself be completely immersed in it. I also never write these long-ass parts in one night. I usually write about 5k-7k words in one sitting. College has helped me practice sitting and writing for long periods of time, but I also just go on and on and on when I write or speak, so like what other people say in 100 words I say in like 250.
Writing creatively is really really hard, and so you should be proud of yourself for everything you can get out of your brain and onto a computer/ paper. At the end of the day, write little bits of things you love, and the length will follow (if that's what you want!! Long writing is not the be all end all!!!)
Love ur work so so so much!! Can't wait to see what you put out in your own time from your own creativity <<<333
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
pokes head in here. hello coni. pls throw your fics at me i want to read them. what are you most proud of. what are u working on right now. what do you want me to read. i want it all hand it over. (i am being genuine but also silly sjdfklsdj what are u writing i am so curious :eyes:)
adsjaksf hiya!!! :D
and yeah!! i do have a couple of wips i want to rant about kajfhkjah
the first ima shout about (it also might be my favorite but shhh) is a 3rd life renaissance faire au :D its currently treebark and dogwarts centric and is quite literally full of half formed sentences and contextless dialogue, but theres three pages of worldbuilding and plot and im really happy with it so far :D, rens the king of dogwarts (the kingdom the faires set in), and the dogwarts army are, well, the knights of dogwarts. and you know martyn's creeper prank? he makes goose noises instead cause its hilarious and it still scares the crap out of everyone but scott asjkjafh. and ima stop there i dont want to reveal any more cause spoilers askjfhas
another wip is post-canon joel's empires s2 finale!! he is regretting a lot of things and theres three more joels than usual. its likely going to be multichap and full of angst (if i can actually make angst without adding puns into it asjksajfh) with a happy (?) ending :D
a third im hyped about is a waterpark au of sorts, based off of ethos old turf war minigame, The RipZone!! its mostly mycelium resistance centric, purely because i have more of a grasp on writing them than the hep. im not quite sure where to plots going for this one, but i have just enough planned out to be insane about it askdjfaskjfh. theyre highschool ago and its set in australia, at the end of the year, so its the beginning of summer and schools just let out (prime waterpark time babayyy)
and the last is another limited life coral kids fic woooo!! the working title is 'whats your favorite constellation?' and i feel it captures the vibes im going for surprisingly well. its barely written and im hoping it wont be as long as the last lmao, im thinking only about 1k words, and it also wont be explicitly romantic. im playing off of the concept of giving each winner being assigned / associated with a symbol (sun, stars, moon, etc.), and the general fandom confusion on what to give to martyn. and wait i wrote a lil synopsis thing for this like two days ago hold on
'centred on scott and martyn, ties tower has just (or is being) constructed, scott's built them a base, the chaos of bread bridge hasnt quite begun. and, while laying on their beds under the sky, scott talks about the stars above them, lamenting about a past life. martyn and scott discuss the dilemma that is the death games. scott doesnt want to win again and they wonder if martyn's going to win this time. martyns not sure if he wants to (he does). they mostly talk about the stars though, and their favourite constellation. its supposed to be nice and calm, fairly reminiscent of the calm before a storm.'
i edited it a bit, but i reckon its still got the vibes down pretty good :D
oh and also, the fics im probably most proud so far are htgth, really the podcast au in general, and surface of the seas :D
i chose htgth / the podcast au quite a few reasons! theyre the first works i ever finished and published, and, excuse my ego /hj, but, im so happy with the way i got the bad boy's voices to fit really well!! i was (and still am honestly) shocked on how well i wrote them!! (also i really like htgth cause i set myself up some plot points im excited to build up on whenever i get back to writing it akhkfasjhf)
and surface of the seas, partly bc im just really proud of myself for writing that much ksfksajdfh. i think i mostly like it cause the little narrative comparisons and bits of lore just scattered around it :D also when i was almost finished, tying up the loose ends n stuff, it was at around 3-4k and the word count just kept going up its funny now but it was quite daunting when it was happening askfjhahfs.
oh and also maybe ive lost a piece of me, almost purely because of the puns :D
#asks#also hi sorry this took so long to answer#putting thoughts into words is Hard#anyways#this was a bunch of fun answer :D#also how do i tag this#coni wips#aerie beloved#bad boys podcast au#ascending!au#third life ren faire au
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
all I need - Cale Makar
REPOST from @cale-makar
Summary: you fall for Cale Makar, but keeping it hidden from your brother, Ryan Graves, is harder than it looks
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: language, vague/brief mentions of sex
a/n: If there are any big errors please let me know! I’m very sorry I couldn’t make this a gender neutral reader, but I didn’t describe any features, just said ‘sister’ five times and ‘she’ twice. The games in this story actually happened in early November 2019, but this fic takes place in early 2020. Tell me what you think!!
~
“What are you doing here?” Cale’s face wasn’t what you expected to see when you opened the door late one night. He held a plastic Walgreens bag in his right hand, but that wasn’t what you were focused on.
“I was heading home and decided to stop by,” he said sheepishly, his shoulders shrugging, the bag swaying.
“What if Ryan were here?”
“Well, he’s not.”
“How do you know that?” you scoffed at his careless behavior.
“‘Cause I was just down the street at his apartment,” Cale easily replied. A small ‘oh’ fell from your lips and you opened the door wider to let him in. In your eyes, you could never be too careful.
“I’m sorry, I just-” you began, but Cale shushed you before you could get another word of the almost memorized excuse you had for your worries.
You first got your job at iHeartRadio in Denver back in 2017, working as an intern. When your brother, Ryan Graves was traded to the Colorado Avalanche, he moved in just down the street. It wasn’t long before you got to know more of his teammates, but it was Cale Makar who caught your attention.
“I know, I know,” Cale sighed, setting down a Walgreens bag on the coffee table. “Do you remember when we first met?”
You were heading downstairs to greet Ryan before a weekly dinner at your apartment, but he was in a conversation with someone else in the lobby.
“I didn’t know you and my sister were neighbors,” Ryan remarked. The other man shrugged. You made your way over from the elevator, bumping your hip into Ryan’s.
“Oh! y/n this is Cale, Cale, y/n,” Cale greeted you with a warm smile, and you raised a hand in return.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around the building yet,” you questioned, tilting your head.
“I’m new to Denver, actually.”
“Well, my door is always open,” you said. Any friend of Ryan’s was a friend of yours. “In fact, why don’t you come up for dinner?”
Ryan nodded in agreeance, but Cale hesitated.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Of course!” you reassured him. “I made extra anyway.”
The night went well from there, the three of you sharing the chicken and potatoes. But it was something that Ryan said towards the end of the night that stoked the swirling fire of guilt in your head.
“You better not date my sister, Calesy.”
“How could I forget?” you started. “Ryan literally told us not to do what we’re doing right now.”
“Which is exactly why I understand what you’re worried about,” he wrapped you into a tight hug, silently easing your nerves. “Now, what do you want to watch?”
~
It was a few weeks later when Cale and Tyson were scheduled for a radio interview with the sports station located in the same building as the channel you worked for. It wasn’t planned to see Cale that day, but when he brought you food during your lunch break, you were happy nonetheless.
“I wasn’t sure what you ordered,” he explained. “I hope you like it.” You could tell from the smell alone that you were about to have the best lunch break ever.
“Aw, baby, thank you,” you said graciously. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you today. Here, take my seat.” Cale eased into the plastic rolling chair as you settled yourself into his lap, back against his chest.
“How’s your day going?”
“It’s, uh, goin’ okay, I guess,” you sighed. “I’m supposed to be releasing Instagram story polls, but I don’t have most of the questions, so it’s been a rough morning trying to brainstorm. And two of the interns called off to-” he tilted your head back and kissed you softly, effectively cutting off your rant. You smiled into the kiss, just happy to have him here with you.
Your moments together were few and far between, with both of your hectic work schedules. Whenever Cale had days off, so did Ryan. It was complicated planning dates that aligned with your off days and Cale’s and making sure Ryan was busy so he wouldn’t show up unannounced.
His stomach grumbled, causing you both to laugh. You ate without any more interruptions until your coworker walked by and knocked on the cubicle wall, drawing attention to the time. Cale had to be in the lobby in 5 minutes.
Frowning, you pushed yourself up out of the chair and grabbed Cale’s hand, walking him to the elevators. He matched your slower pace and swung your clasped hands back and forth between your bodies. You pressed the down button and pressed yourself into his side as you waited. He led you into the elevator as you reached out to hit the ‘lobby’ button.
“I made dinner reservations next week,” you stated. Cale nodded in acknowledgment. Right as the doors were about to close, a hand stuck out to stop them before stepping in.
“Oh!” the man exclaimed, and you realized he was the producer for the show Cale was to appear on today. He shook Cale’s hand and introduced himself.
“It’s so good to meet you,” the man scanned your chest for your nametag. “And you, Miss Graves. Are you related to Ryan Graves?”
“Yes, he’s my brother,” you smiled. Cale coughed awkwardly next to you. The elevator cab slowed to a halt. The doors opened, revealing Tyson Jost sitting in one of the lobby’s chairs. You squeezed Cale’s hand as a goodbye while he walked through the doors to greet Tyson. The man in the lobby narrowed his eyes at you before sending a questioning glance to Cale. Before any more damage could be done, you hit the button for your floor repeatedly, avoiding his gaze.
“Was that Gravy’s sister?” Tyson questioned, now standing.
“Yeah, uh, she was in the elevator with us,” Cale replied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“Huh, weird.”
“Yeah, what a coincidence.”
“Wait,” Tyson began. “Is that why you got here early?” Cale looked away in guilt as Tyson knowingly chuckled.
~
You were over at Ryan’s for your weekly, now monthly, dinner making the food with his girlfriend. Clare was a nice girl, and while you may have been skeptical of her at first, she was becoming one of your closest friends.
You had just twisted the burner to ‘Lo’ when the front door opened and revealed Ryan and-
“Cale?” you gasped.
“Nice to see you too,” Ryan said, taking off his shoes in the entryway. He waltzed into the kitchen, plopping a kiss on your forehead before greeting Clare and grabbing plates. Cale was still in the hallway, fumbling with his coat. You quietly walked over to help him hang it up, hoping Ryan would fail to notice your interaction.
“Is this okay?” he whispered. You nodded weakly and spun on your heel into the kitchen where Clare was dishing the food. Ryan always knew when you were lying, whether it was while playing cards or to your parents in your teenage years. How were you going to get through this dinner?
While seated at the table, Clare across from you, Ryan and Cale on either side, the conversation slipped into your dating life.
“When was the last time you were on a date?” Clare prodded. Realistically, it was last week when you took Cale out to his favorite restaurant in Denver, but you couldn’t tell this dinner table that.
“A few months, probably,” you admitted, picking up your fork for another bite. You hoped your chewing would disguise the lie.
“Then what was that photo you posted last week at the art museum?” she smirked. You knew she meant no harm, but her words were not appreciated. You smiled around the glass of water, hoping to douse your now flaming cheeks. Cale kept shoveling food into his mouth, trying -and failing- to disguise his knowing smile.
“Oh yeah, y/n,” Ryan probed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. “Who took that picture?” You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. There was no way he was getting an answer out of you.
“What? Are you hiding a secret romance from us?” Clare smirked, placing her fork onto her almost empty plate. Ryan narrowed his accusatory eyes at your flushed face.
“Wouldn’t that be something, huh?” you said sarcastically, grabbing your plate and leaving the awkward atmosphere you created. Cale coughed and reached to grab the rest of the plates, following you into the kitchen.
“Let me do the dishes,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. He stared into your now watery eyes. Ryan hadn’t reacted well, and it filled you with even more guilt.
You sniffed. “You’re a guest, just let me finish these.”
“Technically, this is Ryan’s apartment,” Clare stated, bringing in the empty glasses. “He should be the one washing up.” You turned away from her prying eyes, wiping your face with the fabric of your sweater. Cale’s hearty laugh calmed your nerves, but you still couldn’t stand to be in the same place as him and Ryan any longer.
Tugging on your shoes, you were calling out your ‘goodbyes’ before they could question your actions. Of course, Cale wanted to walk you home, and on any other night, you’d let him, but not tonight. Regret and doubtful words filled your mind through the brisk walk home, and you didn’t realize the tears were falling until you felt a warm, familiar hand on your back.
“Woah, woah, woah, slow down, it’s okay,” The comforting arms engulfed you into a hug, the hands pressing your face into a chest. Cale’s familiar scent submerged you into the calm, away from the flame of remorse. You openly sobbed into his chest.
“We have to tell him,” you decided once you slowed and regulated your breathing. “I can’t take the guilt anymore. Lying to him is so hard.”
“Me too,” he said, releasing you from his arms but still grasping your hand. “I’ve never been good at hiding things. Especially not how I feel about you.”
You pulled him down, pressing your lips to his. Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, his hands grabbing at your hips. At that moment, who cares who could see you. All that mattered right then was you and Cale.
~
“So does Sandra Bullock actually tell his family they’re engaged?” Cale’s voice rumbled through your chest. His head was resting on your chest, your arms curled around his neck, both your heads craned towards the tv in his living room.
“Her name is Lucy, and shhh, you’re missing it,” you chastised. He chuckled against you, and you lightly tugged on his hair.
You turned your focus away from the movie, appreciating the way his stomach pressed into your thighs with each breath. Things were becoming tenser between the two of you. A quiet night in watching While You Were Sleeping was exactly what you needed.
“I will marry you!”
“OH, shit!” Cale startled, tearing you out of your head. “He’s already engaged!?”
“Yeah, that’s the ‘Ashley’ Peter’s family mentioned earlier,” you replied.
“That’s not good.”
“Oh, it gets better. They think she’s pregnant, too.” Cale inhaled and reached up to grab your hand, pulling it down onto the couch next to you.
The movie progressed, further revealing Lucy and Jack, Peter’s brother’s, romance. It was right when Peter woke when Ryan’s ringtone rang from the coffee table. Cale sighed and went to get up, but you clutched his shoulder, pressing him back.
“No, stay, you’re warm,” you whined. You reached over to pause the movie and grab your vibrating phone.
“Just stay quiet. Hey!” you spoke warmly into the phone. Ryan’s torn voice came from the other end.
“Hey, can I come over? I need some advice about Clare,” guilt immediately consumed you. “We got into an argument and I don’t know how to make it up to her.”
“Oh, I’m a bit busy now,” your body tensed, and Cale began rubbing up and down your thighs. “Maybe you can come over for breakfast?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” he mumbled. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” you hung up the phone and pressed ‘play’ on the remote, relaxing back into the pillows.
“Do we need to talk about it?” Cale questioned, poking you in the side. You shook your head.
It was when he didn’t hear you laugh at the dialogue that he noticed the wet streaks on your cheeks.
“Woah, hey- stop, baby,” Cale sat up, pulling your legs over his lap.
“No, I know, I’m sorry,” you rambled. “It’s just hard to lie to him.”
Cale pulled you fully into his lap, pressing your body against his. “Shh, he’ll be okay.” He laid back, maneuvering you on top of him, effectively swapping places from earlier. You sniffed into his shirt, slowly drifting asleep.
“Ashley was already married?” burst Cale. You stirred on his lap and clutched his shirt. He went back to brushing circles beneath your sweatshirt. Suddenly tired, Cale turned off the tv and reclined into the couch, pulling a blanket over your tangled bodies.
A sharp knock pulled you from sleep hours later. You felt an aching crick in your neck from the awkward position atop Cale’s chest.
“y/n? I brought coffee!” Ryan!
You jolted up from the couch, accidentally knocking into Cale’s chin.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you muttered. Your legs caught in the blanket, and you tripped over the coffee table. “Just a second!” Cale rubbed at his eyes, running a hand through his hair.
“Go to my room and hide,” you whispered, grabbing his hands to drag him up.
You hurried to the front door, kicking Cale’s shoes into the closet and shutting the door. Ryan knocked again right as you pulled open the door. The first thing you noticed was the dark circles under his eyes.
“Good morning!” you greeted, plastering on a fake smile. “Let me, uh, get dressed, and we can go somewhere to eat.” Ryan nodded and followed you inside, opting to wait in the kitchen. You hoped you didn’t leave anything out that could reveal Cale’s presence.
Walking into your bedroom, you noticed Cale sitting at the edge of your bed, typing away on his phone.
“I’m so sorry,” you apologized. Lifting his arms, you settled onto his thighs and held his gaze. “You know I hate hiding you, but we remember what Ryan said.”
“Would he really be angry?” Cale said, keeping his volume low.
“Yes, ugh- it’s hard to describe, he just would be upset,” You pressed a small kiss to his nose. You slid off him and went to the closet, pulling on a different pair of pants and swapping out your hoodie. “I’ll call you later.” You ran your hands through your hair, aiming to tame it as you pulled on your shoes.
“You ready to go?” Ryan asked.
“Yep!”
Cale heard the front door closed and scrunched up his face in remorse.
~
Your phone buzzed on the table in front of you, showing a text from none other than Cale.
“You talk to Makar?” Ryan questioned.
“Uh, yeah,” you stuttered. “We talk sometimes, I guess.” Ryan reached and grabbed your phone, reading the text aloud.
“‘Hope you have a good day’ it says,” Ryan’s face contorted in confusion.
“Huh, weird.”
“Yeah, that is pretty weird,” he scoffed. You leaned forward and snatched the phone out of his hands.
“What, am I not allowed to be friends with your teammates?” you snapped.
“No, that’s not what I meant at all-” fortunately, the waitress walked up and asked for your drink orders. You rolled your eyes and looked up towards the ceiling. Why did this have to be so difficult?
~
You were at John and Steve, your coworkers’, house to watch tonight’s home game against Nashville, your Makar jersey hanging from your frame. Usually, you’d be cheering for your boys from the stands, but a work obligation caused you to stay late and you would miss the first period with the commute. The plan was to go out with your coworkers, but the three of you were far too tired for a bar, settling for their house. The jersey was stuffed into your bag last minute as this was one of the few times you got to wear it. Steve sent you a questioning glance when you pulled it over your work polo before you left the office, but John failed to notice.
“I’ll order a pizza,” John declared in the car. You hummed in agreeance from the backseat, your eyes closed and head resting against the headrest. A famous singer was scheduled for an interview the next day but had to reschedule for a day earlier, causing panic in the office. You were exhausted.
John turned the tv on in the middle of the second anthem, with only minutes to spare. You just settled in with a plate of pizza when Cale scored with an assist from Ryan less than a minute in. You cheered around the bite of pizza, standing up and jumping around with Steve.
You checked your phone after sending a quick text to Cale and noticed that John tagged you in a story. It was a still image of you and the other man dancing around with the caption “look at these idiots.” You smiled and quickly added it to your story, focusing back on the game.
“Bet you’re glad you wore that jersey tonight,” John remarked from the other end of the couch, drawing a laugh from you. Nashville scored after that, but Mackinnon put Colorado back in the lead and that brought an end to the first period.
You went to get another couple slices of pizza during the break and noticed you had a text from Ryan. ‘r u watching?’ it read. You responded with a short ‘yes’ and went into the bathroom to change out of your work attire now that you had time to spare.
The second period began with two goals from the Predators, bringing them ahead by 1. The lead was soon squashed by Donskoi, tying the game 3-3. Not 20 seconds later, your brother shot from the blue line and brought the team to a 4-3 lead.
“FUCK YEAH!” you shouted, doing the practiced victory dance with Steve. He grabbed your hands and you jumped three times before twirling each other beneath raised arms. John was taking a video this time and caught your gleeful expression, posting it to Instagram again. In your excitement, you didn’t notice how it showed off your #8 jersey when you reposted it.
The Avs ended up winning 9-4 with 6 consecutive goals in the second and a final one by Donskoi in the third. It was later, before you went to bed, when Ryan sent you a link to a tweet followed only by a series of question marks. Your Instagram account was public, so someone must’ve saved the video of your celly and uploaded it to Twitter for the rest of the world to see. The caption was “Graves’ sister wearing a Makar jersey?”
How were you supposed to explain this one?
‘forgot my jersey at home and borrowed john’s lol’ You hoped he believed you.
~
The energy in the Pepsi Center a couple nights later was unparalleled. Obviously, you had swapped your Makar jersey for one that showed your own last name across the back. You eventually took the story down, but the damage was already done. It was a weekend, so you were able to attend this game. You sat in the family box with everyone else’s family waiting for the game against Columbus to begin.
It was off to a rough start with Ryan getting a holding penalty and the Blue Jackets scoring. You sat anxiously, knee bouncing, hoping anyone would tie the game. Sam Girard came in clutch with a power-play goal, but Columbus scored again with less than a minute left in the first, bringing them to a 2-1 lead.
You went to get drinks with Clare during the break, hoping it would tear your mind away from the stress of the game.
“So what was the deal with the jersey on Thursday?” Clare asked while you were waiting in line.
“I forgot mine at home so I had to borrow my coworker’s,” you said, the rehearsed excuse falling easily from your lips. She sent you a look that clearly meant she didn’t actually believe you. She had nothing to show against your claim otherwise, and you were saved from explaining further when it was your turn to order.
Halfway into the second period, Cale scored off a pass from Ryan, and again not five minutes later. You cheered and danced with Clare this time. You were happy to be here supporting in-person instead of sitting at home in front of a tv screen.
The boys snagged a 4-2 win, and you were anxious to get downstairs to greet them. Cale made it out of the dressing room first, so the two of you could share your moment before everyone else was crowding the hallway.
He wrapped his strong arms around your waist, hugging you tightly as you murmured praises into his ear. You rocked back and forth, taking your time in appreciating Cale.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered. You leaned back, still in his arms, and shook your head no. There were too many people around. But you reached up and pecked his rosy cheek instead. A low whistle partnered with a hearty laugh broke the small bubble around the two of you. Josty and Compher walked out of the dressing room and saw you and Cale in a tight embrace.
“Young Gravy, what are you doing here?” Tyson yelled. You laughed at the nickname.
“Great game,” you said, ignoring the question and creating distance from Cale.
“Yeah, it was!” J.T. shouted. “Our boy, Calesy, got two goals!” He wrapped an arm around Cale’s shoulder jostling him around a bit. More cheers and hollers followed his comment as more of their teammates came through the double doors, including Ryan.
He came over and hugged you tightly, lifting you into the air a few inches as he cheered into your ear. The taller man set you down and patted the name on your back, moving on to greet Clare.
“You good?” Cale mouthed. You nodded, biting your bottom lip anxiously. You’d become too careless, Ryan had to be suspecting something.
~
“I’m exhausted,” you groaned into the phone. The boys were on a long road trip, and you missed both of them so much. It was out of your routine to not hang out with either of them at least once a week, and it stressed you out. You were used to waking up to Cale’s sleepy face in bed or Ryan passed out on your couch. “Miss you so much.”
“I know, y/n,” he mumbled. “I’ll-uh- we’ll be back next week.” Cale was sitting in his hotel room in Vancouver, trying not to fall asleep when the door opened.
“You awake in here?” Ryan’s voice came from the doorway.
“Look, I gotta go,” Cale hushed into his phone. “Talk to you later.” He hung up the phone, abruptly ending your conversation.
“Sorry, man, didn’t know you were on the phone.”
“It’s all good, I was gonna go to bed soon anyway.”
“Who are you even talking to this late? Got a girlfriend you aren’t telling us about?” Cale tried to deny it, but his flushed cheeks sold him out. “Nice, man! When can I meet her?”
“Not sure,” he stuttered. “She’s, uh, shy.” Ryan nodded and dropped the topic, opting to turn off the lights and pass out.
The next morning, Cale was eating cereal at breakfast when he felt a sharp poke in the neck.
“Is that a hickey?” Burky bellowed. A chorus of shouts and praises erupted, and a few guys patted him on the shoulder.
“Cale juice gets some?”
“Better than you!”
“Yeah, Calesy!”
But it was a shout from Tyson that silenced everyone.
“Hey, Gravy! How’s your sister?”
#cale makar#cale makar x reader#cale makar imagine#cale makar imagines#nhl fic#nhl x reader#nhl fanfiction#colorado avalanche fic
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
grey sweats || taeil.m
pairing: taeil x reader
genre: smut
warning(s): language; mention of thigh riding; *cough* daddy kink *cough*; oral (m receiving); finger sucking; slight choking; slight dumbification; face fucking; hair pulling
word count: 4k
a/n: thank you to @flowerboykun for helping me with this! Literally two months in the making. I planned for it to be longer, but my brain broke soo.. also, if there's any warnings i missed please let me know!!
“Are you dumb? Don’t go in there!” You shout at the tv, throwing a bit of popcorn on the screen as you watch the idiotic person move into the room where they heard loud noises. “What is with people in horror movies and scoping out the place?”
Taeil couldn’t help but laugh as he heard you rant about the movie, but also agreeing with you. What is with people in horror movies and scoping out the place? Like… just leave. Leave. Ain’t no way you’re getting your shit back. Hearing his laughter, you turn your focus onto your boyfriend, a faint smile on your lips as you watch him laugh. “What? It’s true!”
“I’m not saying it’s not babe.” His laughter dies down as he looks at you and smiles. “In fact, I completely agree with you.” He brought a finger up to your nose, booping the tip of it. He watches as you scrunch your nose up, giggling as you do so. “Wanna play Mario kart instead? The movie is kind of boring anyway.” You nod your head as he places a loose strand of hair behind your head, leaning in to give you a light peck in the lips.
“Be prepared to lose baby, cause I’m the Queen of Mario Kart.” You smirk, voice filled with determination. Taeil raises his eyebrows, chuckling under his breath.
“Not to belittle you or anything babe… but you suck at Mario Kart.” He laughs, only laughing harder when you start lightly hitting his chest. “You lost against Mark like six times last we played.” HIs hands reach for yours, keeping your hands still from no longer hitting him. You scoff at his statement, shaking your head and mumbling, “it was a rough day.” under your breath.
“I still love you though.” He smiles, entwining your fingers with his, bringing a hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand one, two, three times. Although you’ve heard him say the words to you thousands of times, no matter what, it’s always going to give you butterflies in the pit of your stomach; making you feel all giddy. You still wonder how you got so lucky to have a person like Taeil in your life.
“Yeah, yeah whatever. Just get the stupid game running.” you pout, lightly shoving his shoulder. He gets up but not before pecking your lips, the pout instantly being replaced with a soft smile. You hear him mumble “cutie” as he moves towards the tv, setting up the nintendo switch and putting in the Mario Kart game card. He slides out the game controllers and makes his way back over to you on the couch, handing you the blue one, a small smile on his face. You happily take the controller from his hand, a small “thank you” quietly leaving your lips.
“Ready for me to kick your ass babe?” Although you weren’t looking at him, you can just hear the cocky smirk in his voice. You scoff at his words, shoving at his shoulder again. Your focus was now on the screen, the loading page seemingly taking forever in your mind but really, it was only a minute. You sigh, placing your controller to the side and get up off of the couch, heading towards the kitchen. “I’m getting a drink, do you want anything?” He shakes his head, smiling up at you.
“No thanks, babe.” You smile back at him and enter the kitchen. Going straight for the fridge, you get out a bottle of water, the coolness of the fridge instantly hitting your face. You sigh as you close the fridge door, making your way back towards the living room. Running your hands through your hair, you hum a quiet tune to yourself; the tune quickly ending before it could even start, the sight before you making you almost choke on air.
There Taeil sat, manspreading, his grey sweats leaving little to the imagination. A few quick glances and you could easily make out that he most certainly wasn’t wearing underwear. Taeil undoes the cap of the water bottle taking a large gulp, you can’t help but stare at how his Adam’s Apple bobs as he drinks. He’s just drinking water and your mind is reeling down a very dirty path. When he finished taking a drink, he put the bottle onto the coffee table, a slight smirk on his face knowing that you hadn’t taken your eyes off of him.
Taeil let out a small cough bringing you back into reality, shaking your head slightly, turning your gaze back to the screen. You could feel him place the hand that held the water bottle onto your thigh, instantly sending a shiver down your spine and goosebumps to arise on your skin, his fingers softly squeezing your flesh, the feeling sending heatwaves anywhere and everywhere on your body. “Get ready to get your ass whooped, princess.” You bite your lip upon hearing his words, trying to suppress the small whine that wanted to escape. It only made the male smirk more, knowing exactly what you were trying to do.
You tried to focus on the game, really you did. But no matter how hard you tried to push Daisy to get to first place, images of Taeil and his god damn stupid fucking gray sweatpants… and his stupid dick imprint. And his adams apple… and his jawline… his lips… you kept getting hit with both red and green shells and running over banana peels. You watched as Taeil’s character got first place whereas yours was still driving towards the finish line at what looks to be the second last place. Okay, maybe you do suck at Mario Kart, but that’s only because Taeil was distracting you!
Maybe not every other time… but still!
“You’re completely off your game today babe. You good?” Taeil asks, eyebrows raised, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he stares at you, a faint smirk on his face. You turn to look at him, a faux smile on your lips as you nod your head. The grip you had on the controller was so tight that if you had the strength, you probably would’ve broken the damn thing in half.
“Never better.” You retort through gritted teeth, breathing slightly uneven. You try to calm yourself down, closing your eyes and breathing through your nose, but hearing Taeil chuckle under his breath definitely did not help. No dirty thoughts. No dirty thoughts. Empty head. Empty. Head.
The next race began and you did a little better than before, until Taeil 'unintentionally’ bumped his leg into yours; or when he ‘accidently’ dropped his controller in your lap and his fingers grazed your skin as he picked it up with the fattest grin on his lips. You came last in that race. And he somehow managed to get first again.
And when the third race began, you kind of gave up and let all your thoughts take over your brain. All focus on the game and proving Taeil a point is all gone. All that was on your mind was Taeil, sitting there, his sweatpants around his ankles and your face between his legs. The thoughts instantly make you pool between your own. You bite on your bottom lip letting all the unholy thoughts run through your mind.
Taeil took one glance at you and he instantly knew what was on your mind, his smirk wide as he watched you zone out. He knew the look all too well. Your eyes glazed over, your teeth digging deep into your lip; no doubt that you were thinking about him and his dick being in your mouth. He placed his controller down onto the coffee table, next to the abandoned bottle of water and turned his body towards you, his foot lightly tapping your leg.
“What’s up, buttercup?” He smiles teasingly, popping the p. “Something on your mind?” He brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, his index finger slowly tracing the side of your jaw until he gets to your chin, gently holding it between his thumb and finger, moving your head slightly so you’re facing him.
You smile at him as you come back to your senses, his touch on your skin sending a fire throughout your body, the thoughts from just a few seconds ago embedded into your brain and most likely never going to leave. You shake your head as best as you can in his hold, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
You watch as Taeil nods his head slowly, tongue swiping over his bottom lip and a sly smirk on his lips, eyebrows raised; his gaze now dark and filled with lust. You felt small underneath his gaze, but you loved it honestly. His thumb was now touching your bottom lip, tracing over it slowly. “Now,” he starts, voice low and raspy. “you’re not lying to me, are you princess?” Although his tone was very domineering, it still sounded as smooth as honey. The sound sends heat waves all over your body.
“N-no, of course not.” Your voice was small, too nervous to look away from him. In your mind, so many scenarios happen. One where you’re straddling his thigh, his hands on your hips and his fingers digging deep into your hips as his hands guide them over his thigh, your wetness staining his grey sweats; whimpers and tiny moans slipping past your lips; another where his sweats are hanging around his ankles, you kneeling between his legs, nails digging into his thighs, his cock so far down your throat tears start spilling from your eyes.
“Oh but of course. You’d never lie to me.” His hands were now cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing over your cheekbone, until one grips your jaw, gentle but somewhat rough, making you look directly into his eyes. His other hand moves to your hips, grip tight, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Cause you know what happens when you lie to daddy don't you?” You let out a whimper at his words, biting down on your lip and nodding your head as best as you could. “Uh, no. Words, princess.”
You whimper again, louder this time, a hand moving to wrap around his that was around your jaw, fingers gripping tightly around his wrist as you somehow manage to find words. “I’d never lie. Promise.”
Taeil smirks, his head was tilted to the side and his eyebrows raised. The grip that was on your hip tightened, a small yelp falling past your lips as he pulled you further onto his lap. “Oh princess. My sweet, naive baby.” His tone was domineering, voice deep, sending a shot of electricity through your body. “I can see right through your little lies.” Your eyes widened, feeling the hand that was holding your jaw now finding a home around your neck, your hand still around his wrist. You weren’t gonna lie, Taeil was kinda scary when he got into this mood, but that just made it all the more better and arousing. The minute his fingers wrapped around your throat, heatwaves shot down to your core. “So princess, I’m going to have you get up, and move your ass into the bedroom. Can you do that for me?” He hums, his hand that was on your hip squeezing the flesh. He watches as your eyes filled with wonder and excitement, but also a slight look of terror. He released his hand from your throat, allowing you to get up off of his lap. “You know how I want you, baby girl.” you nod gently, he presses his tongue against his cheek and shakes his head at you. “We’ve been over this, angel. Use your damn words.” he bites.
“Y-yes daddy.” You reply softly, voice slightly raspy from the lack of oxygen you had a few seconds ago. You heard him let out a faint “good girl” making you let out another whimper as you ran towards the bedroom, basically tearing your clothes off before making it through the doorway. When you made it into the room, you took off the last of your clothes and made your way onto the top of the bed, sitting on your knees facing the door. You sat there, ever so patiently, but what you didn’t know is that Taeil still sat out in the living room playing another round of Mario Kart with a smirk on his face. Why not make you wait just that little bit longer?
You sat there on the bed, patiently waiting for him like he told you too. But you knew he was making you wait, cause it had to have passed at least 5 minutes now and you were starting to get a little impatient. You were pretty much whining to yourself, biting down onto your lip, fists clenched so tight that your nails were digging into the palm of your hand. You tried so hard to stop yourself from touching yourself. Being the number one rule. And he was right there, he could catch you at any moment and that would be hell for you. But you were so needy and just so desperate, you needed something, anything to relieve you. Your patience was wearing thin though, something needed to be done to relieve the ache between your thighs. You kept your eyes on the door, nervousness sitting in the pit of your stomach as you sat back properly on the bed, lip between your teeth and both hands slowly trailing down your body, your mind imagining that it was Taeil’s instead making you moan a little louder than intended. But you took no notice of it. Too busy wrapped up in your own world, your hands over your body and your fingers dance closer to where you needed them most. Your index finger was so close to brushing against your clit, when suddenly, a strong grip on your hand had stopped you.
You were in deep shit now.
“And what do you think you’re doing princess?” His voice was harsh but still had an edge of softness to it. Your breathing stops as you open your eyes and look at him. His jaw was clenched, eyes no longer the soft brown you fell in love with but now rather close to black, your heart pounds against your chest trying to find the words to respond to him. He lets out a sarcastic chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “Couldn’t even wait 5 minutes for daddy’s cock huh?” You feel him pull on your wrist gently, a sign from him that he wants you to sit up. So you did just that. Sitting along your side of the bed on the edge of it as he stands directly in front of you, towering over your frame. “You’re usually such a good girl for me.” He tsks, sighing softly as one of his hands brushes away a stray piece of hair from your forehead.
It was a rare sight to see Taeil in this mood. Normally, his voice is always as sweet as honey, especially when they are saying the filthiest of things. He was always smiling and always willing to give you exactly what you wanted - what you craved. But you knew tonight was going to be different. You knew the moment that the words “I’d never lie. Promise.” came out of your mouth that tonight was not going to be a gentle one.
“I was going to be gentle with you baby, but after the stunts you pulled…” Taeil tilts his head to the side, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, his hand stroking the side of your face and soon, gripping your chin firmly, making sure your gaze never left his. “I think I need to teach you a lesson on not being a brat.”
Sometimes you disliked how weak you were under his touch, but deep down, you loved it a little too much. You were simply putty in his hands. How without him doing anything to you, just a simple look or simple words sends shivers down your spine. Or how whenever you see him doing something as simple as cooking, you go weak in the knees. You let out a shaky breath as you felt his thumb trail over your bottom lip, eyes closing and taking in the soft touch. A small moan pushing past your lips when you open your mouth slightly, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth. You open your eyes, your gaze meeting his once again. He could see how much you were enjoying, simply from looking into your eyes -how glazed over they were. He smirks to himself as he watches you suck on his thumb, his lip now between his teeth as he pictures your mouth somewhere more useful. The whimper you let out after he takes his thumb out goes straight down south, feeling his cock twitch in his pants.
“I know baby, I know.” His wet thumb that was covered in your saliva travels down your sternum, then moves towards your left breast, giving the soft mound a gentle squeeze before tracing his thumb over your nipple, making you whinier and needier than ever. “But I just want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” You look at him with big sparkly eyes, almost innocent. His gaze softens a bit before he speaks again, “Princess, you know you can tell me if you don’t want something, right?”
“Yes, daddy, I know. I want to be good now though.” you move to sit on the floor in front of him, “I promise I’ll be good.” you try to be subtle as you rub your thighs together trying to get some friction.
Your action doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, “Will you, princess? Seems like you’re trying to get something I didn’t give you permission to have.” His hand comes down to your jaw holding it, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. You try to behave but all you can focus on at the moment is how obviously hard he is in his grey sweats. “Do you want to explain yourself, baby?”
“I’m sorry, daddy, I just want you so bad and I don’t know how to handle it.” Your eyes are trained on his member though. You feel yourself salivate at the thought of the weight of his cock against your tongue. You let out a whimper accidentally, your eyebrows furrowed together trying to behave yourself.
“Oh, princess, are you so desperate that you don’t know how to use your brain? How adorable, don’t worry, daddy will tell you just what to do.” he smirks, still holding your chin, “Now, how about you look at me.” your eyes struggle to move back to his face, but you still manage to do so. “That’s a good girl, now, how about you put that pretty little mouth to use, hm?” he tilts his head with faux innocence. You nod and let your tongue loll out of your mouth waiting patiently. “Look how pretty you look all wide-eyed and waiting. You make daddy so proud, little angel.” His words of praise sends another heatwave to your core, a small whine falling past your lips as he pushes your hair back, hands holding your hair back in a makeshift ponytail. He coos at your reaction, chuckling lowly as one hand moves back to your jaw. “Now, be a good girl and put that mouth to good use.”
He watches with half lidded eyes, his gaze filled with nothing but pure lust as he watches your nimble fingers pull down his grey sweats. A lazy smile rests on his lips as he sees you blush a bright shade of red. You knew what you wanted was right past this grey fabric but the images that paint themselves across your mind make you shier than ever. He pets your hair, loose strands being moved behind your ear and his fingers trailing down towards your chin. His thumb rubs soothing circles along your skin, a sign for you to pay attention to him. So your eyes met his and the look in his eyes was almost predatory. One of his hands moves to cover yours, helping you to pull his sweats down. You whimper, biting your lip as his cock was now eye level with you, your mouth practically watering at the thought of having him in your mouth. The hand that held your chin now moved to the back of your head, his fingers grasping onto your hair; gentle, but not too gentle, but making sure the grip wasn’t so tight as to hurt you. His eyes still clouded with desire as he watches you. His bottom lip caught between his teeth and a smirk planted along his soft, plump lips as a whine fell past your lips.
“Don’t make me tell you twice, princess.'' His voice mocks sympathy. “Open that pretty mouth of yours again.” Not wanting to keep him waiting any longer you listen to him and let your jaw drop open. “That’s my good girl.” He says under his breath, guiding his cock slowly into your mouth. You moan at the feeling of him against your tongue, the vibration of the sound vibrating off of his dick, making him roll his head back and let out a deep moan. The hand that was in your hair tightens its grip slightly, pushing your head more forward on him - a clear indication that he wanted full control. And who were you to disobey your daddy? You place your hands delicately against his thighs, still wanting to touch him in a way. His hand guides your head at the pace he likes, slow, but fast enough to get some pleasure out of it. You move your tongue over the tip of the head of his cock, running it over the tip every time he pulls your head back. His groans fill up the room, a small whisper of “fuck, baby” falling past his lips as he rolled his head back, getting lost in the feeling of your hot mouth on him. He moves his head back so his gaze was back on you, his bottom lip sitting between his teeth as he watches you; your eyes closed, drool practically dripping down your chin as your moans once again vibrate against him, sending him closer and closer to his high.
“Fuck princess,” he growls, his breathing getting heavier the closer he gets to his high. “Such a good girl for daddy.” Hearing the words of praise sent more arousal to your core -your thighs basically covered in your arousal. You had to fight all urges in you to not rub your thighs together to get some sort of friction between your legs. Because you knew you had to be patient. No matter how long it took. But within seconds after a few more kitten licks to the tip of his cock, Taeil groans, hand pulling tighter onto your hair as his seed releases into your mouth, painting your tongue white. You squealed a little at the sensation, but smiled non the less and swallowed despite the bitter taste. “Show me.” You hear him pant, his gaze burning deep onto you as you look up at him, opening your mouth wide and put your tongue out to show that you indeed swallowed every last drop. “Good girl.” His voice was gravelly, but he still smiled, the hand that was in your hair a second ago, now caressing the side of your face, his thumb wiping away any stray tears.
His hand now moved to hold under your chin, both your eyes and his staring intensely into one another, as if your eyes could speak a language of their own. He smirks as if your words were conveyed through eye contact. “Did you want some help with your little issue now, love?”
network: @neohub
tag(s): @flowerboykun
#network:neohub#nct#nct 127#taeil#moon taeil#nct x reader#nct 127 x reader#taeil x reader#moon taeil x reader#nct smut#nct 127 smut#taeil smut#moon taeil smut#kpop x reader#nct imagines#nct 127 imagines#nct u#nct u taeil#kpop smut
302 notes
·
View notes
Text
that's the way (the boy next door)
pairing: jimmy x reader
words: 4k
warnings: angst, parental death, longing, heartbreak
summary: ten years as friends with your neighbor jimmy creates dozens upon dozens of memories. most of which are good, but the bad things can't help but slip through the cracks. navigating through life with him by your side and trying to live as two innocent teenagers isn't as easy as it seems.
author's note: so uhhh, I've been thinking of this since I first heard that's the way over a year ago when I first joined the zep fandom. I quite literally saw the pictures in my head and immediately knew I had to write it, but didn't know just how to articulate it. this summer I finally had a vague image in my mind of how I wanted this all to play out and started writing right away. it was touch and go for a while, but now it's finished and I really hope you all enjoy it <3
I don't know how I'm gonna tell you
I can't play with you no more
I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me
My friend, the boy next door
“And you tell that Page boy I don’t want to see him out here playing with you again! You don’t want me to go and have a talk with his mother now do you?”
“No, Mama,” you replied, head hung low after the scolding you’d just received. At seven years old, you weren’t sure why your mother hadn’t wanted you playing with any of the boys on your street. You grew up on a desolate road in the far end of Epsom where hardly any children your age lived except Jimmy and some other boys who were a year or two older than you. But they didn’t want to play with you…you had “cooties.”
The next morning as you head out to the park, there was no way to avoid the Page’s house—it was immediately next to yours—and Jimmy came running out behind you, calling your name as you started at a quicker pace, only making him run behind you faster. It was impossible once he’d actually caught up to you, almost grabbing you by the shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop.
“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you wait for me?” Jimmy asked, pain clear in his bright, innocent voice as he caught his breath, “was it because I accidentally pushed you yesterday? You said it was okay…”
Your head hung low just as it had the previous evening upon your scolding. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and devastate him even further, “My mum said—my mum said we can’t be friends anymore.”
“Why?” was his first inquiry above anything else, confusion riddling his young, cherubic features.
“I told you, my mum said she didn’t want me hanging around with you. Sh—she didn’t give a reason why, but I just listen to what she says,” you answered, barely able to look Jimmy in his shining, emerald eyes that were now shrouded in disappointment. In his silence, it prompted you to chance a glance at him. His lips pursed together, his eyes were downcast to the concrete sidewalk. He took a shallow breath before walking back in the direction of his house. A single tear slipped from your eye. You kept on your way to the park.
I can't believe what people saying
You're gonna let your hair hang down
I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long
You're in the darker side of town
You bounced down the stairs on your way to the kitchen, about to ask your mum if you could go out with some friends later that weekend. Now at thirteen, you were spending more time out of the house and more time out with friends. It was freeing to say the least. You caught your mother on the phone before you came into the kitchen, hearing her ranting and raving about God-knows-what.
“Did you see how long his hair is? Much too long for a proper boy his age! And did you hear about how he exploded that old shack on the school grounds?!….I’ve already spoken with his mother, Sharon, she doesn’t seem to care. Says James is gonna make it into the big leagues. Not like that he won’t,” she carried on. You decided at this point to walk into the kitchen and try to catch her attention, “And what is with that guitar he’s always lugging around? He’s not right—hold on Shar, Y/N wants to tell me something. What is it, darling?”
“Oh,” you piped up, “Ella wants to go out this Saturday. She said her dad could take us to a—a skiffle show in London. Can I go?”
“Just you and Ella?” your mother inquired, impatiently holding the phone down to her shoulder.
“Me, Ella, and Holly. That’s all.”
Your mother looked at you for a few seconds, letting you stew in your anxiety for a bit. “That’s fine. I want you back home before midnight, though.”
“Of course, thank you!” you exclaimed as you rushed back to your bedroom, carrying on with your homework.
-
On Saturday, you were dressed in your very best. Your button-down white blouse and favorite skirt were your ensemble for the day. As you exited through your front door after your thousands of goodbyes to your mother, you peered into the next front yard only to see Jimmy headed in the same direction as you were for the car.
Your eyebrows came together in confusion. Looking into the car, you saw John Preston, a good friend of Jimmy's, sitting beside Holly in the large backseat of the vehicle.
"Hi, Y/N,” Jimmy greeted sweetly, "you're going to the skiffle show, too?"
You stared blankly at him, stuttering in response, “Ye-Yes. I didn't know you were coming with us."
"Oh, John told me Ella was offering to take people and I was planning on going anyway so I took his offer and...here I am,” he said simply with a shrug. "Is...that a problem? I know your mum has some sort of an issue with me. I don't quite understand it."
"I just ignore what she says at this point, really,” you said, unsure of where to look or what to do. “Your hair looks nice like that."
You two sat squished in the car the whole way to London. As John talked up Holly, and Ella rode with her father up front, there was little conversation between you and the rest of the teenagers all squeezed into the backseat. The conversation between you and Jimmy was even more so confined, though you'd been sitting right next to each other. Occasionally a glance would be exchanged and a quiet giggle; him touching your fingers as you anxiously played with them in your lap and you nudging his shoulder gently when he did so.
"You play guitar right?" you asked, you voice just above a whisper. Like the question was reserved wholly for him.
"Yes," he nodded, his eyes boring into yours, "I could..." he gulped, "teach you sometime if you'd like..."
"I don't think my mother would approve."
"I thought you ignored what she had to say,” Jimmy remarked with a sly smile creeping up the edge of his lips.
You couldn't help but chuckle. “About trivial matters, yes. But going to your house to learn guitar...she'd get suspicious,” you shook your head.
"Well, I could show you after school. Haven't got anything better to do anyway. You could say you're studying with Ella or something."
Your eyes timidly met his, looking away after only a few seconds. The shade of green they donned something you wouldn't forget so soon. "Perhaps. I'll let you know on Monday."
"Okay," he smiled. Looking down at your hands, your heart leapt out of your chest at the sight of your fingers intertwined together.
You stood side by side through the entirety of the skiffle show, Jimmy's hand brushing yours every few songs. You'd lost your friends somewhere in the shuffle, but you were sure they weren't enjoying the show nearly as much as you and Jimmy were.
After the show had wound down, you and Jimmy strolled over to the agreed upon meeting area. You stood awkwardly as thirteen year-olds often did, balancing this way and that on the heels of your feet as you twiddled your fingers, stretching your neck to see if your friends were anywhere close. Jimmy stood with his head down. You didn’t know that his cheeks were too flushed for him to even look at you.
“That was fun,” you remarked once you were sure your head would pop off if you kept craning your neck.
Jimmy’s head snapped up. “Mhm!” he agreed, soon looking down to hide his face. You raised an eyebrow at the sight.
"You alright?" you asked, looking at him quizzically.
Jimmy paused for along while, timidly looking up at you, “I really ….” he mumbled out the last part of his statement. You could barely understand a word he said.
"What's that?"
"Ireallylikeyou,” he rushed out in a small, quiet voice.
Your eyes widened once you registered his confession, "Oh,” you said softly. What do I even answer with? you couldn't help but think to yourself. "I like you, too Jimmy." Though you didn’t mean in the same way he did.
He shot up to look at you again, bewilderment riddling his expression. It was then that you saw his cherubic cheeks flushed bright red even in the darkness of your surroundings. "You do?!"
"Uhm, well, yes, Jimmy. But—but as friends,” you said, unsure of yourself. "I'm sorry."
You could see his poor heart shatter right before you. "Oh,” he replied, dejected.
Your friends could be heard laughing and talking loudly just a few feet away. As they approached, Jimmy took a few steps away from you and ran his hands over his face, pretending as if nothing had happened.
"Jimmy—" you started, not even sure of what you wanted to tell him.
"No, it's fine. I get it,” he waved you off, stepping even further away, not daring to look at you.
And when I'm out I see you walking
Why don't your eyes see me?
Could it be you've found another game to play,
What did mama say to me?
You walked to school the next Monday. Passing Jimmy's house as you always did, he walked out as your eyes glanced over at his front door. You nearly jumped in an excitable fear at the sight of him, though he looked more than miserable to see you.
Knowing your mother would be watching you until you reached the end of your block, you wouldn't dare turn to say hello to him.
But he seemed to completely ignore you once your collective gazes met. It hurt to say the least. Telling Jimmy you only liked him as a friend seemed to be the worst mistake you could have made. Instead, at seeing some of the other schoolboys on your block, Jimmy ran to them, completely bypassing you as he crossed the road and struck up a conversation. God, how it angered you.
And yesterday I saw you standing by the river
And weren't those tears that filled your eyes
And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying
Had they got you hypnotized?
Somewhere down the line you seemed to patch things up with Jimmy. You were sixteen now. Three years passed since his confession to you and it seemed his feelings didn't change between then and now.
You'd see him catching glimpses of you during class, and in the hallway, and at lunch. It made your cheeks flush whenever you caught him. You knew he didn’t have some schoolboy crush on you at this rate. Having gotten much closer recently, you decided to let him feel his feelings as he pleased. Perhaps you’d even felt a twinge of a feeling back for him. He was the cutest boy in school, after all. You couldn’t deny that.
However, boys weren’t your sole focus anymore. It was helping to provide for your family. With your mother having passed away the previous year, you were stuck trying to find ways to help your father pay the bills. All at the hands of a drunk driver lost late at night that struck your mother as she was taking out the garbage. It was a horrible time for you, not to mention your father.
Jimmy's mother had been a great help to you: offering to make you dinner, helping to do house chores whenever she could, offering a shoulder to cry on, and so much more. You thought it oddly generous seeing as how much your mother was a bother to Mrs. Page. You speculated Jimmy may have had a hand in her generosity. After that you'd started spending more time next door. You and Jimmy did homework together and his mother would offer to let you stay for a meal before going home to your father. He was gone during the day anyway so you really had nowhere else to go. It was an awkward time for everyone in the months following.
Eventually, though, you got back on your feet. You got a job at a local diner and were making good money to keep yourself afloat even if it wasn't by that much. You’d definitely learned to be more frugal; a skill your mother had always wanted you to pick up before you were too old.
It had been almost a year after her passing that you’d picked up on Jimmy’s endless stares again. On one certain day, it seemed he was finally confident enough in trying his chances with you again. You two were sat at his kitchen table practicing your cursive handwriting when he spoke up.
"Did you want to go down to the river with me tomorrow?"
"Why's that?" you asked as you completed the tail on a lowercase “a”, getting started on the next one.
"Uh, no—no reason. Thought maybe we could get out of the house for a little while."
You contemplated it for a second before answering. "Sure, I don't mind. I just have to be back in time for work. Can I meet you there?"
Jimmy nodded vehemently with a smile. “Yeah, that's great."
-
You were the first to arrive at the arranged meeting spot by the river the next afternoon. You stood leaning on a tree, watching as the river flowed soothingly past you, the sounds of the rippling water calming you greatly, almost in a hypnotizing way. You saw the fish rushing their way through the stream. Inevitably you wondered where they'd end up. Either way you morbidly realized they'd all be dead one day. Or in someone's home being served as a meal.
A sense of panic washed over you and tears rushed to your eyes. Figuring Jimmy wouldn't show up for a while, you let hot tears stream down your cheeks; death being an inevitable reminder of your mother. You didn't cry much over her anymore, but few things still managed to set you off.
"Hey," a voice said gently, touching their hand to your shoulder. Jimmy. "What's wrong?"
"Oh my," you said, quickly rushing your hands to your face, wiping away the tears haphazardly as you chuckled at Jimmy, obviously embarrassed. "Sorry."
“Don’t apologize. Are you alright?" he asked, rubbing his thumb into your arm before drawing you in for a hug. His immediate attention brought you comfort, though you were embarrassed to admit that a few fish brought you to tears.
"Just fine, Jimmy. Don't worry about me, I promise."
He let go, but kept his hands on your biceps. "Did something happen?"
"No,” you insisted, "just the…bloody fish."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go after that, letting go of your arms and letting his own fall to his sides again.
"What did you want to do here?" you asked as you started walking along the river, going opposite the current. A look of confusion flashed on his face before he remembered that he'd invited you to meet with him.
"Uh, well. I just wanted to talk with you."
"About what?"
He stammered, looking around anxiously as if trying to find the words he was trying to say. “I have this friend,” he said, nodding to himself as if he were trying to convince himself that this was the correct information. "He—He really likes you."
You caught the lie immediately. Not being able to hold back the light chuckle leaving you, you nodded. “Oh, okay. Who is it?”
It was as if he was being tested again, he cleared his throat, “Johnny!….Johnny Tree…ston.”
“Johnny Treeston? Okay,” you said, more than amused with his antics.
“Yes, well. Don’t tell him I told you. He’d be very embarrassed. Anyway. He was asking me what would be the best…uhm—course of action in trying to ask you on a date.”
“Well, why can’t Johnny Treeston just tell me how he feels?” you replied, staring deep and knowingly into Jimmy’s bright green eyes.
“Y/N, you see, he can’t just tell you like that. He doesn’t want to seem like a simpleton.”
“Ha!” you guffawed, “a simpleton.” You laughed, “Johnny could never be a simpleton. I know how intelligent he is,” you stopped, taking Jimmy’s wrist with one hand, “and sweet. And genuine…”
“I didn’t know you knew Johnny like that.” Jimmy said, playing off the fact that you had just called his bluff.
“Well…I don’t know Johnny like that. Johnny isn’t real. But you are. And I know you like that, Jimmy.”
His cheeks flushed. Perhaps even redder than they did back when you were kids. “You do?” he asked, almost terrified that he’d even brought the conversation up to this poignant point.
“Of course I do. I always speculated why your mother was so kind to me after my mum passed.”
“Surely she was just trying to be homely.”
“Surely,” you agreed. After a beat you continued, “God Jimmy, it’s like you made me like you by doing nothing at all,” you said, chuckling to yourself. Jimmy’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to the punch. “I like you, Jimmy. A lot.”
He stared at you in shock for a good five seconds before he spoke. This pause felt like it lasted a lifetime. “That’s supposed to be my line,” he said finally, a cheeky smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
You couldn’t help but pull Jimmy into a hug. He quickly pulled back, still holding you close, "You don't mean like a friend, right?"
"No!" you laughed, "of course not. But just in case you were still on the fence..." you trailed off, pressing your lips against his gently, the feeling being much softer than you could have ever imagined. Jimmy kissed you back. You could feel his longing in the kiss as he cradled your cheeks in his palms. Pulling back, you spoke again, "I hope that settles it, then."
He grinned at you, pulling you in for another kiss before you continued on through the park. “So would you like to go out with me sometime?” He asked.
“I would love to, Jimmy,” you replied, an impermeable smile spreading across your face.
And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers
But all that lives is born to die
And so I say to you that nothing really matters
And all you do is stand and cry
He said to meet at your spot by the river again. It was the day of your eighteenth birthday. Again you waited for him as the sun just began to set. The early summer breeze tussled the flowers sprawled across the field. You picked one from the dirt with a quick, sharp tug, inhaling its scent. A mayflower. Aptly named. It brought nothing but good memories from your childhood.
A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, and a face pressed its lips into the back of your shoulder repeatedly. You turned your head to face the affectionate person, your hand resting just above theirs; your fingers intertwining together as if by habit.
"Hello, lover,” he said softly, kissing your neck.
"Lover. I like that name,” you giggled, turning to face him, cupping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your lips to his for a quick moment.
"Happy birthday,” he said, bringing his finger to your chin and tilting your lips back up to his, bringing you both together once again.
"Here,” you said, showing him the mayflower you'd just plucked, kissing one of the small petals before delicately placing it behind his ear much to your delight. "Promise you'll keep it?"
"Only till it dies,” he remarked. His comment struck a chord within you. You weren't sure what it was, but you ignored it and carried on. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you,” you nodded to him. “So where are we off to?"
Jimmy had mentioned he had a special evening planned for the two of you, but failed to indulge on what exactly it was he wanted to do. It seemed, though, the first order of business was to get on the bus headed for London. You were about to embark on a journey.
"When we get to London, then maybe I'll reveal some more of what we'll do,” he said mischievously, plucking the flower resting on his ear and putting it just hanging outside of his breast pocket. "Also I needed to talk to you about some things."
You took his hand in yours, turning your attention away from the window and back to him, listening intently.
"I'm going to art school,” he announced. You shrugged at him, not knowing the severity of the issue. "I'll be moving out of my parents' house. They have a flat lined up for me there. I'm leaving next week."
All you could do was stare at him. Your expression was blank, but on the inside, your body was slowly flooding. Filling up like a sinking ship with no way out. "You're moving?" you said it more as a statement than a question, but the way you felt was more than clear. "I'll come with you,” you said suddenly, almost jumping at the realization. You couldn't bear to part with him, not so soon.
Jimmy shook his head solemnly. “What about your father? You can't leave him on his own."
He was right. With his constant working, you were the one who had to keep the house tidy and cook. Someone had to take over your mother's duties, but you insisted. “He can live without me. I can find a job in London. I can make you happy,” you tried, tears starting to prick at your eyes.
"You already make me happy, darling. And it doesn't matter, I don't want you to feel like you have to uproot your life for me. Even then with all of the session work and schooling I'll barely be home. It just wouldn't be feasible for you,” Jimmy replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You gave up fighting then. Letting the tears stroll down your cheeks as they pleased and you didn't speak another word to him for the rest of the bus ride. With your hands in your lap, you admired the scenery before you. Jimmy stayed uncomfortably silent the rest of the way. It was clear to see that this conversation had put a damper on your birthday celebrations.
That was the way the boy next door broke your heart into a million pieces.
After moving to London, you didn’t see Jimmy for several years. Now established with a career of his own, hair down past his shoulders, and more women around him than he could ever know what to do with, it seemed he'd forgotten you. And you tried your hardest to forget him.
You'd heard his name many times on the radio in conjunction with the new supergroup he'd formed that was sweeping the nation. You were proud of him; proud that he'd finally achieved his dreams, though it saddened you to hear his name and realize you weren't a part of his life anymore. However, there was nothing you could do about it now.
That was the way it was going to stay.
---
masterlist!!!
Taglist: @diaryofafan17 @tophats-n-lespauls @witchesdust @jonesyjonesyjonesy @paginate54 @hejustsatisfiess @salixfragilis @calico-skiess @reincarnated70sbaby @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @kyunisixx if you want to be added to the list lmk!
#y'all don't know how happy I am to have this done#hope it didn't hurt too much <3#also the gif....sir put that tongue away#he's irresistible and he knows it#jimmy page#led zeppelin#fanfic#fanfiction
68 notes
·
View notes
Text
both of us are losing || a tarlos fic
word count: 4k || read on ao3
I know sometimes
It's gonna rain
But baby, can we make up now
'Cause I can't sleep through the pain
Carlos has always prided himself on his ability to keep his cool. He likes to think it’s what makes him a good officer and a great friend to those close to him. He’s patient and analytical. He examines a situation from all conceivable angles before drawing conclusions.
But even he has limits. Even he is capable of thinking with his heart over his head and, as expected, it hasn’t led him anywhere good.
Getting into an all-out screaming match isn’t how he could have seen his night ending but as he stands on the opposite side of the kitchen from TK, he doesn’t see how else this could go.
The evening had been going well until this point, the two sharing a quiet night in at Carlos’ place for dinner. As always, being able to share in TK’s company after a long day at work was the perfect antidote to a stressful shift. There’s never a greater comfort for him than to spend time with TK. It hardly ever matters what they’re doing. It’s always just enough to be around him.
These last three months they’ve been together have been a real highlight for him. Given the complicated path they took to this point, all Carlos wants to do is wrap himself up in moments like this where it’s just the two of them simply existing in the same space together.
With their meal done, they two work alongside each other in the kitchen doing dishes with TK on washing and Carlos on drying duties. TK’s phone chimes on the counter with an incoming call, the jingle echoing over the rush of the water from the tap.
“Grab that for me, would you?” TK asks, his hands covered in suds. “It’s probably my dad.”
Carlos drapes the dish towel he’s been using to dry plates with over his shoulder as he turns to pick up TK’s phone. His heart sinks to the pit of his stomach at the name he sees flashing across the screen. He stays frozen in place, unsure of what to think.
“It’s not the captain,” he says, his voice grave.
TK shuts off the faucet and looks over at him. Carlos holds the phone up for him to see the screen as well. TK sighs and rolls his eyes.
“I told him to stop calling,” he hisses, shaking his hand to get some water off before taking the phone from Carlos and rejecting the call.
Carlos blinks, his brain slowly processing what TK has just said.
“Wait, you’ve been speaking to him?”
TK sighs, ripping off a sheet of paper towel and drying his hands.
“It’s not like that. He wanted to apologize and see how I was. He left this long voicemail...it was so ridiculous. But then he called again and I figured he would keep doing it until we actually spoke.”
“When the hell did this happen and why am I only now hearing about it?”
Carlos’ voice sounds so different to him now and it’s evident that TK feels the same way because his boyfriend looks up at him like he’s someone else entirely.
“Carlos,” he says slowly. “Just listen to me, okay? I don’t want you getting worked up over this. I handled it and there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Handled what exactly? TK, what is going on here?”
“Nothing! That’s just it. There’s literally nothing going on here. God,” he groans.
“How can you expect me to believe that? Your ex is calling you. Repeatedly, apparently. Obviously something is happening. Don’t give me that.”
TK shakes his head and sighs.
“How long have you been talking to him, TK?” Carlos asks.
TK hesitates for a moment, pursing his lips before answering. “He reached out to me last week.”
Carlos stands up straighter, jaw clenched. “So seven whole days have gone by and you couldn’t find so much as a minute within any of them to tell me that your ex-fiancé reached out to you?”
“Ex-boyfriend!” TK corrects, as if that makes much of a difference in Carlos’ eyes right now.
He scoffs and shakes his head, wringing the dish towel in his hands. For a moment it’s too easy to pretend it’s Alex’s neck.
“Oh, well, pardon me then. That makes all of this so much better.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic here.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You must be joking. I don’t care what the label is. What this boils down to is the fact that you kept this from, TK. What else are you hiding from me?”
“That’s not fair. I didn’t do this on purpose, Carlos, and I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t think anything of it.”
“And maybe that’s the real problem here. You actively chose not to tell me and you probably never would have if he didn’t call just now.”
“Do you honestly think Alex and I are getting back together or something? We haven’t been talking every day, catching up like we’re suddenly friends. I didn’t answer when he first tried.”
“But you obviously picked up at some point and didn’t think it was worth it to tell me.”
“Because it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to check in and say he was sorry for what happened back in New York. I told him that I was fine, that I moved on and that I’m happy so we can just drop the conversation. He’s nothing to me.”
“It does matter, TK. It matters so much and the fact that you can’t see that…,” he trails off, shaking his head.
TK pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is all coming out wrong.”
“Then explain it clearly because I’m not understanding how you could think I didn’t have a right to know. It’s about respect and transparency.”
“Carlos, there was never a threat here. Our relationship was never in danger. I love you so much. If nothing else, I need you to know that.”
Carlos’ vision swims for a moment, his eyes filling with tears born more so out of frustration than anything else. He’s always been an angry cryer.
“That’s not how you show someone you care about them. You don’t lie.”
TK runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t lie to you!”
“Omission isn't the truth either, TK. It amounts to the same. Screw technicalities.”
TK jerks back, blinking twice. Carlos struggles to stop his heart from racing, his chest from heaving. The silence that falls between them now is unbearable. Carlos’ ears ring with their exchange.
This divide between them seems so much larger than the counter that separates them. Carlos has been here before and the ghosts of his past relationships start to creep into the room, suffocating him.
Carlos bites back on his lower lip, swiping at his eye. He feels like a dam that’s ready to crack at any moment. There’s too much pressure building in his chest and if he’s not careful, he’ll explode in a way that may cause far too much damage.
What he needs is fresh air and time away. This isn’t where he needs to be, at least not in this moment.
“I just...I can’t. I can’t be around you right now.”
Carlos tosses the dish towel down on the counter and walks past TK out of the kitchen.
“Are you serious? Carlos, where are you going?”
“I’m going for a walk, okay? I need some air.”
“It’s getting late and you’re upset. You shouldn’t be outside.”
“Well I can’t stay here so I don’t have many options, now do I?” Carlos snaps, turning around to face TK.
His boyfriend stops dead in his tracks. His bottom lip crumbles a bit but Carlos looks away, stewing in the anger that has taken root in him. This feels wrong but this frustration has its claws in too deeply for him to apply reason to the situation.
Other people get to rant and rave. Carlos keeps far too much inside. Now that the lid has been lifted, the steam has to go somewhere.
Carlos turns back, snagging his keys off the coffee table as he hears TK draw nearer once more.
“Carlos. Carlos!” TK calls after him.
It’s the last thing he hears before slamming the front door shut behind him.
~*~*~
Alone with his thoughts proves itself to be an even worse place for him to be. Carlos has no idea how long he’s been walking around his neighborhood but it isn’t long enough for him to grow comfortable with the ugly thoughts swirling around in his head.
He pictures TK being pushed too far with this argument, seeking solace in something familiar, in Alex. Logically, he knows that would never happen. Alex broke something between the two of them that could never be repaired and yet that cruel, insidious voice in the back of his head whispers to him, conjuring up imaginary scenarios that feel far too vivid and real.
Had Carlos not traveled this same road before with partners in the past? He’s been burned so many times throughout the years that a part of him had been secretly holding its breath just waiting for the other shoe to drop with TK.
Carlos has long since learned how to live with that worry lingering in the recesses of his thoughts. Even when things were going well, life had a habit of proving to him why he should always remain cautious and vigilant.
Certainly he and TK had gotten off to a rocky, awkward start with each other. But once they managed to find their footing, things had been going extremely well. Perfectly, Carlos would venture to say.
But inevitably, the end would come in the form of a boyfriend finding some way to let him down. It was almost always when he’d invested so much of himself. Carlos was worried he’d wind up giving away so many pieces of himself that there would be nothing left.
He thinks of the look on TK’s face as he snapped at him just before leaving. It’s enough to make Carlos sick to his stomach. He knows his insecurity has just ripped the bit of fabric that’s been binding them together this whole time. All Carlos can do now is pray that isn’t something that can’t be salvaged.
Even though he felt justified in being upset over TK keeping the truth from him, Carlos knows his approach was all wrong. Being quick to give into anger wasn’t his usual speed but he slipped into it as easily as a hot bath.
Picking the night apart, Carlos realizes how much he felt ambushed by the sudden appearance of Alex in his life. The man was thousands of miles away and yet he had placed himself so prominently into the future Carlos was trying to work towards with TK. The past had a nasty habit of circling back, the old becoming new again.
What really troubled Carlos was the familiarity of tonight’s scenario. He’s been cheated on, dumped, ghosted. Just about every relationship ended in disaster but he’d been wrapping himself in the belief that this time around, things were finally different.
You’re a great guy but…
I think we’re better off as friends…
I’m sorry to do this to you…
He’s heard it all before and then some. Knowing that TK had been harboring a secret like this set something off within. He knows TK’s actions weren’t malicious. Now that he’s had time to replay it all and truly recount his boyfriend’s words, he knows TK was just trying in his own way to shield him.
Carlos’ head is a riot of thoughts but the most pressing one is that he needs to set things right with TK.
He rounds the corner to his block, slipping his phone out of his pocket as he ambles down the sidewalk. He wonders if TK will even be keen on answering him tonight. If his boyfriend still wants space, he’ll of course respect that but Carlos hates loose ends and this one is a gaping hole.
He pulls up TK’s name in his favorites and touches his thumb to the screen, pressing the phone against his ear as he walks up the short pathway to his door and unlocks it.
The phone rings as he steps inside and Carlos startles hearing the chime of a phone inside his home. He follows the sound to the living room where TK is sitting on the couch, eyes fixed to the door. His legs are pulled up to his chest, his arms folded on top of his knees. He looks so small, like a child that has just been reprimanded, the cuffs of his sweater pulled down over his hands.
TK’s eyes are rimmed pink, his face flushed. The man looks as if he’s aged a few years in the span of time Carlos had stepped away. It makes something in Carlos’ chest crack open.
He falters at the sight of him, ending the call. In the silence of the room now, he can only hear the ticking of the clock as it counts the seconds it takes for Carlos to find something to say.
“You’re still here.”
TK looks wounded at the statement. “Would you rather I not be?” TK asks quietly, chin propped up on his arms.
Carlos toys with his keys before dropping them into the dish on the coffee table.
“Of course not,” Carlos replies, walking around the table to sit on the couch as well.
He leaves a bit of space between them, still unsure of what footing they stand on with each other. It’s reassuring to see TK now, to know that he at least still wants to be around him and talk this whole thing out.
“I’m sorry about walking out like that. I just needed to clear my head.”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m the one that got us to that point.”
TK lets out a shaky breath and continues. “I’ve never seen you that upset before.”
Carlos shrugs. “I don’t usually get angry, especially not like that. I wasn’t myself and that wasn’t right.”
“You’re allowed to get mad, Carlos. If something bothers you, it’s only natural.”
Carlos shakes his head. “I don’t like giving into that.” He falls silent for a moment. “I’m glad you stayed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I hate how this feels; this isn’t us. I don’t want you and I to end tonight on a bad note and have it spill over into tomorrow.”
TK stares at him for a moment and shakes his head as if to clear it.
“What?” Carlos prompts.
TK licks his lips and unfurls himself. “I’ve never been with anyone who thought like that. All my exes, our bad moods stayed with us for however long it took to fizzle out on its own.”
Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that at all.
“That’s not how I operate. Tomorrow is its own day. It shouldn’t inherit the troubles from today. I don’t like going to bed angry.”
It was an old adage his family swore by and Carlos had adopted the philosophy for himself as well. Harboring negative feelings was a disservice to everyone.
TK looks at him for a moment before lowering his gaze to his hands.
“I’m sorry I got defensive. I was totally in the wrong with this. I’ve been thinking it all over and seeing it from your perspective. I fucked up. Honestly, this whole time I knew I was messing up. You must hate me.”
“I could never hate you, T. You know that. I just needed some time to clear my head but I wasn’t walking out on us, I promise. I just needed to be alone and work some stuff out.”
TK sighs, letting out a relieved breath. Carlos feels guilty for making him worry.
“Did you find that peace of mind you were looking for?”
Carlos chuckles tersely. “Sort of. I realized the real reason why I blew up didn’t really have anything to do with you specifically. It was old insecurities rearing their heads and I caved. I thought I was past everything and all it took was one instance to show me that I’ve still got some things I need to work on.”
“Past what exactly? What kind of insecurities?”
Carlos sighs. He isn’t sure how to touch on his concerns now. It sounds so trivial and childish in his own head. He fears what TK will think if he brings himself to disclose what he’s been grappling with all evening.
“I know how much he means to you. Hell, you wanted to marry this guy, build a future with him. I’m not holding that against you, of course. It’s just...what you guys had clearly counted for a lot. If you had decided to continue talking to him or to even see him again, I couldn’t compete with that.”
TK’s brows furrow, reaching for his hand.
“Carlos, please listen to me. You win out each and every time in every possible way. Alex meant something to me. Past tense. As in used to but not anymore. I chose wrong with him but I know that I’ve got it right with you. That isn’t something I’ve ever doubted since meeting you.”
Carlos looks away, chewing on his lip. It isn’t like him to show his anxiousness like this and yet here he is, a ball of nerves.
“Talk to me, Los. What are you thinking?”
TK’s been so candid with him about his life back in New York, all the highs and lows of his battles with substances and depression. In Carlos’ eyes, those are real issues, true upsets that rank so much higher on a list than pesky confidence issues. But if he can’t be open with the man he’s in love with, Carlos realizes that there isn’t anyone else he can talk this out with. And besides, he reasons, his thoughts and feelings will always matter with TK.
“I’m not usually the first choice someone makes. Or...if I am, they always seem to inevitably look elsewhere. I never seem to be enough in the long run. Seeing that he called you, it scared me. I know that you love me and that we’re happy and good together. I know that we have something real and solid here. Rationally I know that you all ended on horrible terms. But even with all that in mind, I’m always so scared of losing you one day. I’ve had boyfriends run back to their exes before. I panicked thinking it could be the case here.”
“That’s never going to happen with me, Carlos. Never,” TK says quickly.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, actually I do. I know it for a fact. I am so incredibly in love with you. I never thought I could ever be this happy with someone and yet, here you are. All mine. I’ll say it to you every day and you can bet I’ll make it my mission to show you too. I don’t ever want you to doubt your importance in my life. I don’t know what I’d be now if we never got together. Alex is barely a thought and on those extremely rare moments when he comes across my mind, all I can think is how goddamn lucky I was that I dodged a bullet there.”
TK laces their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze.
“I had no idea you’ve been through all of that in the past. Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s dumb. That’s no reason to flip out like I did.”
“Of course it is; it makes total sense. I didn’t mean to add to that, to be another person on that list. But I swear to you, I will never make a mistake like this again. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or be sneaky going behind your back. I didn’t tell you because I honestly didn’t want you to feel like you had any reason to worry because you truly don’t. I feel nothing towards Alex or any other guy for that matter. But I see how not telling you was way worse. I should have been upfront from the second he called me.”
TK sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve still got a lot of learning to do.”
“So do I,” Carlos says, searching TK’s eyes. “God, I was being so stupid and ridiculous.”
TK frowns and inches closer. “Shh, no, you weren’t. Your reaction was completely justified, a hundred percent. I didn’t mean to make you scared and I’m so sorry you were ever with anyone that made you feel less than. You’re the greatest part of my life, Carlos Reyes. The absolute best part. There hasn’t been a single day that I haven’t felt like the luckiest guy in the world for being loved by you. You’re so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”
Carlos smiles at the reassurance. All the same, he can’t help but to feel foolish.
“Still, I’m so embarrassed,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Why? You don’t ever have to be embarrassed around me.”
“I made something out of nothing and just showed you what a massive insecure mess I can be. Not exactly the finest quality.”
“If you say one more negative thing about my boyfriend I’ll...well, I don’t have an actual threat here. I’ll just be very upset.” TK kisses at his temple. “I love every part of you, even the messy bits. God knows I’m made mostly of parts like that and you still love me anyway. I don’t want you keeping up appearances or downplaying your emotions for me. Whatever you’re feeling or thinking, I want to know because it’s valid, Los.”
TK brings Carlos’ hand to his mouth, lips skimming along the back.
“You’re not a machine. It’s okay to feel things. And, to be fair, I went about this whole Alex thing totally wrong. I should’ve said something; I shouldn’t have kept that from you. This one’s on me. If an ex you were serious about did that, I’d want to know.”
“So you forgive me?” Carlos asks.
TK frowns, tracing the outline of Carlos’ jaw. “Babe, there’s nothing to forgive here. I’m not mad at you. I was upset with myself.”
“I snapped, walked out, and I made you cry. Those are criminal offenses in my book.”
TK laughs and shakes his head. “It’s nothing we can’t bounce back from, right?”
“Right. We’re okay. Better than that, even. We’re prepared if anymore exes decide to come out of the woodwork.”
TK laughs and nods in agreement. “Definitely. So, have we passed the ready-for-bed test now?”
Carlos hums in thought, standing up from the couch and tugging TK towards him.
“Not yet. There’s just one final step until we get the all clear,” he says.
TK smirks knowingly and tips his head up for Carlos to capture his lips. Carlos frames his boyfriend’s face in his hands, mouth moving over TK’s steadily. He kisses him deeply, casting out all the residual doubt and fear that’s knocking about, clearing it all like cobwebs from the darkest corners of his head.
He pulls back enough to stare into TK’s eyes, those gorgeous green irises teeming with so much love and affection. How Carlos allowed himself to give in to misgivings seems inconceivable now. No one has ever looked at him the way TK does.
“Okay, now we’re ready.”
Ready to put this whole argument behind them, ready to sleep, ready to tackle whatever obstacles may try to stand in their way.
As they walk hand in hand towards his bedroom now, Carlos feels as if he’s leaving so much behind. For all that he’s given away to people throughout the years, he’s struck by just how much the man holding on to him has given him back in return. And that, Carlos realizes, isn’t something anyone stands a chance of taking away.
#tarlos#carlos reyes#tk strand#911 lone star#ronenrubinstein#userjilly#sulkybbarnes#sunshinestrand#starlightbuck#usermaximus#userthai#useralie#brilliantbanshee#usermaddiee#userpauline#kimmy writes
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Blessings”- A Domesticated Drabble
F/M Pairing: Y/N X Bang Chan (Stray Kids)
Word Count: 4K
Warnings: Language...I guess?
Genre: Married Life AU, Parent AU
Note: This was a request from an anonymous user so I can’t tag them but here ya go!
I should have known better because it was one of those days teetering over the boundary of too perfect. I woke up next to Chan in bed, his hospital pager eerily silent, feeling as though I had been asleep for years. My body felt great, the sheets bundled around my waist because I was a notoriously bad bed partner, pulling the blankets further and further away from Chan as I sought additional warmth. But Chan didn’t seem to care, wearing nothing but boxer shorts as he remained statuesque-still with the heavy promise of a rare morning where he could sleep-in. I decided to leave Chan alone while I prepared breakfast, catching the attention of a still-groggy Felix who walked into the room with heavy eyes, grabbing a piece of toast before struggling back to his room. It was almost too peaceful, cooking alone in the kitchen with the company of my thoughts.
I fixed myself an omelet because I was feeling especially cheerful, flipping the eggs as the ingredients provided an alluring smell. Taking a seat at the counter, I started eating while scanning through my phone, excited to see a few promising emails swimming through the promotions tab. “Yogurt,” I murmured quietly, suddenly filled with an odd craving for the frozen treat.
Yet, just as quickly, my stomach suddenly started churning uncomfortably as if deciding that breakfast was a really bad idea. A wave of nausea washed over me like a profound warning before I was rushing to the bathroom. I tried to be as quiet as possible when I closed the door, dropping to my knees to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet, groaning as I tasted the foul substance on my tongue. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so sick, and I pressed my cheek against the cool surface of the floor, sweat pooling above my upper lip.
“Sweetie?” I heard Chan’s voice somewhere through my disoriented haze. “Are you okay?”
I swiped a hand across my face, flushing the toilet before pulling myself up against the sink. “I’m fine,” I tried to assure him, grimacing as I reached for my toothpaste.
“Are you sure?” Chan insisted and that’s when I knew that he must have heard my unfortunate bout of sickness. More than likely, every doctor instinct ingrained in him was demanding to assess my condition courtesy of endless training in college.
“I promise,” I said, closing my eyes against another passing pain of abdominal discomfort.
“I’ll use Felix’s bathroom,” he said kindly and I thanked every possible deity for the inclusion of Chan in my life because he always understood when it was best to leave me alone.
“How about this one?” Minho asked loudly, holding up the pregnancy test for everyone in the whole damn store to see.
“You idiot,” I hissed at him, snatching the offending object away. “I don’t need everyone in here knowing!”
“Congratulations,” an elderly woman said to Minho, offering him a pat on the shoulder and a wink in my direction.
“We’re both excited,” Minho said to the woman before I dragged him further away since he insisted on embarrassing me.
“I hate you right now,” I said, slamming a few different tests on the counter, waiting for the cashier to process my order.
“You definitely have the mood swing thing,” Minho commented.
“And you definitely have the asshole thing.”
“Why do we even have to do this?” Minho asked. “I’m sure Chan can just run some stupid tests or something.”
“Home tests are better for me right now,” I said, handing the cashier my debit card. “And Chan is a general doctor. I would set up an appointment with the OBGYN.”
“Are you planning to set up an appointment without him?” Minho asked with a gasp. “Can you film his reaction when he finds out?”
“I’m not trying to keep anything from him,” I snapped. “I need to be sure first before I go telling Chan that he knocked me up.”
“It’s not surprising, Y/N,” Minho said. “You told me that you stopped using Condoms, so what the hell did you expect?”
“It felt better that way,” I whined, snatching the grocery bag from the innocent cashier who was watching us with trepidation.
“Bad things always feel better for you,” Minho said, reaching into his jacket for a box of cigarettes. “See?”
“At least pregnancy won’t murder my lungs.”
“Yeah? But you’ll feel like shit,” Minho argued like the supportive best friend that he was. “Swollen feet, morning sickness, and carrying around an extra ten pounds? I’d rather lose my lungs.”
“Remind me again why I decided to call you this morning,” I lamented.
“Because you weren’t going to ask Felix to shop pregnancy tests with you and Chan was unavailable?”
“That’s right,” I nodded, pausing next to my car. After my corvette was totally wrecked a year ago, Chan had decided that small cars just weren’t safe enough. This is why my ass had to drive around a Sienna Minivan now despite my protests.
“The Grandma car could use a fresh coat of paint,” Minho snickered and I sighed as I observed my bloated reflection in the side view mirror.
I held the pregnancy test up high, trying to catch it just right in the dim light of the bathroom. “Five minutes,” I murmured, re-checking the box to make sure I had read the instructions correctly. “What the fuck am I supposed to be looking for?”
“Are you almost done?” I heard Minho’s voice from outside. “God, it can’t possibly take this long.”
“Will you come in?” I asked nervously because I was starting to really hate the fact that my urine on a stick was somehow supposed to determine a very important yes or no question.
“You’re still not pissing in there, are you?”
“Minho,” I snapped through the door. “Just get your ass inside!”
He twisted the doorknob, hesitantly looking inside to meet my glare. “Sorry,” he whispered, opening the door fully to join me. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” I said, trying to hand him the test but he quickly threw his hands up.
“Didn’t you pee on that?”
“Grow the hell up,” I said, slamming the stick onto the counter. “It’s supposed to show a blue stripe if I’m pregnant.”
“So if there’s nothing, then we’re good?” he asked, squinting down at the device like he was suddenly far-sighted.
“Not necessarily,” I said, handing him the box. “Red if not pregnant.”
“But there’s nothing.”
“Thank you, asshole,” I grumbled. “Why do you think I brought you in?”
“You’re always dragging me into your problems, Y/N,” Minho said, shaking his head. “Just take another one I guess.”
I let out a groan. “I can’t spend all day taking pregnancy tests!”
“Is that so? Well, I could be with my girlfriend right now if I wasn't here with you,” Minho pointed out.
“Fine,” I muttered, grabbing a different test box.
After a series of failed observations, including an unfortunate incident in which Minho knocked a test into the toilet, we finally got a reading on a particularly expensive offering. “Pregnant,” Minho declared, glancing at me nervously. “Are you okay?”
“One more,” I insisted, but Minho reached out for my hand.
“Just go get tested, Y/N,” he said. “This will literally drive you insane.”
I whined at his words. “I don’t want to be pregnant right now, Minho. Chan and I haven’t planned for this!”
“Aren’t most pregnancies unplanned?” he grunted, swearing when I threw an empty test box at him.
“They don’t have to be unplanned! A lot of couples talk about this with each other.”
“Wasn’t there an inherent agreement when you decided to let Chan fuck you raw?”
“You know what? Stop talking,” I said, shoving him out of the bathroom. “Go home to your girlfriend.”
“Call the doctor,” Minho retorted right before I slammed the door in his face.
The OBGYN office was way too bright. I squinted against the Halogen nightmare while fidgeting anxiously on the table, holding onto the hem of the oversized hospital gown they had loaned me to wear. A smaller cart sat next to bed offering a variety of dangerous tools that looked like they were meant for a serial killer’s house as opposed to a friendly office.
“Y/N?” an older woman greeted me, opening the door before locking it behind her. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” I said nervously, resisting the urge to jump out the window.
“Just relax,” the doctor said, scanning over a chart. “This is for pregnancy confirmation, then?”
“A possible pregnancy confirmation,” I said, and the doctor chuckled.
“I take it that this was unplanned?”
“Very much so.”
“Is that why the father is missing?”
I took a moment to glower at the doctor. “The father is missing because I don’t know if he’s actually a father yet. My husband works long hours at the ER. I didn’t want to bring him here if this turned out to be nothing.”
“Based on the symptoms you’ve described,” the doctor carried on as if ignoring my last rant. “And the home pregnancy test results, I don’t think you should expect negative lab work.”
I bit my lower lip, struggling to keep myself in check. In actuality, I wanted to scream at the nurse that she was definitely wrong because I did not want to be pregnant right now. “That’s why I’m here.”
The doctor nodded. “Go ahead and lean back, this shouldn’t take long.”
“Will it hurt?” I asked with a wince, slowly easing myself against the pillows.
“You shouldn’t feeling any pain,” the doctor replied, negotiating her stool to situate herself right between my open thighs. I had to force myself not to cover my exposed vagina, deciding that the doctor should spend no more than five minutes down there before I was forced to intervene. “Pull up your shirt for me,” she said, selecting one of the wands situated next to my bed.
I glanced at it suspiciously. “Is that going...inside?”
“It’s for your stomach,” she said, jerking an overhanging screen to eye-level. “I’m going to use a very small amount of what might look like jelly. It might feel cold on your skin.”
This warning still didn’t stop me from jerking in surprise when she placed the wand on my stomach, rubbing it over my skin with precision. “This is interesting.”
The doctor grinned. “After this, I’m going to need a urine sample as well.”
“Okay,” I managed, watching the screen with careful eyes, searching for any signs that there was something growing inside of me.
A few moments later she pulled back, removing her gloves with a snap. “All done.”
“Just like that?” I asked incredulously.
She offered me a smile. “That’s it.”
“Holy shit,” I cursed, accepting the paper towels to swipe across the mess on my stomach.
“For your urine sample,” she said, offering me a sterile cup.
I accepted it with a sigh. “How long will it take to get the results?”
“Not long,” she promised me with a wink.
I retreated into the adjoining bathroom after downing a few cups of water, waiting until I could finally accommodate her request before re-entering the room. “Here,” I said, offering her the sample.
“Great!” she chirped. “Your results will be ready shortly.”
I watched her leave before fanning a hand across my stomach. “Why did you choose now of all times?”
Silence greeted my words and I worriedly played with my wedding band while I waited impatiently for the doctor to return. In moments like this, I really missed having Chan at my side because he always knew the best ways to calm me down. Without his familiar presence, I was left succumbing to all of my nervous ticks including that nasty habit of picking at the skin around my cuticles.
“Now I need a manicure,” I sighed, startling when the door abruptly opened to welcome my doctor back inside.
“Congratulations, Y/N,” she said, offering me a manila folder. “You’re pregnant. The scans are available for you inside that packet.”
The heavy revelation slowly settled in as my stomach churned uncomfortably.
“You’re quiet today,” Felix remarked, watching me over his bowl of popcorn. I couldn’t even remember what movie we had been watching.
“Tired,” I grumbled.
“I thought you had the afternoon off,” Felix scoffed. “Is it that hard answering phone calls?”
I glared at him. “Maybe it is.”
Felix held up his hands defensively, fingers glistening with a mixture of salt and butter. “Sorry for asking.”
In actuality, I couldn’t stop thinking about the scans sitting on top of the counter. There were a million different scenarios running around my head as I envisioned Chan’s reaction to the news. At this point, it was inevitable that I told him, no more hiding behind Minho as we experimented hopelessly with a bunch of stupid pregnancy tests. I had the confirmation in several successive scans and my heart was beating at an irregular pace against my chest.
Chan had called earlier to tell me that he was on his way home and I had immediately panicked. I had nothing prepared to say to him, except something stupid along the lines of “You see? This is what happens when you stop wearing condoms.” Then, I could shove those scans at his chest and hide away in my bedroom for the rest of the night.
But all rational thought completely failed me when I heard Chan’s key turning in the lock. “He’s home now,” Felix remarked, wiping his nasty hands on his jeans. “Maybe Chan can order us takeout.”
I slowly exhaled, watching my husband walk into the living room. “What have you guys been up to?”
I froze in place while Felix complained about the lack of suitable groceries in the refrigerator. “I ate a TV dinner for lunch, Chan,” Felix whined.
My husband rolled his eyes affectionately, glancing at me with concern. “Y/N?”
“I’m okay,” I assured him quickly, nervously wringing my hands together. “Can I show you something in the kitchen?”
“What did you break this time?” Chan joked, but his smile was gone as soon as he noticed my expression. “It’s never good when you look at me like that.”
“It’s...something,” I offered, leading a ponderous Chan into the kitchen with a nosy Felix trailing behind. I carefully picked up the scans from the table. “Chan,” I exhaled, gazing into his understanding eyes filled with adoration. But words were suddenly impossible and instead I shoved the manila folder at him. “Here.”
“What is it?” he asked with a trace of amusement, flipping open the cover to look at the first scan.
“It’s supposed to be a baby,” I replied, suddenly aware of Felix joining us in the kitchen.
“A baby?” Chan repeated, looking up at me with wide eyes. “Our baby?”
I nodded slowly. “I had a scan today.”
“We’re pregnant?” Chan asked, his smile growing wider with every subsequent confirmation. “We made a baby?”
“The sperm was good,” Felix nodded solemnly, taking the scans from an overjoyed Chan.
“Are you serious, Y/N?” he asked.
“I went to the doctor today,” I said. “The tests were all positive.”
“Why aren’t you more excited?” he asked, pulling me into his arms with careful consideration for my stomach.
I relaxed in his hold. “I’m nervous, Channie. Don’t you feel the same way?”
“Well, of course, I’m nervous,” Chan said, studying me carefully. “This is a big deal.”
I took in a deep breath. “We didn’t plan for this.”
“I know we didn’t,” Chan said, “but we should have anticipated the risks of dropping the condoms.”
“I hated those fuckers,” I complained. “Your cock feels better without them.”
Chan pulled me closer. “What did you expect, Y/N?”
“Married bliss for the rest of our lives?”
He chuckled. “Why can’t we have that with a kid?”
“Kids get in the way,” I said. “My parents had to send me to my neighbor's house just so that they could have quick sex every once in a while.”
“You’re worried that we won’t have sex anymore?” Chan asked in that ridiculous way of his that let me know I was being irrational.
“No,” I groaned, burying my face against the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m worried that I’ll fuck everything up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do I honestly look like I could be a mother?” I asked, stepping out of his arms. “How do you even take care of a baby?”
Chan sighed, reaching out for my hand which I tentatively allowed him to hold. “Sweetie, we’ll learn these things together. You act like you’re all alone and that’s not true at all. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“You’re not scared?” I asked, brushing my thumb across his hand.
“Of course I am,” he nodded. “But I’m also really excited. I think that’s how most new parents feel regardless of whether or not they planned for a baby.”
I didn’t know what to say, but I could always find solace in his eyes. At least until Felix ruined the moment. “You totally knocked her up, bro!”
Chan sighed, glancing over his shoulder. “That’s not helpful, Felix.”
“Sorry,” Felix mouthed, taking the scans into the dining room. Meanwhile, I simply allowed Chan to maintain his familiar grip on my hand because there was no better feeling in the entire world.
Nine months progressed at the slowest possible pace as if the conspiring universe was determined I should suffer from every possible pregnancy symptom imaginable. I was beginning to think I was doomed to suffer, complaining to Chan until he finally forced me to revisit my OBGYN. “The sickness is really bad,” he explained to my doctor while I just groaned on the bed.
“Let’s have a look,” my doctor suggested leading to the unanticipated revelation that I was carrying not one, but two kids inside of me.
“Twins?” Chan gasped, clapping his hands together like he had just won the jackpot lottery. Meanwhile, I suddenly lost all motivation to even move from my spot on the examination table. Apparently, pregnancy symptoms were more severe when carrying multiple children, and I had just about reached my breaking point until one glorious day when my water broke while I was beating the shit out of Felix at MarioKart.
“That’s gross, Y/N,” Felix complained until I threw my phone at him and demanded he call Chan.
By the time my husband got home, I had finished ordering Felix around, demanding he pack my bags for me until there were two suitcases instead of one. “Are you going on vacation, sweetie?” Chan asked to which I offered him my most wilting glare yet. His face immediately paled. “Right, let’s get you to the hospital.”
I was practically numb with pain by the time we were finally checked-in, leaving me groaning on a hospital bed while my idiotic doctor explained that I wasn’t dilated enough. “How the hell is that possible?” I growled.
“What about an Epidural?” he suggested.
“She doesn’t want that,” Chan insisted until I reached out to firmly crush his hand beneath mine.
“I do want that!” I snapped. “And I want it right now before I die!”
“Of course! Whatever you want, sweetie,” Chan assured me, fleeing my hospital room like he had just seen a ghost.
I tried to lean back in the bed, growing more and more irritated with the endless contractions. My doctor insisted that I wasn’t ready, but I would hate to see how much worse this could possibly get. In the meantime, Chan returned only moments later with Jisung faithfully by his side. “No,” I snarled, pointing at Jisung. “Do not let him anywhere near me with needles.”
Graciously, Chan knew better than to object to my vicious demands.
“Oh fuck,” I sighed in relief when the pain slowly started to ease. “This is amazing.”
Chan grinned from his seat next to me. “Do you feel better now?”
“I feel like I’m in one of those Willie Wonka cartoons,” I said. “Channie, I think this is what Heaven is like.”
Chan seemed amused by my reaction. “Was it really that bad, sweetie?”
“I think the kids were trying to split me open,” I told him. “My entire body was at their mercy.”
“I don’t think it’s their fault,” Chan teased. “After all, it’s just your body’s way of preparing itself.”
“Those women in the movies are fucking liars, Chan,” I said. “Pregnancy is not fun and I don’t recommend it to anyone. 0 out of 5 stars.”
Chan couldn’t hold back his laughter, leaning forward to brush a few strands of sweat-caked hair out of my eyes. “It’ll be over soon, sweetie. Then, we can finally meet our twins.”
“I expect two Mozarts, Chan,” I said. “For all this pain and suffering, I want two child prodigies who can grow up and make us lots of money.”
“Are you telling me that you’ve been incubating our retirement fund?”
“Hell yes.”
The doctor’s arrival disrupted our moment. “Shall we try pushing now?”
“Please,” I practically begged him, more than ready to do whatever it might take to end this unnecessary suffering.
“Remember your breathing,” the doctor reminded me and I quickly sought Chan’s hand, gripping it tightly between sweaty fingers. Chan was always strong, but apparently, even he found his limits when his wife was steadily crushing his hand. “Sweetie, it hurts,” Chan said, but didn’t try to pull away when I only gripped even tighter, screaming out through clenched teeth.
And several hours later, I was completely spent, breathing hard as the room filled with the sounds of distinct crying. “Congratulations, Y/N,” the doctor said, but I was already falling asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.
I was still tired, despite my two-night stay at the hospital, coming home surrounded by people who insisted they needed to be involved in some capacity. Chan helped me walk to our bedroom, hand wrapped securely around my waist. Meanwhile, someone had decided it was a good idea for Han Jisung to manage both baby carriers while Felix slowly drug my bags across the floor, complaining about their weight. “They’re so cute!” Jisung squealed, bouncing the carriers with far too much enthusiasm.
I gripped tightly to Chan’s collar. “Please save my children from Jisung.”
Chan nodded, eyes perfectly serious as he adjusted my blankets. “Give me a minute, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”
I groaned, reluctantly allowing him to leave the room. Of course, the pain was absolutely worth it because when I finally woke up, I was greeted to the sight of two adorable tiny babies looking up at me with wide, curious eyes. “I did this?” I immediately questioned which Chan found amusing.
“Good job, sweetie,” he said, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.
“I guess you helped too,” I grumbled in return.
I was drawn out of my memory by the sudden appearance of Felix who wore a bright smile. “Jisung is offended that you don’t trust him.”
“I’m just being protective,” I said. “You have to take certain precautions when it involves Jisung.”
“Well, I think we might go out later,” Felix mused, lingering by the doorway. “Are you still out of it?”
“It’s not so bad now,” I reassured him. “I did just push two kids out of my vagina.”
“Don’t need the visual,” Felix shuddered, moving out of the way for Chan who walked into the room with both baby carriers in hand.
“Jisung had to go back to the hospital anyway,” Chan said. “I’ll put the twins down in their room.”
“Okay,” I agreed, eyes following the carriers until they disappeared from sight.
“How can you already be whipped?” Felix asked. “I’ve never seen you this way.”
“My maternal instincts, I guess,” I offered in return, drowsiness slowly summoning a new urge to bury my face in the pillows.
Felix seemed to notice my dilemma. “Next time we play MarioKart, you can’t interrupt the game in the middle of a round.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
In the background, I could hear Felix talking to Chan before my husband was sitting next to me on the bed. “Try to get some sleep, sweetie,” he encouraged me, but I was already one step ahead of him.
Later that night, after several wonderful naps, I convinced Chan to help me walk to the twins’ room. “Just for a little while,” I pouted at him because Chan could never resist me.
“Alright,” he agreed. “But only because you asked so nicely.”
I stuck my tongue out at him while accepting his outstretched hand. “I probably won’t break.”
“It’s my job to protect you,” Chan said, ushering me close to his side as we slowly made the arduous trek to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. Eventually, when they were older, we planned to give them their own rooms. However, for the time being, I knew it would make things a lot easier if we could take care of them at the same time.
“Did Felix go out earlier?” I asked Chan as we passed by his room.
“He went out with Hyunjin and Jisung.”
“That’s a very dangerous combination,” I said.
“They know how to stay out of trouble,” Chan said, but I was already reminding my husband to call Felix later just in case Hyunjin tried to convince them to go to a strip club downtown.
“Here we go,” Chan said, nudging open the door with his foot, leading me inside as we navigated the darkened space. Chan kept a firm grip around my waist as we both looked down into their cribs. I remember when we first set up the beds when Chan kept screaming at Felix and Jisung because they couldn’t figure out the instructions. Eventually, I called over Minho and his friend Seungmin who were more adept at solving the complicated steps.
“We did it,” Chan whispered, sweet voice soothing in my ear.
I looked down at my twins and felt a burst of pride. “Yeah, we’re pretty fucking cool, right?”
“The coolest,” Chan agreed, leaning down for a kiss which I was more than willing to reciprocate.
#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#bang chan#bang chan fanfic#chan fanfic#stray kids chan#stray kids chan fanfic
295 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi hi hi! I finally read the reiner x reader worst traits and ahhaha.. Kojinnie.. Please. You're responsible for my tears. It hurts so bad? My gut was twisting the entire time I read it, not knowing what will happen yet anticipating the unknown. It was amazing, but so nerve-wracking. I feel like that was me, the reader genuinely afraid of facing what's about to happen. It also felt so realistic? In my head, I've always wanted a beautiful relationship where both parties understand each other with healthy amount of fights but I never thought about the fights in detailed. However, that's going to be a little difficult, with a bunch of troubled feelings inside the couple themselves. As someone with those feelings, reading this massive fight that almost lead to an end hurt so much. It felt like a slap in the face. also reiner and this story lowkeyreminded me of my ex hehe DON'T SAY SORRY Loved how everything build up from their thoughts to finally talking it out, it feels so raw, heart-warming and wrenching at the same time. I'm so glad they find a solution to this whole thing, though and please... Please.. When reiner said persevere.. I just wanna cry. Cry in his arms for hours. I don't know why I just want to.
I love how you write both reader and reiner here. It's like I know them very thoroughly throughout the paragraphs you've written. It's sad. How they're just two broken souls trying to find solace in one another, when they've hardly find it in themselves in the first place.. Do i make sense when i say that. All in all please i loved it though it hurts.
ps. I'm a dramatic person so I read some of the dialogues part out loud and tears JUST FLOWED. Yes I'd be a good actress ig and it just shows how much of a good story it is 😳 it just drags you in, you know.
I'd like to think I'm good at words but look at me struggling to give a good feedback but I love the part where reiner just ranted in his head about the houses and the block features. I find that very cute.
OH ALSO?!? i feel so attacked. When reiner said "what about all those times i told you you're pretty, you're smart, only for you to tell me the other way around" i? I literally screamed "FUCK. FUCK. no. Fuck that's me. What do i do!!?" felt like i was caught in 4k.. Hehe.
In conclusion, you attacked me so thoroughly at 1 am. I'll never be the same. I'm out!!
[RE:] Twisted Match-Up - Reiner x Reader
Hey love,
Ok, first of all it’s to safe to say that at this point we’ve both made each other cried, so thank you?! For the very emotional roller coaster of having a meh day and then retreating to bed while reading your message.
Second, I’m very relieved to know that my personal take on certain relationship’s dynamics can be enjoyed universally by a lot of people, although our experiences may differ. So when you say that it felt realistic and that you felt like you knew both the Y/N and Reiner it makes me so mushy inside, because isn’t that like the goal of making a Reader-insert? To make it feels as relatable as one can be, while being personal. So thank you babe, that’s really validating! (っ╥̃ ͜ʖ╥̃)っ🎔
HONESTLYYY I also always mutter all the dialogues I make because at first I’m quite insecure with how it’d sound like since English is not my first language, so to know that you did the same just bring flowers to my heart, it means that at the very least it wasn’t too cringey to mutter out!
Lastly, thank you so much? It seems like you put a lot of pressure on yourself, convincing that you’re not a nice person, but honey this whole message is a solid proof that there’s a kindness nesting inside your heart and for that you deserve all kinds of happiness.
Thank you so much love,
the very visibly emotional kojin 👽💝
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jiara July Jubilee
Day 3, 28th of July- AU day
words: 4k
Kiara Carrera watched in disbelief as yet another Bilia set off the alarms at her parents’ grocery store. They turned visible with a sigh, revealing to her that it was a blonde, disheveled looking boy. He sulked to the front desk, stolen items in hand.
Bilias we’re constantly trying to steal. When powers, or Dicios, first arrived, they were at the top of the food chain. They could get or do anything without getting caught, and everyone else began to resent them for it. Technology that could detect them was made to prevent them from stealing or committing any crimes, which was fine, but it was the stereotypes that did the damage. The Bilias that didn’t do anything wrong we’re shunned by society, and therefore had to turn to crime to survive. It was a dangerous cycle.
“What’s the point of being able to go invisible when you can’t do shit with it?” the boy mumbled as he placed a collection of canned goods and non-perishable food in front of Kiara.
“Go rob some other place. Your type’s getting on my nerves,” she replied as she grabbed the items and stacked them neatly beside her.
The boy studied her with a furrowed eyebrow. “What are you?”
“Mare,” Kiara told him.
The way his face lit up at that was no surprise. Mares were the most desired Dicio, on account of both their powerful abilities and intelligence. Most figures of power were Mares due to their brains and hearts, and they created the perfect blend of kind yet respected leaders. Being able to move water was just an added bonus.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Ugh, that’s so cool! Getting to control water? I wish! Instead I’m just stuck as a stupid Bilia.”
“Turning invisible’s pretty cool,” Kiara shrugged.
“I dunno,” the boy scoffed. “There’s all this bullshit technology now, we can’t do anything. We’re basically human at this point.”
“We’re all human,” Kiara reminded him. “Literally the only thing that differentiates us is our Dicios. You’re acting like we’re completely different species.”
The boy shook his head. “We basically are. And Bilias? We’re fucking dying off. I swear, the world’s against us. How are we supposed to survive when we can’t steal?”
Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you could get jobs and buy things like everyone else? Just a suggestion.”
The boy laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. “Ha! Easy for you to say when you’re a Mare.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiara asked, feeling herself get defensive.
“You know what it means,” the boy said. “Everyone wants to hire Mares ‘cause you’re the smart ones. All the other Dicios have things that make them useful, especially y’all, but Bilias? No, we were literally born to steal, and we can’t even do that. No one wants to hire an invisible kleptomaniac, so we’re just forced to rot.”
Kiara watched him rant, taking in his words. “What do you need this food for?”
The boy deflated and looked down, his passion drained. “My mom is sick, and my dad is... complicated.”
Kiara frowned, studying his solemn expression, his blue eyes filled with shame. “How old are you?”
The boy shrugged. “Sixteen.” he smiled bleakly and read her name tag. “Why, are you trying to pick me up, Kie- fuck, how do you even say your name?”
“Kiara,” she hummed. “What’s your name?”
“John James,” the boy replied, looking proud. “But I go by JJ. JJ Maybank.”
“Maybank?” Kiara repeated. “As in Luke Maybank?”
JJ flinched at the name. “I guess. How do you know my dad?”
“He used to be friends with mine,” Kiara frowned. “He’s kind of public enemy number one around here. He stole shit from my dad, the owner, or something. I don’t know.”
Truthfully, she did know. Her father had gone over the story countless times. He was constantly ranting about how she shouldn’t trust Bilias, and about how Luke Maybank had ruined his life. They were best friends in high school; an unlikely pair. They opened a business together, a grocery store where Kiara’s mom and Luke’s wife could sell their fruits and vegetables. It started off great, a sweet grocery store full of fresh food and joy. Then Luke Maybank got busted for fraud and for stealing from the company, and Fresh Carrera’s became the depressing place Kiara knew and hated.
“That sounds like him,” JJ sighed. “I guess I should leave, then. Sorry for wasting your time.”
He turned to leave, but some sort of awful moral code made Kiara call out to him. She held out a can of chicken soup, and he looked shocked as he took it into his own hands.
“For your mom,” Kiara said. “I can’t give you anymore, or my parents will literally kill me, but you can come back some time.”
JJ was staring at the can in his hands like it was a million bucks, and he was holding it like it was a cracked egg. “Thank you so much, Kie..?”
“Kiara,” she nodded. “But you can call me Kie.”
JJ smiled. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, okay? I’ll get money, I’ll-”
“It’s okay,” Kiara interrupted. “Just promise to come back, and we’ll be okay.”
JJ looked giddy as he nodded and practically skipped out of the store. Kiara watched him go, bewildered by the boy. She had never met someone like him; someone so confident yet reserved at the same time. He had ranted about life’s cruelty without even knowing her name, but struggled to accept a can of soup he was previously going to steal. He was an enigma.
—
Kiara was coming back from her break the next day when a familiar voice caught her attention. She looked over to her coworker, Sarah, who was smiling amusedly at a talking JJ, her head titled as she studied him. She was a Vorso, which was similar to a mind reader in the sense that she could see into peoples’ heads. Vorsos never got clear thoughts from people, though; it was just mixtures of emotions and colours, with the occasional memory. They were powerful, but often condescending and sometimes narcissistic. Sarah was alright.
“Y’all okay?” Kiara asked as she approached the pair.
JJ grinned ear to ear when he saw her. “Kie! I was just talking to Sarah here. She’s a Vorso, isn’t that cool?”
Kiara nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
“Wait, can you read me when I’m invisible?” JJ asked, practically buzzing with excitement.
Sarah shrugged. “Only one way to find out, right?”
JJ disappeared, and Kiara had to admit that it was weird. She has seen Bilias reappear many times after they’d been caught shoplifting, but there was something about seeing them disappear that was even more unnerving. It was hard to believe JJ was still there.
Sarah shook her head. “I’m not getting anything, man.”
JJ was beaming when he reappeared. “Really? Oh, that’s awesome!”
Kiara watched the pair smile at each other, growing unreasonably uncomfortable. “So, what have you guys been talking about?”
“Anything,” Sarah shrugged, giving Kiara a knowing look.
Kiara turned to JJ, ignoring her coworker’s stare. “Hey, I still have to hold up my end of the deal. Wanna go get something?”
JJ grinned and bounced away, headed straight for the canned goods aisle. The girls watched him go, both equally perplexed by everything about him.
Sarah lowered her voice as soon as he was out of sight. “You’ve known him for, like, a day and you’re in love with him? Calm down, Kiara, your emotions are spiky!”
“I’m not in love with him!” Kiara whispered back. “I am amused and interested, okay?
One thing about Vorsos were that they really didn’t have any boundaries. They knew exactly what everyone was thinking, so they figured they didn’t need them. That never stopped Kiara from wanting to shrivel up and die every time one of them read her.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting that I can see inside your head? And let me tell you, it is messy in there. You care so much for him, and- what is that, jealousy? I-”
“He’s coming back!” Kiara hissed, cutting the other girl off. Sarah smirked at the flushed look on her friend’s face and watched JJ round a corner.
He returned with what had to be the largest can of tinned peaches in the store. He smiled sheepishly at Kiara’s expression as she studied it, Sarah looking over her shoulder.
“You can have it,” Kiara sighed.
JJ jumped and clasped his hands together. “Thank you so much you absolute queen! Do you want me to stay, or should I haul ass?”
Kiara waved her hand. “You should probably get out before my dad catches you.”
JJ nodded and turned to leave, the giant can in hand, but paused and suddenly returned. “Almost forgot,” he said as he pulled out a piece of paper and grabbed a nearby pen. He scribbled something down and saluted the girls, leaving before they could read it.
Kiara couldnt help but smile as she pieced up the piece of scrap paper. She bit her lip as her cheeks flushed, praying Sarah somehow couldn’t sense what she was feeling.
Of course, Sarah just chuckled lightly and shook her head. “Not in love with him, huh?” she teased as she turned to go back to her counter.
Kiara didn’t bother denying it. She just clutched the paper tightly, feeling stupid by how flushed she felt but not doing anything to change it. She looked at the exit, where JJ had just left, and let herself enjoy the odd rush of happiness his actions has cause. She looked down at the number scribbled out onto the piece of paper and slowly typed it into her phone.
-
JJ and Kiara had spent almost the whole night talking. She was a wreck in the morning, struggling to get up despite the excitement coursing through her veins at the thought of seeing JJ. She had discovered the previous night that they had a lot in common; the only real differences were their Dicios and social stance.
Her parents looked concerned as they all sat down for breakfast. Kiara was picking at her food, too exhausted to even take a bite. She kept staring off into space, and she probably looked like a mess.
“Are you alright, honey?” Anna, her overbearing mother, asked gently.
Kiara blinked, barely processing the words. “Uh, yeah.”
“You look tired,” her father, Mike, cut in. “You don’t have to work. Do you want today off?”
Kiara processed that. She quickly shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine. I wanna work today.” She couldn’t risk missing JJ.
Mike nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Alright, but I don’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s Summer vacation, you can stop working now.”
“No, I don’t want to,” Kiara said. She has wanted to quit her job since the second her parents gave it to her, really, and was only working so she could afford to go on a wildlife retreat with Sarah. She had a new motivation to stay, though, and that was in the form of a tall, lanky, blue eyed boy. She couldn’t tell her parents that, though; not while knowing how much her parents would hate him. He was Luke Maybank’s kid, after all, and a Bilia. It was a classic Romeo and Juliet situation.
Kiara jumped when her phone buzzed, revealing a text from JJ that mentioned seeing her at the grocery store. She stood up, abandoning her breakfast, and waved her parents goodbye as she rushed out the door, ignoring their concerned shouts. She already had her employee bag with her, and clocking in early wouldn’t do her any harm. She knew that it was ridiculous to be so eager, and because there was still bound to be at least an hour before JJ arrived, but she couldn’t help her excitement.
She paused in the middle of the street as it dawned on her that Sarah was right. Maybe she wasn’t in love with him, but she definitely liked him. She had known him for two days and was running to the place she dreaded just for the chance to see him. She’d never felt that way about anyone before.
Someone bumped into her, alerting her that he has just frozen in a very public area. She turned red as she continued walking, acting more reasonably now that she had remembered there were people around. Every now and then, someone would look at her oddly, their eyes lingering for just a moment too long, and Kiara knew they were Vorsos sensing that she was overwhelmed. She brushed the stares off and and walked into Fresh Carrera’s, relieved to see Sarah.
“Woah, hey, are you alright?” Sarah asked the second she saw her. It was probably already clear that Kiara was a mess, but her emotions were sure to be a much more accurate teller.
Kiara sighed. “You were right. I like JJ.”
Sarah, grinned and gently pushed her arm. “Yeah, I know. I’m always right. But seriously, are you okay? No offence, but you look terrible.”
“None taken,” Kiara yawned. “I was talking to JJ all night. I got, like, two hours of sleep.”
“Why’d you bother coming in?” Sarah asked. “Do I need to remind you that you’re the owner’s kid? Your last name is literally on this building.”
Kiara blushed. “Yeah, but, JJ might be coming in today.”
Sarah smiled slyly and nodded. “Oh, I see. You’re waiting around for a chance to see your boyfriend, huh? Okay, okay. I see you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kiara said, adding a roll of the eyes for affect. “But, yeah, I wanna see him.”
“Me too,” Sarah grinned. “He’s cute. Absolute eye candy.”
Kiara gasped and pushed her friend’s shoulder. Sarah giggled and ducked away, preparing to push Kiara back when she stopped and a grin stretched across her face.
“Cutie’s here,” she said, her voice low so JJ, who was waving at the pair, wouldn’t hear.
Kiara spun around, her eyebrows furrowing as she got a good look at JJ’s face. There was a bruise blossoming against his cheek, accompanied by a small cut on the same spot. He was smiling so widely that she wasn’t even sure he knew it was there.
“What happened to your face?” she asked.
JJ shrugged. “Got in a fight with a Cursor. Cocky bastards.”
For a second, Kiara believed him. Cursors had the ability to move quickly, but they were as dumb as a rock and their egos stretched to Mars. It wasn’t too far fetched for him to have gotten in a fight with one, especially since he was a Bilia. It was when she saw Sarah that she realised something was up. She was staring at him, her head titled and her mouth slightly ajar, her eyes darting back and forth. She was seeing something, and it wasn’t good.
Sarah wasn’t saying anything, but JJ almost looked nervous that she would. The two were staring at each other, Sarah trying to decipher his secret as JJ tried desperately to hide it. Kiara just watched them, wishing she could see whatever was going on in their heads.
Eventually, Sarah looked away, shooting a concerned look in her coworker’s direction. Kiara returned the expression before she was pulled away by JJ, who was back to grinning like he usually would. She searched his eyes for a moment, trying to see whatever Sarah had. She wasn’t a Vorso, though, and there was no telling what Sarah had seen.
“Are you okay?” Kiara asked gently.
“Of course,” JJ quipped. “Are you? You look tired.”
Kiara’s chuckled. “Yeah, thanks to you. I was up all night because of your relentless texting, man.”
JJ smiled, knowing she was joking. “Oh, you loved it.”
The bickering continued for a while, eventually ending with JJ grabbing more peaches and going. She walked over to Sarah as soon as he was gone, the question on her mind obvious.
To her surprise, Sarah just shrugged. “It’s not really my place to tell.”
Kiara took those words in, trying to decipher what they meant. It was obvious Sarah knew what had happened with JJ, but she’s usually tell her everything. Sarah never stopped talking, and she over-shared everything she’d learnt. JJ’s secret must have been terrible if it meant even Sarah wasn’t letting it go.
-
Kiara was buzzing with excitement as she waited for JJ to arrive the next day, but that grew into worry as hours passed and there was still no sign of him. She texted him, a quick ‘where are you?’, and waited again.
And waited.
And waited.
And he never arrived.
The next day, the same thing happened, and it happened again the day after that. Kiara hadn’t spoken to JJ in three days when she began to get anxious. There were so many possibilities, each of them equally terrible, and just thinking about them made her stomach twist.
She rushed to Sarah, who was serving a shopper, and waited until she was done. Sarah noticed her distress and approached her slowly, looking concerned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t heard from JJ in three days and I’m really worried,” Kiara rambled. “I know he couldn’t have just ghosted me or something, but he’s not like that, you know? We’d only been talking for a little while, but I feel like I really know him, and this isn’t like him at all. I’m really worried, cause I don’t know what happened, and it could be anything. Like, what if he tried to shoplift and got arrested, and now he’s just sitting in jail with no one to bail him out? Or what if whatever happened the other day that you won’t tell me about happened again, but worse? Or-”
Sarah placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find him, alright? My shift ends in fifteen minutes, and we can leave then. I know some Bilias we could text in the meantime, they might know him.”
Kiara nodded, calming down as Sarah pulled out her phone and dialed a number. “Hey, John B? Yeah, it’s me. Yeah, yeah, I’m good, I’m fine, I’ve just gotta ask you a question. Okay, do you know a JJ? He’s a Bilia, like you. Oh, really? Great! Do you know where he might be? Wait, you haven’t seen him? Shit, we haven’t either. Yeah, he’s been stopping by at the grocery store. My coworker’s in love with him. Yeah, Kiara. He told you? Cute. But, seriously, she’s really worried. Do you know where he might me? Uh huh. Yep. Okay, thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Sarah hung up. “Okay, John B says he’s gonna meet us with another friend, and then we’re going to drop by his house. They’re best friends, isn’t that such a coincidence?”
“Okay, that’s great,” Kiara said, “but did he say anything about what’s been up? Does he know what’s wrong?”
Sarah shook her head. “No, he’s just as clueless as us. He says JJ does this a lot, though, so you shouldn’t worry.”
“Where is he usually?” Kiara asked.
Sarah shrugged. “John B said they usually just find him at his house, or that he eventually wanders over to his place. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Kiara exhaled shakily. “Should I be this worried? Is it weird?”
“No, you care about him,” Sarah replied. “And he cares about you too. I can tell.”
The pair waited for a while in an uncomfortable and stressful silence. Sarah perler up when a van pulled up outside, and a tall boy with dirty blonde hair and a bandana around his neck walked out, accompanied by another boy that was talking about something the other wasn’t listening to.
“Hey, Sarah,” the first one greeted. “This is Pope, and you must be Kiara. I’m John B.”
Kiara nodded, and then waved at Pope, who smiled shyly and looked down.
“Can we go now?” Kiara asked, motioning to outside.
John B led them into the van. “You seriously don’t have to worry. He disappears a lot. It’s usually just family stuff, but he’s always fine. He’ll be fine.”
Kiara has never been in the Bilia part of town. They were secluded from everything else, living in small, run down houses. Her parents always warned her to stay away, and she’d listened until she met JJ. She had never believed that a Bilia could be someone she would care so much about.
“This is it,” John B said as pulled up in front of a small, one-story house Kiara would barely call a home. It was messy, covered in wild plants and cracked paint.
The teens all clambered out of the van, John B and Pope in the lead as the girls trailed behind them uncertainly. The boys looked around for a moment, circling the house quietly, searching for something.
“His dad’s not home,” Pope told them as they came back. “We can go in.”
Kara was relieved by that. She didn’t think she could face Luke Maybank, even if he didn’t know who she was. If he was as bad as her dad said he was, she didn’t ever want to meet him. She couldn’t imagine how hard it was to have him as a dad.
She froze, suddenly piecing something together. The bruise on his face, the terrified look on Sarah’s face. She didn’t want to think it was true, but was it his own dad that had done that? Her heart felt like it was going to burst from her skin, and she was about to spiral when her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet “oh, shit” from John B.
She hadn’t even noticed that they were in the house. Pope and John B were staring at something, but Kiara couldn’t see anything where they were looking. She looked to Sarah, who seemed just as confused as she was. John B knelt down, his arms outstretched, and the girls both gasped as JJ suddenly appeared.
He looked absolutely wrecked. His knees were pulled to his chest and his eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears. He was crying silently, but it turned into sobs as soon as John B pulled him into a hug. Kiara felt her breathing restrict as she watched, frozen.
“She’s dead,” JJ sobbed. “She’s dead.”
His mother. Of course. Kiara had almost forgotten, but it was one of the first things he mentioned to her. It was the reason she let him take the can of chicken soup, and why she told him to come back. It was the reason it had all happened, but she hadn’t even remembered.
She sat down beside him and began running her fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch, and Kiara felt an odd swell of pride as he began to calm down. She gently ran her hand up and down his arm, bringing him closer to her as his breathing began to even out.
“Hey, watch this,” she whispered, taking out a small drink bottle she always kept with her.
JJ lifted his head, watching as she rose the water from the bottle and made it swirl around. She made it circle in front of JJ, making little shapes and patterns. He just stared at it, eyes wide and fascinated, as it turned into a little floating love heart. He looked mesmerised, tears forgotten, and the other three teens were in a similar state of awe.
She played with the water for a while, letting JJ tell her what to turn it into or where to make it go. Eventually, he was smiling, and Pope, John B and Sarah walked out of the room. Kiara head ached from how long she’d been using her Dicio, but she didn’t mind if it meant JJ was happy. She’d do anything to comfirm that.
“Thank you,” JJ said, his voice hoarse. “You’re pretty cool.”
Kiara let a single droplet of water fall on his nose, making them both laugh. “You are too.”
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Broken Fugue: Chapter One (Maybe)
So, I wrote about four different versions of “Chapter One,” and this is the one I think I’m going to go with. To anyone who comes across this and does me the immense favor of reading - thoughts? Opinions? Critiques? Does it make you want to read more? FYI, the nicknames (Beethoven, Princess, Angel) are ‘inside jokes’ from the drabbles.
This AU is non-magic; Marinette and Adrien are students at a music university. He plays the piano, she plays the violin. (Nathaniel plays the cello, in case anyone is wondering.)
--
(AO3) <--This version is more up to date
--
The air is brisk, and Marinette tugs her millennial pink fuzzy overcoat tighter around her as she and Adrien emerge from the subway.
“Why don’t you just zip it up?” he inquires incredulously.
“Being cold is the price of fashion,” Marinette states solemnly, sliding one hand between the overlapping flaps of her coat. “This coat doesn’t look good zipped up.”
Adrien snorts. “So impractical. I’d say it’s a poorly designed coat.”
A shudder wracks Marinette’s small frame as a gust of wind hits them. “Ugh, so cold!”
“You should have dressed for the weather. Don’t you have a better coat?” Adrien scolds lightly. “And where are your gloves? You, of all people, should protect your hands more.”
“I don’t see you wearing gloves, Mr. Beethoven,” Marinette retorts, teeth chattering.
“Because my coat buttons up, and I have pockets.” Adrien looks down his nose at her with joking haughtiness, but when he notices how much she’s shaking, he decides to take mercy on her. He pulls on the hook of her elbow, drawing her right hand out of its hiding place. “Here. If you’re so concerned about fashion, I don’t think sticking a hand in your jacket is in style anymore.”
Marinette looks at him, lips parted, caught off guard. He can’t help but notice how pretty she looks, eyes bright, street lights reflecting off her lip gloss.
Glancing away, he slips her hand into his coat pocket, enclosing her fingers in his own. His chest warms with tender affection for her, and he hopes she can’t see the flush stealing across his cheeks at the couply gesture. This isn’t supposed to be a date.
“Better?” he asks, eyes trained on the entrance to the concert hall some fifty paces ahead.
“Much.” Her response is soft, her hand chilled and docile in his grip. He rubs his thumb in circles on her skin to warm her with the friction.
He remembers a day as frigid as this one, twelve years ago, and another hand as cold as hers. For a moment, he stops feeling flustered about Marinette’s hand in his pocket as the memory twists his gut.
Marinette twines her other hand around Adrien’s arm, tucking it against his body, huddling closer. That brings him back to the present. His heartbeat quickens as she presses into his shoulder and the stray whisps of her hair whip his cheek, tossed by the wind.
“Almost there, Princess,” he murmurs. They take the broad steps up to the concert hall, moving in tandem.
—
Marinette leans over to whisper in Adrien’s ear for the fifth time since the concert started. She’s probably the type who likes to talk during movies, too. Maybe he should find out.
“This part’s not so bad,” she evaluates. “I could listen to this for pleasure.”
She shifts back to normal sitting position, but her faint floral perfume lingers. Adrien inhales slowly, trying to imprint the fragrance in his mind.
On second thought, maybe the occasional concert is enough extended physical closeness.
The thought of sitting together on his bed for hours, watching a movie on his curved 4K monitor, with her leaning in every ten seconds to whisper her running commentary… no one in the room but the two of them…
Probably not a good idea.
The piece shifts to a new movement, an atonal cloud of notes climbing up the staff like an angry swarm of possessed bees.
“Never mind.” Marinette’s lips are suddenly at his ear again, sending a shudder through him that he tries to conceal. “I was thinking I’d give contemporary music a chance after that last movement, but they always have to insert something like this. I’m a little disappointed that it keeps fulfilling my expectations. I admire Nathaniel’s endurance to play this.”
“Let’s be fair,” Adrien whispers back. “The last movement was… not bad. There’s got to be a happy medium between minimalist and screeching cats somewhere in the contemporary music spectrum that doesn’t get accused of being too traditional.”
“What’s wrong with traditional, anyway? I think it’s unfair to label the Classical and Romantic masterpieces as ‘traditional.’ Why do we have to rebel against what works in music?” Marinette rants in a whisper. “I mean, quarter tones? I get it in principle, but they sound horrible.”
Adrien smiles at her indignation. “I’m sure I’ve heard some examples of good contemporary music, just can’t remember any names right now. I’m going on a quest…”
“Why don’t you write something?”
“I’m not a composer.”
“Sure, Mr. Beethoven. I’ve heard some of your compositions.”
“Will you stop calling me that?”
Heads in the row in front of them are starting to turn.
‘Sorry,’ Adrien mouths, giving his most apologetic, sheepish smile. Marinette is doing the same. She’s straightened up, but their shoulders are still touching. It’s almost like she’s doing it on purpose, to keep him at close listening range for future remarks.
He sighs, resigning himself to his fate. He can’t stop paying attention to that one point of contact for the rest of the whole freaking concert.
—
After the concert, they get milkshakes.
“Why did we think this would be a good idea?” Marinette takes another sip, shivering despite being indoors and with her coat on. They’re too close to the entrance, and a draft swirls around them whenever someone opens the door.
“I warned you.” Adrien crosses his arms. “But Little Miss Stubborn here wanted a milkshake.”
“All those stressful accidentals made me crave something sweet,” Marinette defends herself.
Adrien chuckles under his breath. “Could have gone with pain au chocolat, hot cocoa, freshly baked cookies, sweet crȇpes…”
“Freshly baked cookies!” Marinette squeals. “That sounds perfect. I’m making some when I get home.”
Adrien’s lips stretch into an unconscious, silly grin at her childlike excitement. He loves watching her get worked up about something. “I miss your macarons,” he blurts out.
“Really?” Marinette clicks her tongue. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve neglected you. Remind me to bring you some next week… I won’t have time to make macarons until Sunday.”
“You’re too sweet, Angel.” Adrien smiles charmingly and takes a long sip through his straw.
Marinette looks like she’s about to retort, but instead she drinks her milkshake too, cheeks rosy pink.
She looks up, catching him staring, and Adrien looks away reflexively before he can reason that it’s perfectly normal to be looking at his friend.
He recognizes this dance.
If she were any other girl, he would touch her hand and put words to this ambiguous feeling in the air between them—“You know, I really like you. I have for a while, actually.”
She would blush and murmur that she likes him too… because she does. (He can tell.)
They would watch their hands entwining, causing fireworks in their hearts, and know something has changed.
When they walk out of this diner, they would link arms and talk about mindless topics, only half paying attention to the words, mostly reveling in the feeling of being close to a precious person, and of being so lucky as to have their feelings returned, and wondering—dreaming of—what might happen between them from now on.
But this isn’t any other girl. This is Marinette, and if he goes down that path with her, there is no coming back in one piece.
He finishes his milkshake and takes out his phone to check emails while she finishes hers.
They talk about the music on the subway ride back.
Adrien’s stop is before hers. He opens his arms for a hug before they part, melting when she tucks herself under his chin. He loves the scent of her perfume. It’s so her, and he knows the ghost of that perfume is going to be on his mind for days.
He holds the hug a little longer than usual, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
The doors start to close.
“Adrien! Go!” Marinette literally pushes him away, and he jumps into the narrowing crevice between the doors. The sensor activates, allowing him to escape.
Marinette gives him a smile and a wave through the window. He’s frozen on the platform, watching the train build speed and feeling the ache, as if he’s left a piece of his heart onboard.
He’ll see her again tomorrow at chamber orchestra rehearsal, so it would be silly to say it’s because he misses her. What he’s mourning is the opportunity he’s deliberately letting slide.
Adrien decides even going to concerts with Marinette isn’t a good idea. Becoming close… even best… friends with her was like being sucked into quicksand, and date-like situations like this one make it too obvious how easy it would be to fall even deeper. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to resist next time.
#Broken Fugue#Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction#ML Fanfiction#Miraculous Music AU#Adrien Agreste#Marinette Dupain-Cheng#Adrienette
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
An interview with: Wax Vessel
Could you introduce yourself to the readers?
Nik Velleca - Founder/Owner/waytolongofaresponder
What led to the inception of Wax Vessel?
It’s actually a story in a couple of parts: the name (which is not interesting), the year before it started (mildly Interesting) and then the actual launch!
Maybe two years ago I really wanted to get in to the whole Instagram vinyl collection showcase scene. Made a second account called Wax Casket (because it sounded cool) and did a couple hundred posts. No big deal. But at that time, it kind of out the inkling of an idea in my head.
Fast forward a year or so, and Simon from WFAHM and I were taking about how literally every influential album from 2000-2010 was never pressed on vinyl. We thought about teaming up to do Ion Dissonance in vinyl (which is still a huge goal). It never materialized, so the label pages (renamed to Wax Vessel) kind of got shelved. Speaking of the name Wax Vessel (rant incoming) I landed on that name because I’m so fed up with the start of digital. MySpace deleting song libraries. Hard drives crashing. CDs getting bit rot. The only try archival format is vinyl. You could pull a WV release of a shelf in 2219 and it would still play. It’s a “time capsule” or “Vessel” for preserving history. Anyway.
Fast forward to like 5 months ago - I had just stumbled upon PRR and they told me they were doing Destroyer Destroyer. I asked if I could just press the records to accompany that release, and viola! Here we are!
Wax Vessel is very unique, you what always comes to mind when I think of extremely rare and beautiful presses. What process goes into getting your visions to come together properly at the pressing plant?
So I’m glad you touched on this, because artisanal (barf) pressings are one of the tentpole features of WV. There’s so much that can be done with the format that it seems like an insult to just do single color records. I figured if I was going to bring all of these albums back from the dead after decades of never having a physical release, it might as well be in style! Otherwise someone will just repress it hah.
But each release is its own project. My goal are always to have the color play with the album art, while also pushing the physical medium itself. Everything is very case-by-case, with the number of variants and the type of variant really just being subject to my mood haha.
Recently announced was the pressing for Dr. Acula’s S.L.O.B, congratulations on making it to WV007! From the posts I’ve seen on social media, you guys are really excited about this release. How would you describe Dr. Acula to someone who has never heard of them before?
Thanks! Dr. Acula was a huge one for me, they’re one of the forefathers of Deathcore in my opinion. They’re that early, wonky type of proto-Deathcore that uses a lot of samples before breakdowns and has a lot of inside jokes. It’s just fun, without taking itself too seriously.
They obviously got much bigger later, but SLOB was such a classic album, and a standout release from 187 records at the time (who really deserve all the credit for basically being the label pioneers of the genre along with Debello and BMA).
Wax Vessel focuses on pressing music from the MySpace era of metal. What about that era made it so memorable and dear to your heart that you decided to resurrect it in the wax form?
Man, prepare to watch me get spun up on this, haha. I’m really terrible at organizing my thoughts in to a cohesive essay on the topic, so as a kind of “stream of conciseness” ramble please accept this:
2000-2010 was just peak music. It was a digital Wild West with a bunch of talented Midwesterner pioneering new sounds for niche audiences. It was a perfect storm of a bunch of cultural factors playing out all at once.
Literally all of these trailblazing bands were pushing envelopes and rail blazing new genres for No monetary gain and no fame. Every single review form music media was “this is unlistenable garbage”. They absolutely did not get the recognition they deserved at the time. I mean the “scene revival/20-9-scene” is more popular than the actual scene at the time!
So what happens when you mix this new way to make music (digital production) with a new way to reach fans (social media/MySpace)? You get a fucking no holds barred race to make the most niche, unlistenable music in existence. The decade was a fucking blip in music history and then was lost to the ages.
The internet was too young to preserve it, and to young for anyone to really use to their advantage. Just a lost decade. So I think that’s worth preserving. Especially since YouTube rips are the only thing left.
The default vinyl color of black is never an option with your releases, always seeing high quality, creative options for your limited presses. What is the reasoning behind this stylistic choice?
Black is such a fucking cop out. It’s only to save money. It’s lazy and requires no finesse or imagination. If you’re going to press records, go all in. Like imagine building a house in 2019 with all the modern amenities and building materials we have at our disposal and just building a 6-sided box. So boring.
And for everyone who says it sounds best - black (carbon) is an additive for strength. Natural PVC is additive free and sounds better. So when I need a cheaper variant to offset the cost of some of the more expensive ones, natural PVC is always my go-to.
Have there been any challenges so far with the process of mastering these old files on vinyl? Were any of the music files hard to come across?
You have no idea! I feel like a lot of people see WV and then want to start a vinyl label, haha. But there’s so much craziness behind the scenes!
Let’s start at the top - WV will only do a release if the band is on board, and the rights are retained. Mechanical licensing retained. Full quality tracks hunted down and mastered for vinyl. New art made (no one has their old art files) and laid out for vinyl. Then after all that, I have to drop $4k at the plant to get it pressed. Then promos and art made, coordinating with ZBR on timelines, etc.
But none of that can happen without the tracks. Most of the time the band will have the master bounces, and it’s not that difficult. But on a couple of occasions I’ve had to rip old demos from personal CDs. I’ve even had to pay for a hard drive to be recovered for a band member so we could get tracks!
I really believe that vinyl isn’t just for the fashion, so having great sounding records is top priority. Can’t do that with a YouTube rip! If we can’t get the best quality tracks, I won’t do it!
Any possibility of there being Wax Vessel merch down the road?
I mean I’m not sure anyone would give a shit! But if like 10 people messaged me and said they wanted a shirt, you bet! We would whip up a cool “no represses” design or something, haha. Maybe 2020!
With a new year right around the corner, what are some goals for kicking off the new decade in 2020?
2020 souls have some cool “firsts” for sure! I’ve got our first multi-LP box set dropping. First project with a hand-painted cover. First modern release (under a different side name, don’t want to dilute the WV name haha).
Really what if love to do in 2020 is press Psyopus to round out the techgrind section. That’s a big goal! I’d also love to have a both and sell LPs at like a festival, but they all sell out too quick!
Anything else you would like to tell the readers before we go?
Just a couple of blurbs! People always forget that wax Vessel is a non-profit and we give 100% of the money to the bands. So remember that the next time you think I’m an asshole for not doing something you like! We got a lot of hate mail about not doing represses, haha.
To that point, there will never be represses. It’s a sticking point. I don’t want to make records that end up in dollar bins and eBay lots. I’d rather leave money on the table. I want to great collector items that will be cherished.
All of these bands have been defunct for a decade. No one is coming back to just to try and make a quick buck. These are all swan song little fun presses for the core group of fans. For the 200 weirdo left who still care about early 2000s techgrind and vinyl, haha.
It’s niche, but no one wants to make any money. It’s just a fun thing for the scene. Remember this is all for fun!
Additionally, I see a lot of miscommunications that I’d like to get on the record! Please remember:
Wax Vessel is its own thing. Not an imprint or affiliated with anyone. I shoulder all cost, design, etc for everything! So it’s very much WV as the label.
I hate shipping and fulfillment, so ZBR [Zegema Beach Records] is WV’s official store. The mega studs over there (Dave and Dave) definitely allow WV to exist. If I had to ship everything, it would be one release a year haha.
And super not last, WV couldn’t exist without Ryan Peter. I have absolutely no scene Fred, and Ryan gets fucking results. He almost single-handedly spreads the word and gets bands on board. Literally invaluable. All the records in the world mean nothing if you can’t get any bands to agree to get pressed! He’s a MySpace madman!!
Wax Vessel Social Media:
Facebook
Instagram
Website [Coming Soon]
Big Cartel [Coming Soon]
Merch through Zegema Beach Records
#Wax Vessel#Zegema Beach Records#Record label#vinyl records#Dr Acula#interview#I By The Tide Promotions
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
pop culture chapter 8
“Adulthood in a town like Derry is even worse than childhood. The listless, empty ramblings of days dragging on in a town that felt like one-size-too-small-shoes sat heavier on the recently graduated than the younger children. Before you were eighteen and responsible for your own lunch money, you could spend your interminable afternoons exploring the surrounding environment, friends of friends abound. Escaping to the arcade and seeing the same films six times at the same theater was an acceptable amount of nothing to do at twelve years old. But when nineteen years hit Bill Denbrough and college acceptance letters didn’t, the sudden, overwhelming, nothingness of Nowhere, Maine became too heavy to bear.”
chapter 8 (wc: 4k)
chapter list here
read it on ao3
want on the taglist?
“Someone’s knockin at yer back door, Stanny.”
“Couldn’t kill you to answer it?”
“Not my house.”
“Well you’re not getting any of my pizza, then.” Stan griped as he marked his place and set down his novel before crossing the room.
“Wait, you ordered pizza?!” Richie extracted himself from his position on Stan’s bed, where he had been reading comics upside down.
“You’d know if you got the door.” Stan called over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. Another knock rang through the empty house.
“Coming dear!” Richie yelled with a ridiculous trill as he attempted to slide down the bannister.
“Don’t break yourself. I don’t want your blood on my carpet.” Stan yanked Richie’s sleeve, returning the wily boy to his feet.
“Buzzkill.” Richie muttered, crossing his arms as he followed Stan sullenly.
“Reason you’re still alive?” Stan quirked an eyebrow, walking backwards with a finger pointed at himself.
“Touche, douche.” Richie rhymed under his breath as they crossed the kitchen.
“Heard that.” Stan commented as he opened the door.
“Hey.”
Stanley and Richie’s eyes went comically wide as they took in the sight on Stan’s back doorstep. Before them stood a disheveled Mike and Eddie, both sweaty and breathing like they’d ran all the way there. Eddie was holding the collar of his shirt to split and bleeding skin of his chin, droplets of the blood escaping and dripping down his neck, leaving dried trails like lay lines. Mike was smiling almost apologetically, like he was sorry to have stopped by.
“Got a first aid kit?” Mike broke the silence, smile almost manic as he joked.
“What the fuck happened?!” Stan inquired, pulling Mike in the room and out of the way before Richie practically launched himself at Eddie, who he promptly shoved over to the sink so he could begin cleaning his wound.
“It’s a pretty, uh, funny story actually.” Mike said with a strange, nervous laugh. Stan studied him crossly between cupboards he opened in search of some bandages. “Mind if I have a glass of water?”
“Go ahead.” Stan replied warily, watching Mike grab a cup out of the cabinet to his left with trembling hands. Richie moved Eddie away from the sink as Mike came over, meeting Stan at the kitchen island and grabbing the box of band-aids he’d successfully scavenged. Mike drank three full glasses while Richie diligently attended to Eddie’s chin. Stan and Eddie caught each other’s gazes just once, and at Stan’s questioning eyebrow Eddie only shook his head. Stan waited a moment more before starting in on Mike again. “You gonna tell this funny story?”
“It’s a real doozy.” Mike braced his hands on the sink, back facing the others.
“I think I can handle it.”
Mike took a deep breath before turning.
“You want the long or the short of it?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
“I think I just controlled fire with my mind.”
Richie dropped the bandage he was opening.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. That’s the short.”
“Does the long explain this?” Richie pointed at Eddie’s band-aid clad chin.
“If I tell you it involves Hockstetter and Belch, does that answer your question?”
“Shit. Yeah.” Richie adjusted his glasses reverently, eyes downcast as his mind easily grasped the general specifics.
“So you what, turned his flamethrower contraption off?” Stan crossed his arms and leaned against the pantry.
“More like turned it around.” Mike paused to drink more water. “It didn’t burn me.”
“It touched you?” Mike nodded. “And it didn’t burn.” Another nod. “And you’re sure it was real fire.” Richie continued incredulously.
“It was. A whole lot of it. And it couldn’t touch me.”
“Bullshit.” Richie said with awe.
“You literally turned invisible a couple days ago.” Stan glared at Richie.
“Yeah, but- that’s nuts!”
“More nuts than your thing?”
Richie qualmed. “No…”
“So shush. Let the man continue.”
“That’s pretty much all there is to it.” Mike shrugged. “I guess fire can’t burn me anymore.”
“Let’s test it.” Richie pulled a lighter out of his jean pocket. “Experimentation.”
Mike spoke at the same time as Stan, his acquiescence overlapping Stanley’s protests.
“It’s fine, Stan.” Mike repeated, stepping over to Richie with an outstretched arm.
“What if it was just a fluke?” Stan folded his hands in concern.
“It’s just a tiny little Bic, what can it do?” Mike said casually as Richie flicked on the flame.
“You sure?” Richie asked, lighter in one hand and Mike’s arm in the other.
“Go right ahead.”
Richie watched Mike’s face with pinched eyebrows, disbelief and uncertainty on his face. He titled the flame to touch skin, eyes going wide as Mike did not flinch.
“Nothing?” Richie pressed the flame into Mike’s skin, which was not burning or bubbling as all laws of physics deemed it should.
“It feels like hot wax, but not super hot wax.” Mike took another sip of his water with his free hand.
“Are you the wax in this equation?” Richie questioned as he moved the flame up and down the length of Mike’s forearm.
“I think so?”
“Fucking hell.” Richie sighed as he let go of the trigger, pocketing the lighter once more. “Of course you get a useful power.” He complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“The fuck do you mean?”
“I mean that’s what this whole thing is, right? We’re all getting superpowers or something! And I get this bullshit where some of my organs go see-through, and it hurts like a bitch, mind you, and you get to be fire-retardant! Stan can fuckin’, I don’t know, levitate things, which is helpful-”
Stan and Mike spoke over each other again.
“Stan can what?”
“You’ve been reading too many comic books.”
Stan looked guilty after he realized what Mike had said over his comment.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Last night. My book was floating.”
“That’s it?”
“I made it fly into the ceiling.”
“Did it stay there?”
“No, it fell.”
“Who cares if it stayed up there? Point is Stanley actually gets something that doesn’t suck-”
“Eddie, you’ve been weirdly quiet. Are you okay?” Stan interrupted Richie’s rant, desperately wanting to shift the subject away from himself. Eddie blanched at the sudden question, shuffling his weight awkwardly on his feet. He thought for a moment about saying something, but settled on a shake of his head. “What’s up?” Stan pressed.
“I’m with Richie.” Eddie said after a moment, voice unsure. Richie definitely didn’t dig his nails into his legs from where his hands were clenched in his pockets in response to the thoughts Eddie saying the phrase I’m with Richie conjured. “I got dealt a really shitty hand.”
Richie swallowed, wishing away the heat in his cheeks. “How so?”
“You know how so!” Eddie went from reserved and shaken to bitterness teetering on the edge of rage in a matter of seconds. “The only ‘power’ I got is being scared so shitless I can’t even fucking move every time something goes wrong!”
“Eds.” Richie pleaded softly, hoping to head off the explosion he knew was coming.
“You should have seen me today, Richie. I was fucking useless. Mike was about to get barbequed and I just fucking laid there!”
“Belch was holding you down Eddie, he had his boot in your back-” Mike protested.
“Wait, Belch had his boot in your back? That son of a-”
“The point is that I’m useless now! Who am I if I can’t protect my friends?!”
“Eds, you are not useless-”
“Richie’s right, Eddie-”
“You don’t get it, Stan-”
“Eddie, I don’t think you have a super power.” Mike said firmly, breaking through the chaos of everyone’s voices overlapping.
“Excuse me?” Eddie blinked at him.
“I don’t think you have a ‘super power’.” Mike air quoted, glancing at Richie. “I think you have a panic disorder.”
“Mike.” Richie warned quietly, almost subconsciously raising a hand as if to placate a wild animal. Stan stared at him shocked, genuine surprise and fear overtaking him as he worried over the results of the statement.
Eddie went white, his whole body eerily stilling. His eyes started out laser-focused on Mike’s face but began to dart around the room. He tried to form words, his brain working in overdrive as he scrambled over a response. To Richie it looked like he’d short-circuited.
“I- you- how dare-”
“Eddie, I’m not trying to offend you-”
“How dare you, Michael.” Eddie spat. “You have got to be fucking kidding me right now.”
“I’m not.” Mike stood his ground.
“If I wanted someone to stand here and list a bunch of fake illnesses I don’t have, I’d be at home!” Eddie nearly screamed. Stan clasped a hand over his mouth. Richie swallowed again before laughing nervously with the teasing, though-”
“Shut UP Richard. I’m not fucking around.” Eddie rounded on Mike again. “I can’t believe you, one of my best friends treating me like my fucking mother, trying to find some fucking disease you can blame me on-”
“I am not acting like your mother, Eddie.” Mike yelled back, surprising Stan and Richie with his intensity.
“You know what hurts the most about it?” Eddie pushed on, apparently unaffected by the bite back. “What really gets me about being told I’m sick all the time? She says my behavior is what makes me sick, the things I do or like or say. It’s not my temperature or my complexion or whether or not I throw up, it’s my fucking personality! To her, I’m the disease! And I thought you of all people would see me differently. But it’s clear now you don’t. I’m something you want to cure too.”
“Eddie-” Mike protested feebly, shocked beyond belief.
“I am sorry I was such a useless pile of shit today.” Eddie said through angry tears forming in his eyes. “I feel terrible about how I acted. But you don’t have to be so vicious about it. You don’t have to treat me like a germ.”
With that, Eddie was turning on a heel and leaving, storming out of Stan’s back door as the other’s scrambled after him, Richie yelling for him to come back.
“Let him go.” Mike said calmly, a hand on Richie’s shoulder as the three stood in the doorway. They watched Eddie storm out of the garden, the brand new and almost frighteningly large cactus plant near the door escaping their notice.
______________________________________________________________
“I’m the world’s worst boyfriend.”
“Oh come on, Ben.”
“No, I really am. I mean, absolute shit.”
“Th-there are p-p-plenty worse boyfr-friends than you out there.” Bill clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, smiling at the sight of Ben idly fretting.
“What kind of asshole waits until a week before an anniversary before they even start thinking about a gift?” Ben put his head in his hands, soda and fries forgotten on the bench next to him. He and Bill were on one of their regular excursions to the downtown district of Derry, where they would both get a coke and fries to be eaten as they walked around and windowshopped for all the things they couldn’t afford.
“S-some people forget the d-day entirely.” Bill pointed out, popping a french fry into his mouth. “I did.”
Ben looked up at him incredulously. “You forgot yours and Bev’s anniversary?”
“She b-broke up with me for a reason.” He joked, taking a drink of his soda. Ben laughed at his casual admission.
“No offense, but I’m glad the bars not so high.” Ben said through giggles.
Bill snorted. “Wh-what bar?” The two broke into fits of laughter, trying their best to contain themselves in public.
“Well, shit.” Ben leaned back, picking up his styrofoam cup of cola and taking a sip. “Guess I’ve only gotta do something mildly impressive.”
“What k-kind of gift are you th-thinking?” Bill tucked a leg under the other as he ate more of his fries.
“It’s cliche as shit, but I was thinking jewelry.” Ben scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, it is only our six-month, but still…” Ben trailed off, Bill watching him intently as he continued to eat. “I’m really fucking serious about her. I wanna get something that says I am.”
“Jewelry is good, then.” Bill said seriously.
“What do you think she would like?” Ben asked, vulnerability and desperation clear in his eyes as he locked them with Bill’s.
“C-can’t go w-w-wrong with a n-necklace.” Bill took another drink.
“Yeah…” Ben sighed, contemplatively taking a bite of one of his fries. “That doesn’t feel like… special enough though.” He finished the fry. “I feel like it should be something, I don’t know, more. She deserves it.”
“Yeah she does.” Bill agreed sincerely as he took another drink. The boys sat in silence for a few moments, watching Derry townfolk shuffle around on their nameless errands.
“Would it be the most embarrassing thing in the world to get her a promise ring?” Ben said after the silence had stretched too far. Bill shook his head, swallowing the fry he was on.
“Nu-uh. I think sh-she’d love that.”
“Really?” Ben asked nervously.
“Sh-she told me sh-she did s-s-so, yeah.” Bill grinned.
“Oh. I didn’t know you guys talked about…” Ben fiddled with his fingers nervously.
“Y-you guys?” Bill supplied. “B-b-bev and I are still fr-friends, Ben. We talk ab-bout all kinds of stuff.”
“I just didn’t think you’d want to hear about it.” Ben looked at his feet. “I wouldn’t want to if I were you.”
Bill was silent for a beat, thinking. “You l-liked her when we w-were dating, d-d-didn’t you.”
“Yeah.” Ben admitted after a breath. “I’ve liked her since we first met.”
“Th-then you really should get th-that ring.” Bill ate his last fry, wiping the grease from his fingers on the corner of his flannel. Ben watched Bill nervously, almost as if he were afraid he’d angered him. “You kn-know I’m not huh-hurt over you g-g-guys dating.”
“You’re not?”
“No. B-bev and I have always b-b-been better off as fr-friends. You guys were suh-supposed to be tog-gether.” Ben’s jaw dropped slightly at the statement as Bill stood up from the bench, garbage clasped in one hand.
“Bill, it really means a lot to hear you say that.” Ben admitted as he stood as well.
“Sh-shoulda said it s-s-sooner. It’s always b-b-been true.” Bill shrugged, looking up and down the street at the row of stores. His eyes landed on a pawn shop nestled at the end of the block. “Now c-c-c’mon. Let’s go g-get your girlfriend a pr-promise ring.”
______________________________________________________________
“Well that sure was swell, Mikey.” Richie commented bitterly as he paced the Uris living room, a slice of pepperoni pizza in each hand. He had been alternating between the two, taking an angry bite out of one, then the other, then back again. These are technically his third and fourth slices, Stan thought after a brief glance at the pizza box.
“Richie, don’t get pissy with me. If you’re worried about him, go take it up with Eddie.” Mike tore off the end of his breadstick and ate it.
“You’re the one who pissed him off.” Richie took a bite from the left slice, speaking before swallowing. “You should apologize.”
“For what? Looking out for his best interests? And you should chew with your mouth closed. God, what are you, five?” Mike grumbled before finishing off his breadstick.
“Je-sus, Micycle. Bee in your bonnet?” Richie teased, proceeding to take a bite out of the right slice.
“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood, Tozier.” Mike glared at him.
“Would you two cut it out?” Stan cut in, depositing his pizza crust in the lid of the box. “If you’re gonna keep bickering like this, I’m gonna kick you out.”
“On what grounds?” Richie squinted at him.
“The ‘no-whiny-assholes’ clause.” Stan returned the look as he went for another slice.
“Sorry.” Mike mumbled as he grabbed another breadstick.
“I will not yield.” Richie said with a stubborn flourish, polishing off the left slice. Stan rolled his eyes as he shook his head.
“Of course you don’t. Mike, do you think we should have another meeting and tell the rest about what happened?”
Mike looked contemplatively at the carpet. “I’m not opposed to it, but don’t we have a movie night in a couple of days?”
“We could wait till then if you want.”
“That’s probably best. Oh, and Ben got those pictures developed. He’ll probably want us all to take a look at them.”
“What for?” Richie muttered to himself, finishing the crust of the right slice, his now pizza-less hands he wiped off on his jeans. “Said it yourself, won’t do any good.”
“Ben’s peace of mind will probably appreciate it.” Mike quipped. “Besides, he was gonna give a bunch to you.”
Richie folded his arms and turned to look at Mike, who even while sitting on the floor with Stan, still seemed tall, immovable.
“You shouldn’t have said that to Eddie.”
“I’m not wrong.” Mike rebutted, unphased by the quick turn of subject.
“That doesn’t matter. You know he hates being told he’s got something wrong with him.”
“I never said having a panic disorder is wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not going to jump to that conclusion.”
“That’s on him.”
“You hurt his feelings, Mike!”
“I was being honest!”
“That’s not always what Eddie wants.” Stan cut in. “We’ve been friends with him for a long time, Mike. He’s always preferred easy lies over hard truths.”
“It’s how he was raised.” Richie muttered under his breath as he fiddled with the carpet with his bare toes.
“So you baby him and tell him what he wants to hear? How is that any better than his home life?”
Richie and Stan remained silent.
“I’m not going to patronize him. I know he hates that shit even more. I’m going to be honest with him because he’s my friend and he deserves that, even if it makes him angry.”
“That’s fair.” Richie aquiesced after a beat. “But he’s still gonna be pissy with you if you don’t apologize. And he probably won’t listen to your reasoning if he doesn’t like your accusation.”
“He’ll come around.”
______________________________________________________________
Ben arrived home a little later than usual, pocket heavy with the weight of what he’d decided to do that evening. His whole demeanor was effected by the choice, his smile giddy as he unlocked the door. His mother was waiting with freshly reheated dinner, a telltale sign she was near the end of a pay period. The sight of the cheap, frozen meals steaming in their plastic wrap on the table made Ben feel a little sick, and abruptly wish he hadn’t just spent so much of his money. It was supposed to help with groceries you idiot, Ben chastized himself.
“Hey sweetie. Dinner’s on the table.” His mother greeted as she entered the room, smiling at Ben as he shed his shoes.
“I saw, looks delicious, thank you.” Despite his reservations about the situation, Ben would not refuse a meal from his mother, no matter the context. He knew he should sometimes, knew her constant over feeding was an almost exclusive reason for his issues with weight as a young man. But he was also aware it was one of her ways for making up for his father’s absence. She used food to show her love, and if he said he wasn’t hungry, she took it as rejection. Ben may not always be hungry, but God did he constantly love his mother. So frozen dinners it is.
“You look particularly at peace this evening, Benny.” His mother commented as she crossed to the sink and began washing her hands. “Anything exciting happen today?”
Ben smiled shyly to himself as he got a glass and poured some juice from the fridge. “Uh, yeah actually.” He leaned over and set his cup down at his seat, then raised the jug of juice so his mother could see. “Want a glass?”
“Sure, thanks. Tell me about this excitement!” She pressed, drying her hands before sitting down.
“So, remember how I told you Bev and I’s anniversary is next week?” Ben couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he returned the juice to the fridge. “I got her gift today.” He beamed at his mother as he handed her her cup and sat down.
She returned his grin. “What’d you get her?”
Ben looked around conspiratorially, preening when it made his mother laugh. They loved to joke that others might be around, that things must be secret, ever since Ben was a child and loved playing spies. When he deemed the coast was clear, he pulled the small ring box out of his pocket.
“I got her this promise ring.” Ben said as reverently as he held it out under the light. His mother took it in hand, regarding the ring in awe.
“Oh Benny, this is gorgeous.” She breathed.
“Think she’ll like it?” His tone betrayed his nervousness. “Bill helped me pick it out, I was so unsure.”
“Honey, she’ll love it.” She smiled and returned the box to him. “It’s perfect.”
“I sure hope so.” He pocketed the ring box and picked up his fork, using it to tear back the plastic wrap over his food.
“Sorry it’s not plated, I wasn’t sure how late you’d be and I wanted it to stay warm.” His mother said as she took a drink.
“Oh no mom, this is fine. I don’t mind a bit.” Ben shook his head.
“Oh, and speaking of miss Beverly, she left a voicemail for you a little while ago.” She added, cutting into her meatloaf.
“Thanks, I’ll listen to it after dinner.”
They ate in silence for a bit before she spoke again.
“I like that girl, Benny. I like her a lot. Think someday you’ll put a real ring on that finger?”
Ben smiled down at his food.
“I sure hope so.”
______________________________________________________________
“Georgie, can you get the door for us?”
“Sure momma.” Georgie Denbrough responded with a smile as he jumped down from his makeshift vegetable cutting station. His brother, who was tenderizing meat next to him smiled as he watched his brother happily run off.
The doorbell rang again as Georgie rounded the corner. “Coming!” He called sweetly, beaming as he reached the door. He pulled it open easily with his one arm.
“Oh- hi Georgie.”
Georgie squinted at the sight before him, happy but perplexed. Eddie Kaspbrak was on his doorstep, which he was excited about, because Eddie was his friend and he loved seeing him. But Eddie also looked hurt, his chin covered in bandaids and spots of dried blood on his yellow tee shirt.
“Hi Eddie.” Georgie kept his smile plastered on his face, reminding himself of what his mother always tells him; don’t ask people invasive questions, Georgie.
“Is your brother home?” Eddie asked nervously, wringing his hands on the bottom of his shirt.
“Yeah, he’s in the kitchen.” Georgie gestured across his body, jerking towards the kitchen with a thumb. “Are you staying for dinner?”
Eddie gave a short, airy laugh. “I’ll have to ask. Can I talk to him?”
“Billy!” Georgie suddenly switched to his outside voice. “Eddie’s here!”
Eddie gave Georgie a slightly surprised expression, impressed by the kid’s volume. A moment later Bill arrived in the doorway, chiding Georgie about yelling in the house. He stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Eddie in the doorway.
“Ed-eddie.” He crinkled his brow. “You alright?”
“Uh, sorta. I’m- can uh, can I stay over tonight?”
“Yeah, of course. W-we’re just making-”
“Dinner, yeah, I’ll help.” Eddie scurried into the house, not bothering to give Bill a chance to finish the thought. The boys shared a look as they left the doorway, its meaning indecipherable to Georgie. He huffed to himself, feeling a bit angry about once again being left out of things, and went to close the door. He stopped his motion at the sight of the edges of their front garden, his gaze on the bushes that came up to the side of the doorstep. The small yellow flowers that usually bloomed on its stems in spring were opening up, unfurling at an unnatural speed, leaving the bush covered in fresh blossoms before it stopped. Georgie watched with wide eyes, confounded by the sight before him.
Momma’s right, he thought as he finally willed himself to close the door. I’ve been watching too many cartoons.
______________________________________________________________
authors notes: sorry this took forever to come out! i told myself i’d put it up on wednesday. i did not accomplish that lmao. anyways he’res another installment, things are really starting to pick up! in the pop culture universe georgie has one arm; the denbroughs were in an accident when the boys were young, where georgie lost his arm and bill sustained the brain damage that causes his stutter. also no one is more of a benverly cheerleader than bill.
tagslist: @s-s-stutteringbill @gazeboseddie @misssiriusblack @mythgirl96 @crackhousetozier @reddieaddict @wincestklaine @beepbeep-losers @ayyyymichele @megelizabethvh @tapetayloe @flickerflies @ghostbustermike @i-is-gazebo @reddiesetrichie @wyttolff @gayzier @kaspbrak-is-our-king @mikedenbrough @28shoes @nicoperryy @kinghanscom @eddiecare @shadysandi @fyeahreddie @reddieforlove
#prior.txt#prior.fic#popcultureverse#it#losers club#reddie#benverly#stenbrough#stenbranlon#it fic#reddie fic
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mr. Smartass [M]
What happens when you get partnered with know-it-all, Kim Namjoon, for a class project?
4k / smut / college!AU
“You will be partnered with...Namjoon Kim.”
Your professor’s words hung in the air, tension filling the large classroom.
Your fists clenched by your sides, trying your best to keep a neutral expression because you knew all eyes were on you, waiting for a reaction. Despite praying to be matched with your best friend, your professor’s “random” selection process had other plans. Just your luck, you had been partnered with the resident class know-it-all.
Just perfect.
Namjoon was an exchange student from South Korea that had come earlier in the semester, though you honestly wouldn’t have known he wasn’t born in the States because his accent was almost unnoticeable. There’s always been some palpable tension between the two of you, even dating back to the first day of class. Whenever you went to answer a question, he would refute it with some smartass comment. The two of you would go on for minutes, debating heatedly back and forth from across the classroom while everyone looked on like they were waiting for things to get violent (and it almost did, several times you had to stop yourself from throwing your textbook at his perfectly groomed head).
You both were undoubtedly the best students in the class, though, if Namjoon’s grade was even a decimal point higher, you knew it was because he kissed the professor’s ass way more than necessary.
Your professor continued reading the rest of the pairs from his list and you took a deep breath, thinking of ways to get out of this assignment.
“I’m expecting great things from you all,” he said, looking between you and Namjoon with a smile before sending a wink in your direction. Your jaw dropped; this was definitely a setup, “Class is dismissed! Don’t forget to meet up with your partners before you leave and exchange emails and phone numbers!” he called over the sound of thank you’s and chairs scraping against the floor.
Putting your pride aside, you rose from your chair and walked to the other end of the room, rolling your eyes as you passed your best friend. She was gave you a pitiful smile as she spoke to her partner, a boy with a headful of greasy curls that covered half his face.
You finally made it over to him, and his eyes were trained on something he was reading on his phone.
“Namjoon,” you said cordially.
“Y/N,” he replied dryly, not even bothering to look up from the device.
“What’s your email?” you asked.
“I think phone numbers would be better. Faster communication is more efficient don’t you think?” he asked in that deep voice you hated so much, boastful eyes lifting to meet yours.
Your jaw clenched in annoyance and you painted on a smile, opting to keep it civil, “Sure.”
You traded phones and tapped your number into the sleek device, amazed. He had the same phone as you, except his was the newest model that had only been out for a couple days, if that. You’d heard that he was rich, which would explain how he managed to live in the best student apartments as a freshman. You had even seen him whip out of the student parking lot before in a rather expensive looking BMW, shades on as he looked in your direction haughtily before speeding off. Suddenly his arrogance had a lot more meaning.
He held your phone out with a limp wrist, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to finish typing. You scoffed at his nerve, taking even longer just to get under his skin. You snatched your phone away and put his on the desk instead of his waiting hand.
“I’ll call you, don’t call me,” you said turning on your heels and walking out of the class, leaving the boy dumbfounded.
You were splayed out on your bed, phone to your ear, “He’s such a smartass! ‘I think phone numbers would be better. Faster communication is more efficient’ like okay, maybe, but just shut up and take my email, asshole!” you ranted.
Your best friend snorted on the other line, “Be grateful, at least you got him and not Reeking Randall. He literally smells like piss and energy drinks, Y/N! I felt my nose hairs singe every time I tried to breathe,” she whined, “And I swear I saw him pick his nose and eat it when he thought I wasn’t looking.”
You felt your phone buzz on your ear, and you looked at your screen in confusion at the message that flashed across it:
Namjoon: Let’s meet up in the library tonight at 10. Best to get an early start.
“What the hell?”
“Exactly!”
“No, guess who texted me?”
“Your mom…?”
“Mr. Smartass.”
“Shut up! What he say?”
“He wants to meet me at 10 in the library. It’s a Friday night and the project isn’t due for another week. I almost feel bad for him, he really must not have a life.”
“So what are you going to do?”
You stopped to reassess. While people were out at parties, here you were in your pajamas, sprawled out on your bed on the phone in a face mask. In all honestly, it didn’t look like you had much of a life right now either. And if you got most of the project done tonight, you wouldn’t have to see him again outside of class.
It was a win-win situation.
“I’ll do it,” you sighed into the other line as you typed
You: I told you not to call me.
Namjoon: Actually I’m not calling you, I’m texting you so :)
You: Calling was a general term, meaning don’t initiate communication with me via cellular device at all if you really want to get specific :)
Namjoon: Well here I am so :)
You: :)
Namjoon: Look are you coming to the library at 10 yes or no?
You: Yeah
Namjoon: Great, bring your textbook, a notebook, and your laptop.
You: I was already going to so thanks for nothing
“You’re going? Wow, look at you being the bigger person,” she mused, “You might hate me for saying this but Namjoon is kinda...cute?”
You cringed, “I know you’re not talking about Sir. Know-it-all, smartass, ‘Well actually I read a study on that’, Namjoon Kim.”
“I don’t know, maybe it’s the height and the dimples that do it, but you have to say he’s not bad looking.”
“He’s nothing special,” you shrugged.
“Lie if you want to, but I have to go scam that sophomore Seokjin out of a free pizza. Have fun with Namjoon,” she said suggestively, and you knew she was wiggling her eyebrows.
“Not if I’m lucky,” you muttered before hanging up, staring up at your ceiling wondering why you agreed to join the devil himself.
At 9:50 you were approaching the library, hoodie pulled tightly as it was dotted with raindrops.
You: I’m almost there, where are you? You typed.
Your phone buzzed a second later.
Namjoon: I’ve been here for the past 20 minutes. 4th floor.
You couldn’t help but laugh. Of course he was.
When you walked through the door of the grand building, you didn’t know what you were expecting. The entire place was a ghost town, no one there besides a couple dead looking desk workers, because nobody in their right mind would be at the library at 10 pm on a Friday if they didn’t absolutely have to be.
You rode the elevator up, and when you turned the corner you saw Namjoon sitting alone at a table. His books were spread out in front of him as he typed something into his computer, a look of concentration etched onto his face. When he heard the ding of the elevator he looked at your approaching figure.
“You’re finally here,” he said.
“What do you mean ‘finally’? I’m actually early,” you said.
“I’ve still been waiting for 20 minutes.”
“You did that to yourself, Einstein,” you sat your backpack down on the floor and began taking your hoodie off.
Namjoon’s eyes scanned over your outfit silently as you unpacked your bag. You were wearing a V-neck t-shirt that dipped down low enough to show a hint of cleavage, and your favorite pair of leggings that hugged your curves snuggly. They were the first things at the top of your hamper and you threw them on without as much as a second thought. Namjoon averted his eyes when you sat down and looked at him.
“So I was thinking we could do our project on the role socioeconomic status plays in character development in early 1800s literature.”
His face scrunched up, “Nah, that’s like borderline high school level stuff. We have to dig deeper.”
You rolled your eyes, “Okay then do you have any bright ideas?”
“I’m glad you asked that,” he said, pulling out a thick packet of printed sheets from a folder, “There. The portrayal of race relations in Korean War literature and how they differ between the States and Korea. See, its sophisticated and also challenges any preconceived notions.”
You held the heavy pages in your hand, “When did you have time to do all this research? We literally just got the assignment 2 days ago.”
He rolled his eyes, “Please, I saw this assignment on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. I’ve had those pages for months.”
You huffed and slid the pages back across the table, “Why the hell do you have so much information? It’s a class project not a senior thesis, Jesus.”
“I like to be thorough,” he said,
“Whatever, I still think my idea is better, it actually follows the prompt.”
“Well I know mine is better, so just go with it.”
“No,” you fought, “I even checked my subject with Professor Dawson during office hours and he said it was terrific, so why don’t you stop being difficult, listen to the man, and do it?”
“Because unlike him, I won’t settle for your mediocrity.”
“Mediocrity? You want to know what was mediocre, Namjoon? Your in class response to Shakespeare's Sonnet 18, asshole.”
Namjoon put his tongue in his cheek, annoyed. You folded your arms and smirked, “Look, I’m doing our project on race relations. Now you can do your little ‘Intro to 10th Grade English’ project if you want, but I’m doing my own thing.”
“Well fine! Make it harder for yourself, I’m doing our project the way I want.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
You both went silent as you began typing furiously at your laptops, the 4th floor filled with the sounds of tapping keys and angrily scribbled notes. Never in your life had you met someone as full of himself as the boy sitting across from you. Who knew the rich kid with the personality of a wet gym sock could make your blood boil this way.
As you typed fervently, you looked across your computer at him. He was concentrated, his face scrunched up, revealing the dimples your best friend had mentioned earlier. You had never been this close to him for this long before, and wondered how you had missed this feature altogether. As he took notes, you watched how his slender fingers held the pencil, the veins across his arms showing as the tool danced across the page. He wore a tan, long sleeved cotton shirt and sweatpants, 2 very out of character wardrobe pieces for him. Namjoon never came to class in anything more casual than a button up, wanting to make a ‘good impression’. The way the material clung to his body was almost...attractive?
You had to reel yourself back in. Namjoon? Attractive? You had to admit, the boy wasn’t ugly, nowhere near it. But his wise guy personality took him down a few notches in your eyes. If he didn’t act the way he did, the two of you probably would be friends right now, instead of working separately on a partner project that was worth 20% of your final grades.
His glasses hung on the tip of his nose, giving him a look that could only be described as sophisticated yet sexy. You almost slapped yourself. You attributed your unacceptable thirst to the fact that it was a Friday night and you were horny, and instead of getting some, you were stuck in a library with this asshole.
But even you had to admit, he did look really good tonight--
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, eyes boring into yours over his glasses.
“Hardly,” you said, straightening up. You realized you had been biting your lip the entire time.
“Whatever you say. How’s your research coming along?”
“Perfect, I have two more sources to find and then I should be in the final stages, you?”
“I’m done.”
You stared blankly, “Done? How the hell are you already done with a 6 page paper and an entire powerpoint presentation?”
“I work quickly, efficiently, thoroughly,” he shrugged, “That’s probably why I have the highest average in the class.”
He said that knowing it would strike a chord with you, and he smirked when he saw your expression darken, “You say that like you’re so sure.”
“I am,” he said, “Why else would Professor Dawson recommend me for that upcoming summer internship,” you bust out laughing, throwing your head back obnoxiously, “What’s so funny?”
“The fact that you think you’re special,” you said, “He also recommended me for that internship, and for a tutoring job in the department next semester.”
“You? A tutor? My prayers are with those kids and their GPAs.”
“Fuck you”
“Wouldn’t you like to,” he replied.
You chuckled, your subconscious beating away the thoughts that swooned at the idea.
“Woah, you are so full of yourself! No thank you, I’ll pass.”
“The way you were just staring holes into my face says otherwise,” he challenged.
“I was trying to decide the best way to kill you and make it look like an accident. Right now I’m up to 3 ideas.”
“Whatever, all the other girls want a piece of this, it’s okay to be a fan.”
“A piece of what?” you asked, looking around the library, “I can’t find anything anyone would want a piece of.”
“The girls love me.”
“Sounds fake but okay,” you said, shaking your head.
“What about you? I don’t see any boys lining up to court you.”
“You don’t have to see it, just know it’s actually happening unlike the little delusion you’re living.”
“Sounds fake but okay,” he mocked.
“If you get a girl you probably don’t know how to keep her satisfied long enough to stay,” you said matter of factly.
“I don’t know how to keep a girl satisfied?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
You nodded, “You seem like the type that when a girl gives you directions on how to touch her, you’d be like ‘I know what I’m doing’ and she never cums because you can’t follow simple instructions.”
“Wrong, I always put my partner’s pleasure first,” he corrected, “Shows you how much you know about me.”
Your eyebrow raised involuntarily, “Do you really?”
“Like I said, I work thoroughly,” he winked, “in all aspects.”
His words stayed suspended as the two of you stared at each other. His dimples showed once again as he smiled at your dumbfounded expression. You could feel your face heating up at the prolonged silence as you thought over his words.
All aspects. Oh God, it was too late and you were too horny for this.
Your legs clenched together as you took in his perfect teeth and deep dimples, feeling the butterflies in your stomach morph into a restless feeling in your core. How could he be smart, rich, and good looking? It just wasn’t fair.
You tried to busy yourself with whatever was on your laptop, but you could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t dare to look up, or you knew you’d be done for. He looked over you again, taking in the way your eyes scanned over your screen as you refused to look at him. The left out curls from your messy bun fell into your face, making you look almost dainty. He would be lying if he said you weren’t cute. Sure, you had a smart mouth, but no other girl ever had a comeback for the things he said like you did. It was kind of refreshing. His eyes went down to your shirt, zoning in on the way your exposed chest looked as your arms pushed your boobs together. Did you always have boobs? It was kind of hard to notice when you were screaming at each other across the classroom.
You decided it to risk it just once. You looked up for a second, and when you did, you saw that his eyes were trained on your exposed cleavage and you immediately sat up straight and crossed your arms. Your chair scratched against the floor loudly as you backed away and stood up, “I’m going to go look for more sources,” you muttered before walking away.
Namjoon watched you retreat, vision trained on your ass and the sway of your hips in your leggings. His sweatpants suddenly felt tighter. Unsure of what possessed him in that moment, he placed his glasses on the table and followed you.
You internally screamed at yourself, wondering how of all people, resident class smartass Kim Namjoon was making you all hot and bothered tonight. Just minutes ago you were fighting like cats and dogs and then suddenly you were talking about sexual pleasure. Flustered beyond words, you walked to the very last shelf in the back of the floor.
In the quiet, you heard footsteps come up behind you, and suddenly the dusty books on the shelves were incredibly interesting. You kept your eyes trained on them, but by the sound of it, he was standing directly behind you in the tight space.
“Why are you following me? I thought you were done,” you said in a more timid voice than you’d like.
“Just looking around.”
You ignored him, and continued to comb through the texts, still aware of how close he was. Out of nowhere, he came up even closer behind you, reaching over your head for a book with his chest pressed against your back.
You froze, “You’re so close,” you said dumbly.
“You don’t want me to be?” he asked, mouth pressed against your ear.
You had forgotten how deep his voice was, the sound like honey as it sent a shiver up your spine, your breathing shallow. If you weren’t mistaken, you could feel his length on your butt through his sweatpants.
Slowly, you turned around to meet his stare. You had never seen that look in his eyes before, the only way to describe it was hungry. Your eyes shifted down to his plump lips. They looked so soft, and from the feeling in your core you could tell you were craving some part of him. He looked at you, waiting for permission to push forth, and you nodded, meeting his lips in the middle.
Almost immediately it was a fight for dominance. He held the nape of your neck as he deepened the kiss, you gripping his hair to get a better angle. He pushed you against the bookshelf, hearing some books hit the floor in the process. His lips were as soft as they looked and you absolutely despised him for it. You were angry now, how was he also a good kisser? You wondered how this was happening, and most importantly, why you were actually kissing him back and enjoying it.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you manage to get out, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him to the opposite shelf.
“And you don’t know when to shut the fuck up,” he growled.
He grabbed your leg and hoisted it up to his side roughly. Your foot was on the shelf as he grabbed your ass in his hand, squeezing it and eliciting a moan out of you even though you tried to choke it back. You hated the way he got this reaction out of you.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Maybe,” you responded. You began to grind your hips into his bulge, and when you heard him hiss you smiled in satisfaction. He squeezed your ass again, this time smacking it loudly. You clutched onto him as you moaned again, “Fuck you,” you said, grinding deeper into him.
All of his touches were rough, harsh in his attempt to gain control over the situation. But by how hard he was already, it was obvious he was losing the battle. He paused for a second as he got an idea.
Suddenly, the hand that was on your ass disappeared, and found itself playing with the hem of your leggings. Before you knew it, it was already dipping inside your underwear.
“Lace, my favorite,” he commented.
“I didn’t put it on for you, don’t be so cocky.”
You felt his long fingers touch your clit and you flinched at the sudden sensation, “Wait there’s probably cameras everywhere.”
“I’m 90% positive there’s no working cameras up here. And even if there were who’s checking them?”
You remembered the workers at the desk from earlier. You knew they had monitors to check the cameras on every floor, but whether or not they were for show you weren’t sure. But if you two were being watched, they sure were awake now.
Though, when you felt him circle around your clit with his index finger, suddenly none of it mattered anymore.
His fingers played back and forth over your slit, all the while he stood kissing and sucking at the sensitive parts of your neck. Your mouth was open, reveling in the feeling. You were dripping now, all you wanted was to feel him inside of you. As if on queue, he slipped two fingers into your wet core. You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“No warning?!”
“Oops,” he said.
He began to pump his digits slowly, testing the waters and watching your face for a reaction. You tried to keep it expressionless, but you couldn’t help it when your eyes rolled to the back of your head. How was he good at this too?
“Faster,” you breathed.
He pumped in and out of you quickly, his fingers curling inside. Your breathing was shallow, and your grip on him was getting tighter and tighter. You knew you would be unwinding any second now if he kept it up like this.
He began to move his fingers in a ‘come hither’ motion, right at your g-spot and you moaned loudly in the near silent floor.
“Be quiet!”
“Make me!” you challenged.
With his free hand, he covered your mouth, still fingering you hard and deep to silence the moaning mess you had become. It was all too much, and with your leverage, you rode his fingers, swiveling your hips around them as he bit his lip. He used his thumb to rub your swollen clit and you knew it was over.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped.
“Cum for me, baby.”
Grinding onto his palm one last time, you came undone. You tightened around him, shaking as you saw stars.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all you could say as you came down from your high, breathing heavily. That was the best orgasm you've ever had with anyone, period, “I’ll give it to you, you are thorough.”
“Wow you’re finally admitting I’m good at something?”
You shrugged, “I guess you do know how to do more than be a smartass.”
He pulled his long fingers out of you, looking you in the eyes and sucking them dry. His tongue went in between the digits to get every last drop. Your mouth opened in shock.
“Just being thorough,” he said.
“Excuse me,” said a voice, making you untangle yourself from Namjoon and jump back, “Whoever is behind the bookshelf, just make sure you clean up after yourself. I don’t get paid enough to deal with bodily fluids.”
You held your mouth as your face heated up in embarrassment, Namjoon staring like a deer in the headlights, unsure of your next move. You looked over at the wall clock: 12:05. You had forgotten...the school cleaning crew came at midnight.
“I let you all finish, I know you’re back there, don’t be all shy now!”
You and Namjoon sighed before walking out from behind the bookshelf, coming face to face with a middle aged woman that looked like she had had enough of this shit. You smiled apologetically as you walked past, darting to the table to pack up your stuff and make it to the elevator. You hurried inside, slamming the close button and sinking against the walls as you broke out into laughter.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” you said.
“Me neither,” Namjoon said breathing heavily, dimples showing full force.
He reached out and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers. You let it happen, feeling warm and fuzzy when he touched you so simply. You both looked down at your hands, wondering why it just felt so good.
The door dinged as you made it to the first floor.
“So what now? We still have to finalize the project,” he said.
“The night is young, we could go to my place…”
“Oh really?” he asked lifting a brow and pulling you closer.
“Let me show you how thorough I can be.”
#that was my first time writing a smutty story omg#bts#bts fanfic#bts fanfction#bts smut#bts one shot#bts namjoon#namjoon#kim namjoon#bts angst#bts fluff#kpop fanfiction#kim seokjin
349 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fic Rec: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo (The Man from UNCLE)
All fics are complete.
Affairs series by plingo_kat
Length: 6k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: BDSM
Summary: “Please,” Illya grits out. Napoleon likes it when he asks, has promised in the past to make Illya beg. He wonders if that is what Napoleon wants tonight, to reduce Illya to helpless pleading, an instrument of Napoleon’s pleasure hopelessly ensnared by his own desire.
all that you have wished for, I know will come your way by janie_tangerine
Length: 22k / Rating: E / Genre: romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: Napoleon isn’t quite sure he can put yes, because your superiors don’t get to see you gloating when you’re not playing chess against yourself, and they don’t get to discuss dumb opera plots with you, they don’t get to see you engrossed in cheap paperbacks and treat them like first editions because you care that much about what they say, and they don’t get to see that you have a personality and that it’s everything but unpleasant when one gets to know you, and I don’t understand why would anyone think it’s a good idea to treat you like an asset and not a person in words that might not sound completely ridiculous, never mind that he’s not even sure Illya would take such a rant seriously.
Or: where Illya has issues asking for what he wants if it falls under the unnecessary-to-his-job radar and Napoleon just might be a bit over in his head, but he's entirely willing to rectify that situation.
All You Need is Love (and Chocolate Cake) by cirnellie
Length: 6k / Rating: T / Genre: romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: The way to an U.N.C.L.E. agent’s heart is through his stomach; or: how to cook for – and fall in love with – your partner in ten easy steps.
become unceasing by beili, Val Mora (valmora)
Length: 14k / Rating: E / Genre: romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: “Because we can’t be both lost homosexuals and spies,” Illya said, dryly, and sat down in the stuffed chair on the other side of the room. “You want our hosts to find us in a compromising position. To help our cover.”
“Well,” Napoleon said. “Is it going to be that difficult?”
By the Throat series by AlchemyAlice
Length: 57k / Rating: E / Genre: romance, drama / Warnings: BDSM, voyeurism
Summary: In which the KGB took some rather dubious measures to ensure Illya's loyalty to Russia, and Napoleon doesn't care for it.
Careful of the Company You Keep by objectlesson
Length: 20k / Rating: E / Genre: drama / Warnings: homophobia, dub-con
Summary: Illya doesn’t pick up on Napoleon’s unconventional preferences until they become mission relevant.
Cool, Sleek Potential by BewareTheIdes15
Length: 6k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: N/A
Summary: “Ah, the true question of the ages,” Napoleon sighs. Tipping his head back sends a cascade of sunlight down the column of his throat, pooling at his shirt collar where the shape of an oil heiress’ mouth is still bruised into the skin. “Why are we here? Why do bad things happen to good people?”
“Why do you dress as a woman beneath your clothes?”
Crimean Shore by merle_p
Length: 7k / Rating: M / Genre: drama / Warnings: non-con, child abuse
Summary: “Does he ever talk about his past?” Napoleon asks, the words escaping his mouth before he can tell himself to hold them back. He coughs. “You know. During all those fake romantic nights?”
“His past?” Gaby asks slowly, and gives him a curious look.“Yeah, you know,”
Napoleon gestures, feeling tired and out of his depth. “Lovers. Family. Russia. That kind of thing.”
Cut Out My Heart, For It Belongs To You by fineandwittie
Length: 3k / Rating: M / Genre: drama / Warnings: homophobia
Summary: Some intruders shoot Illya. Napoleon does not approve
darling, danke schoen by oxymoronic
Length: 7k / Rating: T / Genre: drama / Warnings: N/A
Summary: “There has been an accusation,” Waverly says. “Against Agent Kuryakin.”
doubletalk gets through by csoru, nescienx
Length: 4k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: N/A
Summary: Illya is always at his most appealing when pushed. His is a grace best seen in extremis.
The Gemini Affair by manic_intent
Length: 47k / Rating: E / Genre: action / Warnings: N/A
Summary: In the first month of being co-opted into working with Illya Kuryakin full time at U.N.C.L.E., Napoleon stole Illya’s father’s watch four times, twice out of spite, once out of drunken curiosity, and once out of sheer boredom. After the fourth time, Gaby sprained one of Napoleon’s fingers and threatened to do worse if he did it again.
“You are not a spy,” she told him firmly, dangling the watch out of reach as Napoleon curled in a wincing, fetal position on his Le Corbusier couch in his upstate apartment. “You are a thief with the self-control of a child. Now give me back my ring.”
“What ring?” Napoleon asked innocently, even through the pain.
“How fond are you of your nose?” Gaby shot back blandly.
The Grapefruit Affair by objectlesson
Length: 7k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: N/A
Summary: It would be easier to resist Napoleon Solo were he not so infuriatingly irresistible.
Honesty Doesn't Suit You by dara3008
Length: 3k / Rating: T / Genre: angst, romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: When Napoleon makes the first move in a fit of pent up jealously, Illya doesn't understand what is happening. And reacts accordingly.
The Honey Trap by Mamalazzer
Length: 22k / Rating: E / Genre: romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: "So congratulations, Peril," Napoleon drawled, looking so amused that he could see it was literally setting Illya's teeth on edge. "You have the supreme good fortune of getting to kiss me senseless. Now be a good sport and put your hands on my backside, would you? I'm beginning to feel neglected."
In which the boys have to go undercover as a couple, with Napoleon having a whale of a time while Illya isn't sure whether to knock Napoleon's teeth out or kiss him.
If I Run It's Not Enough by Ingu
Length: 6k / Rating: M / Genre: angst / Warnings: N/A
Summary: Greed, and lust, those were the two sins that defined Napoleon Solo, and Illya Kuryakin aroused the two precise desires in Napoleon he never chose to resist. With his stoic gaze and chiseled jawline, Kuryakin was as beautiful and inscrutable as a Greek statue, and Napoleon had never been one to leave works of art undefiled.
Love is a Rose by dracoroxy
Length: 9k / Rating: T / Genre: AU, romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: There is a giant in his garden. He blinks his eyes a few times and crouches a little to sneak closer to the door. It’s pulling weeds out of the bushes, incredible. He squints in disbelief. Who breaks into another person’s house to de-weed their garden?
(or: Napoleon is in search of a gardener to tend to his garden when he's on missions. He doesn't expect a 6'5" Russian Adonis to fulfil the role)
Moments in Time series by Potrix
Length: 5k / Rating: M / Genre: angst, action / Warnings: Dub-con, implied non-con
Summary: “Down!” Illya yells from across the warehouse, and Napoleon falls to his knees without question or hesitation.
Pressure Points by sospes
Length: 5k / Rating: M / Genre: drama / Warnings: N/A
Summary: Illya wakes to chains around his wrists and a knife at Napoleon Solo's throat. Just another day at the office - until it's not.
Prompt Dump - Napollya by fineandwittie
Length: 26k / Rating: M / Genre: N/A/ Warnings: homophobia, voyeurism, torture, non-con, major character death
Summary: A catch-basin for my MFU tumblr prompt fills.
Scavenger of Shiny Things by Grave
Length: 7k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: BDSM
Summary: Let's just say - Napoleon has some fun with his favourite Russian and teaches him some new tricks.
Semi-Charmed Life by Kleenexwoman
Length: 6k / Rating: E / Genre: drama / Warnings: n/A
Summary: "Napoleon is a sex addict. He doesn't get laid for a day or two, let alone longer, and he becomes twitchy, nervous, agitated, unable to concentrate. Most of the time it's not a problem, but then he finds himself cooped up for weeks in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with no other human being for miles and miles. Except for Illya."
The Space Between by sospes
Length: 5k / Rating: M / Genre: drama / Warnings: Torture, non-con drug use
Summary: Solo goes missing. Illya all but panics. And Gaby's the one who holds it all together.
Taking Care of Business by MangoMartini
Length: 4k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: n/A
Summary: “That is a good plan,” Illya admits, as if he can’t quite believe those words just left his mouth directed at that American. He lowers his gun. “I could kiss you, Cowboy.”
And he knows it’s an expression, one he’s not exactly sure how Illya picked up. And he knows the law back home, and what trouble someone like him could get in doing something like this with someone who wasn’t down. But he also knows his own silver tongue, and if he could talk his way out of his own death, Napoleon Solo could talk his way out of this.
“You could, you know.”
Or, what happened between Illya trashing his hotel room and the two of them chilling on the balcony.
There is love in the brushstroke by fineandwittie
Length: 3k / Rating: T / Genre: romance, drama / Warnings: homophobia
Summary: Napoleon and Gaby go undercover at an art exhibition. The art takes Napoleon's breath away, but not for the reasons you might think.
Through a Glass, Darkly by sospes
Length: 12k / Rating: T / Genre: drama., action / Warnings: torture
Summary: Illya watches Solo work and sees something he was never supposed to see. And then that work follows them all home.
Touch Sight Tastes Like Fire by Ingu
Length: 5k / Rating: G / Genre: romance / Warnings: BDSM
Summary: Napoleon taps him on the shoulder in Istanbul and Illya almost punches him.
Untouchable by dracoroxy
Length: 5k / Rating: T / Genre: romance / Warnings: N/A
Summary: Napoleon slides over very slowly until he is crouching down next to Illya’s chair. He wants to touch, but he’s afraid to. Always afraid to. He settles for placing a hand on each armrest and even this feels dangerous.
“Illya.” It comes out softer than he had intended.
Vanity by objectlesson
Length: 6k / Rating: E / Genre: PWP / Warnings: BDSM
Summary: Napoleon needs to prove a point.
Wrong (Right.) by Tarlaith
Length: 6k / Rating: E / Genre: angst / Warnings: homophobia
Summary: Illya can't stop thinking about "It".
9 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
pansexual-italian
Pansexual-Italian
divinitism-blog
┊†┊-- ᵇᵒᵘᶰᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᶤᵛᶤᶰᵉ;;
shya4
❤🧁SugarShy💫
vioooora
kira
beverlycrushr
where's my damn red thing