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werezmastarbucks · 1 month ago

Text

of those who found out

in which yoongi protects you

fluff, hurt/comfort

yoongi x nonKorean!f!reader x established relationship, husband!yoongi, protective!yoongi

word count: 5439

warnings / tags: violence, bodily harm, wound description, parasocial, mentions of hypothetic suicide, angry yoongi / angry jungkook, fuckboy jungkook, street fighting, married members

Newly married. When Yoongi told you he managed to claw not two, not three weeks for the honeymoon, but four, you spun about the room. The world tour after the reunion has been all kinds of unexpected, gruelling and exciting, and lonely, for an inexperienced you. Now, you got to marry the person you loved, and not have to share him with the rest of the world, for a full month. Osaka is unusually fresh and beautiful in early April: cherries in full bloom, blue skies, mild wind. And your dream boy would be with you this whole time; as you watched his preoccupied face, frowned by the pressures of his work, his second life, the need to pretend, the need to smile, change to relaxation; the weather outside the plane window changed as well. Osaka had the special kind of blue in its sky, the almost dream-like color, as if you weren't really there. Every time you happened in that city, it always seemed like you layered into parts and not all of you was present, but in a good way. People in Osaka didn't care about faces; Yoongi would always drop his shoulders comfortably, making his wide and tough frame a little softer. He didn't wear a mask in Osaka, and didn't pull his cap so far down that he couldn't see where he was going. Seeing him become nonchalant like that, looking around instead of straight ahead and down, swing his arms as he walked, and swing his head to look at buildings and trees; it was just happy. Your left hand was pleasantly and unusually heavy with the new ring; you would raise your palm against the bright sky to look how the sun sneaks in between your middle and ring finger; and catch Yoongi looking at you. You knew intuitively, as it always happens when you feel on top of the world, that it would only get better and better with time. As if nothing bad can ever happen to such people as you: young and happy and so strong. Whatever parts of him weren't healed yet, he was now at least okay with them, and was learning to embrace them. He wasn't screaming in his songs anymore. His voice acquired the soft murmur again. He smiled so much nowadays, showing his small delicate teeth, as if he finally learnt to click and switch, from Suga to Yoongi, and back again.

"You always looked kinda Tokyo to me", you noted, studying his face. Yoongi's eyes were narrowed as he watched the streets slowing down behind the window of the train.

"Shin-Imamiya", he hummed, as if he didn't hear you at first, seconds before the soft faceless voice announced the station. Yoongi's hand squeezed yours, and you ouched out of habit; he couldn't get used to the rings, either. Was accustomed to holding your hand very tightly, pushing the engagement ring with briar rose gemstone into your nearby fingers. His hold loosened immediately.

"Sorry", you got off the train, and your head snapped to look around at the unconventional urbanistic rundown architecture around.

"Japanese, huh?"

"About twelve per cent Japanese".

"People usually tell me, once I hit thirty, I started looking like a Chinese crook from a nineties movie", he confessed, with just not enough indifference.

"You would love to be one, huh?" you grinned. You could see it, too, now. Your thought adjusted. His high cheekbones and sharp, unforgiving slant of the eyes, and without makeup to smooth his face, he did look like he was capable of bad things. Yoongi nodded, quite content. He led you through the pedestrian tunnel into the wide sleepy street, with tall, dishevelled buildings, pieces of clothes hanging warily from the balconies, bright grey shining in the spring sun. In this weather, even the less attractive districts looked rather like locations from a video game, with its special greenpunk charm. Yoongi's short black hair moved lazily in the light wind; he cut his royal mane right after the wedding, elated like a puppy who caused mischied and knew about it. He did leave two wavy strands to frame his face though. Both you and his mother were glad.

You walked down the street looking at people living his life; someone adjusting a flower pot on their balcony, or thrashing a sheet furiously; some voices flew down from the top floors as the tall houses grew and grew on above your heads. Some kids left the building, hands in their jean pockets, caps, chains on their thighs. Yoongi checked the map on his phone:

"To the left at the end of the street".

He clocked them first; but you didn't even notice. The years living in safe Seoul all but killed your spacial awareness skills; and as far as you knew, Japan was even safer. Crime rates low on the ground, you always hopped like a butterfly on the Kyoto streets even when you were alone. So now, as you heard a whistle coming from one of the entrances, you attributed it to some internal conversation among a group of people.

"Oh, no way", Yoongi grumbled, and you finally paid attention. He was looking at the group of young people huddled together in between two broken up flower beds in front of the building. Your natural instinct finally kicked in: three men of moderate height but sick built. Wide shoulders, thick legs, they looked like people who were looking for trouble.

"It's not even evening", you mumbled, frustrated. Yoongi couldn't break the lock with them as he watched the group that gestured something towards you.

"Tourists?" you heard. One guy motioned his hand. The other two started babbling something in Japanese assuming Yoongi would understand them. One of the guys was looking at you the way drunk Itaewon men usually did. You pushed against his body but tried not to show your growing anxiety.

"Don't fuss", he advised, his fingers caressing the back of your palm reassuringly. Amidst the conversation the three peace breakers engaged in, you could make out something like 'pretty boy'. Sure your boy was pretty. But, as they set off from the flower beds and started cutting your way across the street, he also got angrier.

The thing about Yoongi was, he was like a battery that liked to snap. His large storage could contain a lot of annoyance, a lot of disrespect and exhaustion, but when the time and space was up, someone who tipped his peace at last would always get a handful. Yoongi used this internal fuel well in his work. Hooding his eyes, dangerous stare from behind the long locks falling onto his face, he would slouch his shoulders in a way that made him look much, much bigger than he really was. Perhaps he learnt this method from cats: the small, clawed and unpredictable carnivores that were unhinged enough to scare away bears. Yoongi was that kind of a person. You have never been scared when you were with him; it's the raging optimism of knowing that your fiancé, now husband, was ready to throw hands at anyone which could easily be read on his face. The years of neglect, condescending nods and underestimation helped him be spared of fear of bodily harm. You noticed this weird feature with every one of his six brothers, too. They were successful and beautiful, and still, they were desperate to prove themselves.

You tugged on his hand when Yoongi tensed towards the three people stopping you in your tracks. A short exchange in Japanese sounded hostile to you. You were half-through with your Korean, the language occupying all your attention, so you haven't thought of starting Japanese yet. Yoongi knew just enough of it to be able to tell people to fuck off.

The tallest, buff guy, undoubtedly, the leader of this pathetic, bored pack, stepped from side to side, and pointed his finger at you. Yoongi's left arm which was attached to you, pushed you slightly, and you read the cue to step back. The blank faces in front of you. Nothing behind the eyes, just sheer boredom of the Saturday afternoon. Someone yelled in Japanese from the above balcony, perhaps calling their nineteen-year old jobless son to leave tourists alone. He paid no attention. You felt your heart pumping blood in your chest. There's three of them after all, and this is not a dream anymore. You looked at their arms and shoulders; one, buff, the other kind of in the middle, and the third was totally thin, but still a fighting force. Yoongi said something, a bit louder, and you realized that your husband was crazy. His face was his asset, and it couldn't be broken. Instead of acting timid and saying you don't need trouble, he was stepping up and grilling them. You clutched his hand, poking him with your nails, but he didn't feel it at all.

The fallout was very quick. With that hand, he pushed you away, making you stumble a little, while with the other, he already aimed for the nose. From four steps away, you watched as his hair shone in the bright April sun; Yoongi ducked and punched the buff guy in the throat. The leader's friend stepped up to him from the side, grabbing his shoulder, and he kicked. Bam! It was over. One boy on the ground, the second, swaying in hesitation, the third decided to run. Yoongi turned around, his face relaxing as if he didn't just reenact his nineties movie dream, and grabbed your hand.

"We should get through another station", he panted, a little bit happy. You ran together, hand in hand, and by the end of the street, the fright was leaving your mouth in the form of breathless giggle.

Jungkook just had too much energy. The boy never ran out of it. He could do a two and a half hour concert and then go clubbing because the performance didn't drain him; on the opposite, it energized him. Seeing all these people, bouncing with them, dancing in synch, being in the spotlight - he was a natural. Where Jimin fainted after every fourth show, and Yoongi became unnaturally grumpy after outpouring all his might into it, Jin, retreating into the hotel room to ron in bed, Jungook would beam brighter than the sun. During the training, he was the one who would do twice as much as needed, straining his body to the extreme maximum, only to outperform himself every time. His mind wandered in all directions and his body moved, like he was a shark. He had love for everyone. He loved his members to death, and yet he loved to babble away, sometimes not listening to himself and what he's saying. He loved the crowds, his fans, and people around, and yet basked in their reciprocated love so self-indulgingly sometimes that it seemed like he thought he was the only one in the world. Jungkook loved the love, and he loved women, and it was obvious he needed them, because they were beautiful, and he was handsome, and young, and always needed to release his energy somewhere, or he would burst like a blood bubble. He was the golden maknae, everybody's favorite, and more often than not, he got away with things that weren't allowed for the others.

During the tour, the standard procedure was thus: in the morning, everybody got up almost always hungover and with wrinkled faces, Jin, usually with insane bed hair, and slowly set off for the airport. There, on the apron, you would all wait, the members and the team, while the crew was loading the luggage onto the plane. You all usually preferred to wait outside because the air was fresher, and most of you were afraid of flying.

You'd normally be enveloped around Yoongi as the flights were undertaken at ungodly hours. Wrapped in a hoodie, in the tight circle of his arms (he would actually lean onto you like onto a huge pillow and try to sleep upright for a minute), in the wicked wind, you peeked out and saw Jungkook's girl doing the same as you. She'd look better, dolled up even at seven or six am, with nice hair. They'd murmur to each other or kiss quietly. Almost every other city the girl would be new. You stopped the efforts to memorize the names when you realized Jungkook wasn't serious about it. Of course, there's beauty in consensual, situational one-night stands; he'd pick up a pretty and lively girl at a bar after the show and pull her along for a couple of days, sometimes she'd even fly to another city with the band. That's how he recharged. He was an adult now, and you caught it in the way Namjoon and Jin looked at him. They still couldn't believe he had slipped through their fingers, all the while being proud of their MVP Jungkook. They always let him be, and the others did, too. You had fun hanging out with his girlfriends while on tour as you soon got too anxious attending every show every other night. While they performed in a new city, you'd stay in a hotel and play boardgames, drink, or even wander around the city with the girl. Most of them were actually amazing. Always very beautiful, funny, effortlessly perfect with their appearance, and easy going. Of course, there were no conversations about 'our boys'. Jungkook belonged to everyone, he belonged to no one. And most of the girls understood that.

Parasocial was dangerous. It's a good thing that you, like your batshit husband, could put up a fight.

One of the girls, Laura, or Lara, was more complicated to get along with. Simply speaking, she wasn't interested in anything apart from Jungkook, and wouldn't leave him alone. The middle of the tour, you already forgot where he picked her up, and how long ago. Was it France? No, that one was Marie, and she got off in Rome. Then that was the next one, but she didn't speak Italian. You remembered because you tried to get her to teach you the hand gestures. She frankly paid no attention to you at all which was an okay break. You've been a little under the weather all week, and was happy to spend a quiet day at a hotel while everybody worked their backs off.

You were trying to figure out what time it was after the sharp knock dragged you out of a nap. The movie was still on the TV which showed you hadn't slept much. Swaying a little bit, you hiccuped once and looked into the peephole. Laura. You were under the impression she went to see the tonight's show, but okay. You opened the door and noticed she looked a little worn out, her face puffy from crying. Something dawned on you unpleasantly: they probably had had a fight. And her time was almost up.

"Y/N", she whined, letting herself into your room. There was no contiunation, so you closed the door and tried to assess her condition.

"How are you?"

"I think I love him", she slurred. Drunk. Crying and drinking and not attending the show.

"Why aren't you at the arena? I thought you wanted to see the concert", you offered. Laura shook her head and then ran the fingers of her right hand through the lush curly hair. She sniffed. She was a full mess. You were considering filling her a bath.

"He just doesn't take it seriously. Tell me the truth, Y/N, you think it's not serious? I asked him about what after the tour, and", she was messing up her words, "he just smiled at me and changed the subject, you know how it is..." her mouth formed a painful O and her eyes pierced you. Suddenly, Laura was angry for no reason. Well, there was a reason. Jungkook fucked up and took in a girl who was in love with him. In love panicking, desperate.

"He told me not to think about the future", she whispered. You just stood there, unmoving, not sure what to say. "But the thing is, he is my future. I need him".

"I think..." you faltered, "you should really talk about it with him, and not let him off the hook until he lets you know..."

"I already know!" she yelled. In the silence between, a character yelled from the TV. There it was, the cue to leave. As her eyes grew in size, beautiful green, but a little mad right now, you realized she was breaking down. You wanted to give her a hug, but instead, Laura shook and raised her other hand that you hadn't seen previously. It was conveniently behind her back and you failed to pay attention. There was no chance you could expect her holding a razor.

"I said, he is my future", she pressed. You quickly went from compassionate to annoyed.

"Give me that", you ordered. You were older. And was already used to the convenient Korean tradition of younger people doing what they're told. But she was European, drunk, and didn't give a shit. Your outstretched hand with the palm open was almost closing on the sharp elongated blade. Where did she even get a dangerous razor. On a private jet, you can bring all kind of shit with you nowadays.

"Laura, give me the razor. You're not killing yourself over Jungkook", you felt comical saying that. Laura's eyes went completely round.

"I am Lauren", she hissed, totally offended. "You don't even know my fucking name".

She probably wanted to throw her hands up, like, nobody here thinks anything of me! kind of way. But, several glasses of Jungkook's fine whiskey from the mini bar affecting her, she must have fogotten she's holding a sharp razor in her hand. God know what she was intending to do with that; probably practice threatening suicide so that you could tell her if the peformance was convincing enough. Now the weapon of the naive was slashing your forearm which you put out instinctively in front of your face. Sharp pain downed the yelp inside of you as the rage kicked in. You straightened the arm which was yet to be engulfed in burning ache, and threw a fist towards her face. Lauren produced a gentle 'ah!' and stumbled back, but stayed on her feet. Hissing with the coming sensation, you knew that you had to disarm her before you collapse. Bright narrow stream of your blood was flying as you moved your arm. The hotel room spun due to adrenaline shaking you completely awake. You stepped to Lauren carefully, trying not to give her time to undestand what's happening, and grabbed her hand with the razor.

"Let go!" you yelled. You had to bash her palm onto the wall to make her sturdy fingers uncurl, and, as the weapon fell on the carpet with a thud, you slapped her across the face again. Then, took her by the neck, making her bow and walk. Lauren was bawling. You opened the door, already moaning with pain, and screamed into the corridor:

"Help, please!"

Jungkook's rabbit eyes were staring into the designated spot on the tip of Jin's shoe. He always had this astounded look when he was uncomfortable; a natural manipulative trick which made him look like an adorable owl baby, making you want to protect him. One gaze at this face, his jaws clenched, the rings in his lower lip giving him the doll shine, eyes transfixed, and you already forgave him. You weren't mad anymore, but you were, indeed, in pain. The razor cut the exact spot on your arm which you offered; the amount of skin and fat there covering the bone was laughable, so it cut until it got stuck on that. As the medics were wrapping up the arm, you could actually see your own bone which you didn't think you'd ever get to. The pain was phenomenal: going into the wrist, to the tips of fingers, and up, until the very neck, at first you worried that you were somehow mortally wounded. But no, it was just how it was: deep cut.

Yoongi was livid. Jungkook was terrified, and yet, his pride wouldn't let him budge in front of everyone. You all grouped into logical units. Yoongi stood with his back to the door, making it impossible for the youngest to escape. Behind him, Namjoon and Jin paced and nibbled on their fingers. You were propped against the wall on the side, head low as if you were the one who fucked up. Jimin, the pacifier, was at your side, his silent support making you not feel alone. While you just needed Suga to take off his stage clothes and comfort you, he was busy fuming at Jungkook, seemingly releasing the built-up annoyance with his affairs. Taehyung and Hoseok were judging silently on Jungkook's side; nobody wanted to join, scared that Yoongi will blow up and start screaming.

You could understand about 70% of what they were saying already. Yoongi was scolding Jungkook for being reckless, and interrogating him about the girl. Jungkook was replying that no, he had no idea she'd be so broken up about the casualty of the relationship. Yoongi was being sarcastic, calling Jungkook to admit it was stupid to begin with, to expect that a new girl every fourth night would cause no drama sooner or later. Then he dragged you into this, pointing his finger at you, saying something like,

"And now Y/N is hurt, someone who is actually supposed to stay".

You checked the wedding band on your finger. That was correct. Jimin sighed. He was anxious about the moment when the management barges into here, with penalties, insults and things to say. They all knew they had to sort this out quickly, and then reform and protect Jungkook together, no matter what each of them thinks.

Jin said something quietly, and Yoongi started speaking so quickly that finally you stopped understanding. His finger pointing accusingly at Jungkook who seemed to grow, hurt by the resentment his ever protecting hyung was now directing. He chewed on his rings, eyes targeting Yoongi, his brow lowering. Soon, it was an exchange. Don't you think you are being a little too dramatic about this? Is there anything deeper that you want to tell me?

Yes, I wanna tell you that your fuckery now led to my wife being slashed to the bone by your psychotic one night stand, you're behaving like a baby, you're losing your caution and act with no regard for people around you, and so on, and on, like an old man scolding a youngster at a fish market for shoplifting. You were breathing heavily because it was hard; you craved a painkiller of some sort, and only Jimin noticed. But he was quiet, frightened of getting in the middle of it. Taehyung rolled his eyes and covered his face with his hands. Hoseok seemed struck on the head, his eyes resting on the carpet. Everybody was hesitant to look at you, as if you could shout at them, as if it was their collective fault. The blood on the carpet was washed out by the time they returned after the show, and even the medics left; Lauren was locked up in Jungkook's room with the hotel staff, and this overdue outburst was tiring.

But of course there was something warm about Yoongi not being able to shut up about this. He's never seen you wounded like this and was probably in shock. Thought of what could've happened if you failed to outpower her. Pictured coming to the hotel to find your body with throat slashed. All due to this unhappy coincidence, because of Jungkook's carelessness. He was wiser and more paranoid naturally, he knew how small things led to big tragedies. He was the one stopping at the intersection for a fraction of a second only to then be chewed by the wheels of a car. He was scared.

What if she stayed in the room and waited for you? With the razor? What if she killed you while you slept? What if she killed herself in your room?

Namjoon winced painfully, trying to stop him from spinning this further and further. He tried to intervene by saying:

"It's generally not a good idea to date so many girls all the time".

You noted how rough he formulated this, trying not to sound too judgemental, but to express the firm desire to ban groupies.

"Not my fault Yoongi managed to only pull one", Jungkook spat, still looking like he was about to faint, like he was surrounded by wolves, and not by friends. Your brows flew up, as Jimin facepalmed, while Yoongi would've jumped him across the room. Would have, but the older ones caught him by the shoulders, visibly having been prepared for something like that.

"Aahh", Hobi added, sounding like he was being tortured.

The room was jumping in your vision field as pain quickly drained you of energy. You managed to see Taehyung push Jungkook in the shoulder, distraught.

"Don't listen to him", Jimin mumbled, "sometimes he says things just to say something".

"I am also married, so what are you gonna say to me?" Taehyung demanded. You loudly moaned with pain in order to pull the teeth from this fight. It worked. Yoongi deflated immediately, his eyes snapping to you, and before you knew it, you were in his arms. His breathing was in his chest, still agitated, and he led you out of the quietened room. You managed to steal one last look at Jungkook who looked like the sweet baby he was; you couldn't fight the maternal instinct this twenty-nine year old guy awoke in you. He was seemingly about to cry.

"It's been three hours, right?" Yoongi was preoccupied. His lips were pressed together firmly even when he was speaking. His face was very pale, and you, dizzy with pain, almost drunk-like, touched it to see if he still had makeup on. This gesture, taken by Yoongi as a distress sign, made him look at you intently. And you knew you loved his eyes and everything about him; when he was fussy and angry like this, as well. Simply because he was never angry with you. It was abnormal; he tended to always put you on a special place and act like a rabid dog if someone crossed you, even if it was in his imagination. You could never make him angry, and you tried. But he was too collected for that, only allowing himself to crumble on the moments like this. He had a good outlet for emotions in the shape of music. That was his sewage drain.

"You okay? We need to change the band, right? The doctors told me to change this every three hours".

You winced, expecting immense pain again. The wound just barely seized torturing you just now, when you held your forearm bent, and you had to bother it again.

"Why don't you take a painkiller?" he murmured. You nodded, unable to speak. He left the bathroom for less than a minute and returned with a pill and a glass of water. While you drank, he studied your face.

"Okay?" for the eighth time in ten minutes. You nodded yes and put your head on his shoulder to feel his warmth and feel his breathing. He was probably very tired, he is always sleepy after the shows. The tips of his hair tickled your face, and it smelt wonderful. Like hairspray and perfume. You realized you weren't really shaken by the altercation. It ended relatively well, you weren't scared. Rather,

"I am a bit heartbroken for her".

Yoongi chuckled ironically.

"I would've probably broken her fucking arm if I was there", he replied grumpily. "I know I would've regretted it, but still".

"I mean, I understand a little", you continued, as if not hearing him, "she is very in love with Jungkook and I wish he hadn't hurt her like that".

"You are too kind to some people".

Perhaps by 'some people' he also meant his youngest, for tonight.

He said nothing else and got to the procedure, whispering to you when you whimpered with pain. Yoongi hissed when he looked a the open wound; stitching it was impossible as skin was so tightly wrapped around this spot that it simply tore and pulled away after the cut. He had to wrap it up tightly, to make skin connect again, which meant he had to make you scream. Painkiller wouldn't help here. You rested on his chest after, panting and greatful, as his hands held your head. His big palm on the back of your head, and the violent beast of pain, still playing your bones like a guitar, had to retreat a little. The relief of being with him every day was powerful.

Someone knocked on the door. You smiled madly at the thought of round two, now, with an axe. Yoongi sighed and looked at you, asking silently if he should get the door.

"You aren't going to faint, are you?" he asked, bewildered.

"No, it just hurts".

He pressed a kiss on your forehead and went, dragging his feet, one hand in his long hair. It was too late by the time you realized that, if it's Jungkook, he might get punched as soon as the door opens. You pushed yourself off the bathtub edge and walked behind him to see. He stood, his head in the slit between the door and the frame, low voice saying something.

Then, a dispassionate, evaluating look at you, the look of a bodyguard. Do you wanna see him? Sometimes you could read his mind. Then Yoongi finally gave in and moved slowly away from the door and stood by the bed, observing. Jungkook appeared, the old version, sincere regret in his eyes, angel face concerned. Even his frame looked younger again.

"Y/N, I am so sorry", he started immediately, "I never meant for you to get hurt, I never thought it would happen. If I had known she'd do anything like that, I... I never, never wanted you to be hurt..."

He was apologizing feverishly, like a child, like he thought he only had thirty seconds before the door shuts on him, and it made your eyes water. You blinked the unwanted tears of tenderness. Yoongi was darker than night, his hands crossed on his chest. He wouldn't let it go that easily, and it scared you. It was Jungkook, his boy. The boy he protected all these years, that he watched grow, that he taught to cook. The boy he comforted when he got homesick and missed his mum, when he fell sick on tour and wasn't allowed even one day off, so he had to train with fever, and faint; the boy who Yoongi used to rage for like he raged tonight. Something changed. Yoongi was prone to tough love. The child wasn't a child anymore, and they all had to get used to it.

"It's okay", you whispered, moving quickly to Jungkook, and wrapping your good arm around his bent neck.

"It's alright, it's not your fault", you said quietly so that Yoongi wouldn't hear, but he did.

"It is", your husband barked from behind you. Jingkook sighed with an animalistic tremble, like a dog shaking off water. You knew he was looking at his hyung.

"I'm sorry", he repeated, and you tried to console him by stroking his head. The soft uncombed hair tickled your palm,

"I know you are also shaken".

"I am mortified. Are you in a lot of pain? How bad is it, really? Will you be okay?"

"Of course. It's just a big cut".

"I could see her bone", Yoongi intervened again, and you had to turn around to give him a look. He didn't budge.

"I'm sorry", Jungkook buried his face in your shoulder, "I didn't mean any of it", he said, his voice muffled.

A little more patting on the back and convincing him he was okay, and you were okay, and everything was okay, and he retreated, completely devastated. As soon as the door closed behind him, you turned to Yoongi again.

"I hate to see him sad".

He wanted to say something, but just rolled his eyes instead.

The cut left an elongated half-moon scar and became a reminder of three things:

you can throw a punch;

always protect your face;

Yoongi loved you the same way he loved his skin and bone.

#yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts x reader #bts imagine #jungkook #husband yoongi

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adragonprinceswhore · 7 months ago

Text

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter I: The Chain 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Three months after leaving him, your inevitable reunion with your soon-to-be ex-husband Aemond isn’t as bad as you thought it’d be.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, depictions of anxiety, allusions to smut

Word count: 3000

A/N: Edited and done, please enjoy 🩵 Thank you my love @theoneeyedprince for giving this a look-through for me 🫶

Breathe.

In. Hold three seconds. Out. Hold three seconds. In. Hold three seconds. Out.

You haven’t been able to eat anything all morning, far too nauseous to keep even a piece of toast down.

The breathing exercise your therapist had taught you does little to help you calm down.

You��ve felt anxious before, but rarely this intense.

It’s so physical.

You feel it in your stomach turning, chest contracting, hands tingling, head spinning.

You knew you’d have to meet him sooner or later.

Afterall, you’d both decided to stay in the band. You’d just started to gain traction, embarking on your first ever tour across the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

A once in a lifetime opportunity for an up-and-coming band.

Still, knowing that didn’t make it easier to turn the handle of the door and walk into the studio.

Knowing he’ll be there.

You hadn’t seen your husband, Aemond, in over three months now.

Soon to be ex-husband.

You’d honestly expected the process to be speedier; you hadn’t demanded anything from him, the only thing important to you was that you kept all legal rights you had in relation to the band; the rights to your songs. And he hadn’t really given any conditions himself, yet his solicitors took ages contacting yours.

That’s all you’d heard from him over the summer. Updates from your legal advisers about his.

You’d blocked his number after leaving the divorce papers at your shared flat and moved out, tired of your phone overheating from the amount of times he’d tried calling you.

In the end, Alicent, your mother-in-law, had phoned you, begging you to please meet with her son and talk it out. You told her that you’d already talked plenty and there was no point in continuing indulging in pointless discussion. You’d always gotten along well with Alicent, so having her call you to do her son’s bidding felt so unbelievably awkward. He’d always been such a mama’s boy.

With one final, shaky exhale, you turn the handle of the door and push it open, stepping into the hallway.

With the door ajar, you can hear chatter from the studio.

Everyone’s already here.

Good, then you’d just have to suck it up and face them. Like ripping off a band-aid; only painful for a second.

You spot Helaena first. She gives you a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and straightens up slightly.

You’d met her a few times in the last months; brainstorming song ideas and recording vocals together in the studio.

Besides playing the piano, she wrote songs and sang for the band, just like you and Aemond. She hadn’t asked you anything about him, which you were thankful for. You know she’s anxious about how the dynamic in the band will shift now that the two of you have separated. And her anxiety materialises in the way she starts picking at her nail beds as soon as she sees you emerge through the door.

Next to Helaena sits Jace, who plays bass for the band. He gives you a half-hearted smile, accompanied by tense shoulders and a murmured greeting.

Across the table from him is Erryk, drummer and the newest addition to the band. He seems to not sense the tension that hangs heavy in the room and smiles at you until his eyes crinkle.

His obliviousness almost makes you laugh. It nearly manages to cut through the uncomfortable tension, until your eyes travel to lock with the last person in the room.

You knew that Aemond wouldn’t cause a scene and act infuriatingly indifferent towards you.

You knew that he’d give you a nod and get straight down to business.

Still, you feel a sliver of satisfaction when your predictions turn out to be true.

“So, everyone’s done with recording their parts?”, he asks the room.

He’s already pulled out his laptop, quick fingers typing as he waits for confirmation.

Though the tense atmosphere never really leaves the room, you all collectively try to power through as you discuss how recording went and what else needs to be fixed before the album is ready.

Due to your and Aemond’s separation, and the tumultuous events leading up to it, the band had agreed that everyone would record their vocals and instruments separately; putting everything together in production later. This had slowed down the process significantly, resulting in you being far from done with the album your label wanted you to release at the end of the month.

“As you know, the label isn’t too pleased with the fact that we haven’t finished the album yet-”, Aemond says, eyes still on the screen of his laptop; both his seeing eye and the unmoving one covered by a layer of white mist,

“-But they’ve asked us if we’d be willing to perform some new songs during the tour, to boost sales and get the hype up”

His voice is stoic, every utterance straight to the point. You sit on his blind side, with Helaena between your chair and his, and you take the opportunity of knowing he can’t clearly see you to examine him, searching for any changes since you last laid eyes on him, when his knuckles were bloody and panic reflected in his lilac eye.

He looks exactly like he always does; infuriatingly handsome.

His long, silvery hair hangs loose over his shoulders. His long eyelashes cast down as he inspects the screen of his laptop. His aquiline nose slopes beautifully to meet his perfectly pouty lips, begging to be kissed-

Fuck, stop!

Truth be told, you’d put extra effort into looking your best today, spending an hour on doing your makeup and picking out the perfect outfit. Hopefully you’d succeeded in making it appear much less intentional than it was, suddenly feeling a flash of embarrassment wash over you.

Why do you care what he thinks anymore?

The meeting goes on for another hour. The band’s manager, Tyland Lannister, joins in after 20 minutes, briefing the band members on the upcoming tour. Opening night’s in one week, on Dragonstone, and you’ll all fly out the morning of the show.

As the members of the band prepare to leave the studio, the tension that had previously felt so crushing is now only lingering in the periphery.

Jace and Erryk talk excitedly about all the places they’ll visit during the tour; what they wanted to eat and what they wanted to see. For a second it almost feels like things are back to normal, like the last three months never happened.

As everyone makes their separate ways home, you spot Aemond walk up to a black car and quickly jump in the passenger seat.

Your stomach turns.

You only see a flash of her black hair before the car drives away. The mask of indifference you’d put on cracks slightly at the sight of them together.

You wanted the divorce, idiot.

It still hurts seeing him move on though. He’d done it so quickly; uncharacteristically so.

The first week after you’d left, he blew up your phone trying to get a hold of you.

Despite his inexcusable behaviour, there had been times when you felt guilty for leaving him so abruptly. Even though you knew he deserved it, you also knew that leaving him and refusing to talk to him would drive him insane. What you hadn’t expected was that he’d go and get a new girl a mere week after Alicent had called you.

Seeing them together in real life made you feel exactly as you did when your friend Alysanne had sent you the link to the 30 second video two and a half months ago.

Nauseous.

The video showed Aemond getting out of a taxi in front of a new and chic Braavosi bistro downtown. It was opening night and a few local news sources were there to report. One of the journalists had recognised Aemond, clearly intrigued by the fact that the still-married bandman rounded the taxi and offered his hand to a beautiful dark-haired woman stepping out. As they walked towards the entrance, the reporter chased them down, microphone in hand and cameraman in tow.

“Aemond Targaryen? Already moving on after the separation I see?”, the reporter half-shouts behind Aemond to get his attention.

His date turns around in response to the comment, smiling as her emerald gaze observes the reporter. The news of your separation had been speculated on a few minor fansites after someone leaked an email from your solicitor's office, but neither you nor Aemond had made any statement about it.

He wasn’t planning on giving one now either, unimpressed eye giving the reporter a once-over before huffing in amusement and gesturing for his date to follow him inside.

The reporter, set on getting an answer from the rising star, chuckles before forcefully shoving the microphone in Aemond’s face,

“Women come and go, is that the case?”, he presses with a cheeky wink.

Aemond huffs out a laugh, “Yeah, something like that”, he says, wrapping his arm around his date’s shoulders as he leads her into the restaurant.

You’d later learn that the date from that night was his new manager, Alys Rivers.

Funny how he’d gotten a manager to handle his possible solo work.

Six months prior, when you’d been approached by a talent scout asking if you’d ever thought of doing solo stuff on the side, Aemond had been absolutely livid. After giving the agent a few well-chosen words, he had stormed off, leaving you upset and confused.

It was ultimately his jealousy and possessiveness that broke your marriage, getting to a point where you felt like you couldn’t be with him any longer. Neither as a lover nor a friend.

Now, the only place he can take in your life is as your bandmate; business partner, and nothing more.

You’d seriously considered leaving the band when you decided on leaving him. Still, somewhere deep inside you can’t shake this feeling that what your band has is something unique; something you won’t find anywhere else.

You and Aemond had started the band with Helaena right around the time you’d first met.

The three of you quickly bonded over your shared vision of what kind of music you’d like to make. On top of that, your voices sounded so good together, Aemond providing structure with his precision while you focused on conveying raw emotions.

So you decided to stick it out, work with your ex-husband in order to make the music that you wanted.

You’re an artist. All artists suffered for their art, right? You’d just have to suck this up and get on with it; continue to create art. And the pain would be worth it.

Besides, truth be told, you’d never met anyone quite as talented as Aemond. You’d never met anyone else who understood the music you wanted to create quite like he did.

When it came to music, you two almost had a telepathic connection. As someone who relies a lot on intuition and ‘that feeling in your gut’, you found it hard to describe music and your visions for it in general. But with Aemond you never needed to; he understood. Two minds wired the same.

Unfortunately, that wordless communication only stretched as far as music.

You think back to one of the last conversations you had before you left him.

You’d tried to confront him about his temper and inability to keep his jealousy in check, and he’d promptly ignored you; defaulting into shutting you out.

Exhausted, you resorted to the only solution you could come up with.

“Maybe we should spend some time apart, let things cool down a bit”, you try, purposefully making your voice as gentle as possible.

Aemond, who’d been staring out the window of your apartment in contemplative rage, quickly turns to face you, expression impassive but one eye furious.

“If you want some ‘time apart’ you might as well get on with it and leave”, he says, voice chilly. Sometimes when he’s angry, he sounds so hateful it hurts your heart.

“What do you want me to do Aemond?”, you reply, patience running thin as anger overcomes you, “You don’t allow me to live my life, you hinder any chance of growth I have-”,

“Growth!? What else do you need?”, he spits back. “Do you understand what it means to be married to someone? I do fucking everything for you, you’re my wife!”

“Sure, chain me to our marriage. Keep me shackled to you forever, that’s what you want, isn’t it? While you fuck around town, relishing in the freedom you never allow me”

Your agitated voice matches his. You know your words will hurt him.

Aemond exhales loudly. His jaw’s shut tight and misty gaze piercing. He has a tendency to shut down during fights, especially when he doesn't have a snide remark waiting at the back of his mind.

Aemond’s eyes, locking yours in a death stare, narrow,

“So you want out?”

The flight to Dragonstone goes by in a flash, and after a quick soundcheck at the venue, the five members of Dragon Dreamers start getting ready for the show.

You and Helaena do your usual routine of getting ready together, checking each other’s makeup and hair.

As the venue starts to fill up, the band gathers backstage, quickly running through your set one last time. You try to shoot a covert glance at Aemond, but he immediately finds your eyes. As always, he looks impeccable.

“Since we’ve finished ‘The Chain’ in production, I suggest we play that as our opening number tonight. It’s fast-paced and will get the crowd moving”, Aemond states, looking at his bandmates for approval.

They all nod knowingly, catching you by surprise.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with ‘The Chain’”, you say, trying to sound neutral though you suspect he chose a song you don’t know on purpose.

“It’s the one you did some backup vocals on in the studio”, Aemond replies, throwing you a quick look, “Me and Helaena can sing the verses and you can join in during the chorus”, he offers, moving to pick up his guitar, signalling that he’s done with the conversation.

Great, first song on opening night and you’ll stand there like a deer in headlights.

You sigh quietly and grab your tambourine. If you’re not going to sing you’ll at least try to join in by jamming a bit to the beat. Only one thing echoes in your mind,

Don’t let him get to you!

‘The Chain’ starts playing. Steady drums beat in a slow rhythm as Aemond plays a bluesy melody on his guitar, and you realise that it is one of the songs that you and he had worked on when you were still together.

Last time you heard it, you had worked out the melody, but not really pinned down the lyrics. Aemond must’ve taken it upon himself to finish it, completely steering away from the direction you thought the song would take.

‘Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise’

Why haven't you heard anything about this new edit?

A chill runs down your spine.

Has he re-written it to be about you?

‘Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies’

Yes he has.

You and Aemond got married at sunrise by the Hightower summer house in Highgarden in June two years ago.

Aemond had proposed to you only five weeks prior, and being so in love that you couldn’t possibly imagine being separated for more than 15 minutes, you decided to tie the knot as quickly as possible.

You just wanted to be his.

That had been one of your fondest memories together; a small ceremony that was only yours.

Now, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Memories rotting from within.

You hate it. You don’t want to think about that now.

Damn him. Damn his love. Damn his lies.

‘And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again’

‘I can still hear you saying, “you would never break the chain”’

As he sings, he sounds so angry, his voice is almost foreign to you.

He usually tries to keep his emotions in check, even when performing. Probably too scared to be vulnerable enough to let people know he actually has feelings, you reckon.

You remember the song and the rapid pace it picks up. Trying to ignore what you think is Aemond staring at you from the side of the stage, you dance and sing to the song about your heartbreak.

You let the music consume you as you work the tambourine, dancing and spinning, trying to relish in the feeling of knowing your band had made a killer song.

The audience is loving it. You have never heard them this rowdy before, and you can see the entire venue dancing.

You keep going, trying to distract yourself so your gaze won’t travel to Aemond.

He had played a rough first version of the guitar solo he wanted to incorporate in the song for you when you were still together. It really was phenomenal, fitting perfectly with the climax of the song.

He’s an insanely skilled guitarist, never missing a note and always instinctively knowing exactly what melody will match the feel of a song.

The audience is loving it, screaming and dancing with you.

Feeling braver and with the adrenaline from the performance running through your veins, you come up to your mic and sing along with Aemond and Helaena, chanting in unison.

The three of you sound good, like you always do.

The realisation gives you comfort; there’s still hope for your band.

‘Chain, keep us together’

‘Running in the shadows’

You can do this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🫶

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #my fics #rumours #Spotify

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hoshifighting · 9 months ago

Note

okay imagine mingyu returning back from touring and is trying to getting into reader’s pants but the boys don’t get the clue and tag along to his apartment, the sexual tension between gyu and reader is over the roof, reader keeps gesturing mingyu to send the boys home but they’re just clueless...please add in some moreeeee

— Synopsis: where you and mingyu want to catch up in bed after he return form touring, but the boys don't pick up on the little signs mingyu gives about wanting them to leave his apartment. — WARNINGS: Fingering, penetrative sex, chocking, biting, sexual tension...

mingyu had just returned from touring, and the excitement of seeing him again was almost unbearable. you’d missed him so much, and now, after what felt like forever, he was finally back. but the reunion wasn’t going as planned.

mingyu had brought some of the boys back to his apartment. you’d been hoping for some alone time, but now, the place was bustling with noise and laughter. mingyu looked at you with those smoldering eyes, the sexual tension between you two palpable, but the boys just didn’t get the clue.

you sat on the couch, mingyu beside you, his arm casually draped over your shoulders. you could feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your skin. every touch making you melt, and it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure.

“hey, mingyu, pass the remote!” one of the boys called out, oblivious to the silent plea inyour eyes.

mingyu sighed, shifting to grab the remote, and you took the opportunity to lean in, whispering in his ear. “can’t you get them to leave?”

he glanced at you, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. “i’m trying,” he whispered back, his voice low and husky. “they’re just not getting it.”

you decided to take matters into your own hands. standing up, you stretched, deliberately arching your back a little more than necessary, knowing mingyu’s eyes were on you. “i’m going to get some drinks,” you announced, heading towards the kitchen.

mingyu followed you, a little too quickly, drawing curious looks from the boys. in the kitchen, he pressed you against the counter, his body flush against yours. “you’re killing me,” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck.

“you need to get rid of them,” you insisted, your hands roaming over his chest. “i can’t wait much longer.”

he groaned, reluctantly pulling away. “okay, okay. give me a minute.”

mingyu returned to the living room, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “alright, guys, i think it’s time to call it a night. i’ve got some serious jet lag.”

the boys groaned but started gathering their things. you breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the doorway as you watched them slowly trickle out. mingyu was charming as always, thanking them for coming over, but you could see the impatience in his eyes.

finally, the door closed behind the last of them, and before you could even turn around, mingyu had you pinned against it. his lips crashed onto yours in a desperate, hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“i’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with desire. “you have no idea how much i’ve missed you.”

you moaned softly, your body melting against his. “show me,” you whispered back, your hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. he laid you down on the bed, standing back for a moment to admire you. “you’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice full of awe.

you blushed, reaching out for him. “come here.”

mingyu joined you on the bed, his hands and lips exploring every inch of your body. he took his time, kissing and caressing you, making sure you were thoroughly aroused. his fingers found their way between your legs, teasing you, driving you wild with need.

“you’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “i need you so bad.”

you whimpered, your body arching towards his touch, but instead of giving in, he kept teasing, his fingers flicking over your clit in maddening circles. “mingyu,” you panted, frustration lacing your voice, “please, don’t tease me. not after this long without you.”

he scoffed lightly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “okay, okay,” he said, positioning himself between your legs. “i just wanted to make sure you’re ready.”

his cock brushed against your entrance, and he slowly pushed inside, the feeling of your velvety walls hugging him making him groan in pleasure. it was almost too much for him, the sensation so intense that he had to brace himself to keep from falling over you. “god, you feel so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

he started to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate. he bit your chin, then your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your skin. his hand slid up to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat in a gentle choke.

your eyes rolled back in your head, your body trembling with each powerful thrust. “i missed you so much,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper. “so much, mingyu.”

he groaned, tightening his grip on your neck slightly, his hips driving into you with more intensity. “i missed you too,” he panted, his lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. “you have no idea how much.”

each movement brought you both closer to the edge, the room filled with the sounds of your sex. the intensity of it all, the feeling of being connected after so long, was almost overwhelming.

as you reached your orgasm, your body tensed, a cry of his name escaping your lips. mingyu followed soon after, collapsing beside you, both of you breathing heavily.he pulled you close, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“worth the wait?” he asked, a teasing smile on his lips, even as his fingers continued to trace lazy patterns on your skin.

“absolutely,” you replied, snuggling into his embrace. “but next time, let’s skip the reunion party.”

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hysteria-things · 1 year ago

Text

TOUR (part two)

read part one here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x reader (definition of a titty man)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you surprise your boyfriend at his last show of the versus tour. you obviously had to wear the dress to it, but too bad matt has to wait until the show is over to do what he’s been wanting to do for a month.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT but fluffy, swearing, titty fucking, p in v

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,245

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: you guys are the literal best omg.

idk how i feel about this one but i do have a shit ton in the works that i can’t wait to share😇

the flight from LA to ft. lauderdale was close to five hours, and you were jet lagged.

especially since you had to take a late flight which didn’t help either.

now, you’re sitting in the uber that picked you up from the airport and texting nick.

it was his idea to have you fly out and surprise matt since everybody else is going to be there. chris knows too, and since he’s a blabber mouth at best, you specifically told him if he tells matt your secret you’ll cut his dick off.

by some miracle, nick and chris successfully snuck you to your room.

you didn’t bother unpacking your suitcase. instead, you kicked off your shoes and knocked out with your clothes still on.

it took a few knocks at the door to realize you weren’t dreaming them to fully wake you up. you groan, rubbing your eyes and shuffling to the door. “y/n! wakey, wakey.”

you open it, revealing a smiling nick with a brown bag in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. he holds them up in front of you.

“i got you food and your favorite iced coffee from dunkin’.” he says. “i can’t stay long because we’re heading to the venue soon, and you have to get fueled up. i know how jet lag can be.”

“thank you, nick,” you reply graciously, grabbing the things from his hands.

“i’ll send you the address and all that.” he tells you, turning 180° before spinning back to face you again. “also, you better have brought something stunning to wear. matt might actually faint from all the surprises you’ll be throwing at him all at once.”

he winks at you before going into the elevator to meet the others.

of course, you brought something stunning to wear. looking in the mirror, you’re wearing a navy blue dress. it’s the navy blue dress you were wearing in the photos matt jerked off to when you guys were on the phone.

you walk into the hidden door that leads backstage. the boys were there plus nate and justin. nobody noticed you yet, and you wanted to keep it that way.

you heard matt talking to nate about how he’ll be his teammate, but the conversation mostly consisted of nate giving a lecture about how to not fuck up jenga.

you cross your arms and lean against the doorway. “maybe if you didn’t yank the jenga blocks out, the tower would stay up.”

their voices die down in milliseconds and turn to face you.

“what the fuck?” matt questions blankly. it seems like he’s trying to comprehend if he’s hallucinating or if you’re really here in ft. lauderdale standing in front of him.

when it clicks in his head that you’re indeed not a hallucination, he comes running over to you and engulfs you in a big hug.

he lifts you from the floor and holds on even tighter, not caring about the other people in the room.

to him, this moment is just about you.

“you’re not being slick, you know.” he whispers in your ear.

“what do you mean?” you reply in the same tone innocently, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.

he doesn’t respond and puts you back on the ground. he glances up and down your body, before chris speaks up. “hate to break up this reunion, but we got small talk in like five minutes.”

matt has you underneath him flat on your back, the tour bus bunk is a little too small for the both of you.

your legs are wrapped around his torso as his lips hungrily kiss yours. the show ended an hour or two ago, and when everybody got settled into their hotel rooms, he snuck you on the tour bus.

his hands rub around your boobs and give a light squeeze, pulling his lips away from yours with a hum.

“remember when i said i wanted to fuck your tits?” he asks with his swollen red lips, not taking his eyes off of you as he starts to unbuckle his belt.

you lick your lips and nod.

“i wasn’t kidding.”

he yanks down his undergarments and pumps himself a few times to get fully hard. he takes the neckline of your dress and pulls it down to expose your breasts.

he groans at the site, fiddling them before adjusting himself so his tip is right under your boobs.

he pushes them together and slides in between them, throwing his head back and moaning. “oh, fuck.”

unlike the rest of your body, they are warm and cushioning, causing matt’s dick to throb at the feeling.

he doesn’t waste time and starts thrusting. the tip of him glides at your bottom lip with each thrust. all you do is stare at his acts, which is using your tits to get off.

the more he pleasures himself, the more you feel your arousal start to soak your underwear. without thinking, you open your mouth a little so your tongue kitty licks his tip each time he thrusts up.

he groans, looking at you through hooded eyes. “shit. keep doing that, baby.”

his thrusts starts to get sloppy, his hips jutting from time to time. “open wider. good girl.”

with that, he shoots his load on your lips and into your mouth. he uses his finger on your chin to make you close your mouth, tasting him as you swallow. he kisses your neck and collarbone, tracing his fingers on the hem of your panties before pulling them down.

he uses his thumbs to spread you open, seeing how soaked you are.

you whine, balling your hands on the front of his shirt. “matt, please.”

he kisses your cheek before putting his entire length inside of you, your slippery cunt making him have easy access.

you moan as he starts moving in and out. this time around, his thrusts aren’t hard and fast. instead, they’re slow and deep.

he doesn’t pull out all the way — maybe only an inch or two — to make his thrusts even deeper. your tits bounce slowly with his rhythm, and he never takes his eyes off of them.

eyes squeezed shut, you’re letting out short moans and whimpers, ecstasy flowing through your whole body.

fucking matt was phenomenal, but slow sex with him felt different. it felt more real and comforting; feeling safe in his touch.

“you’re so deep.” you exhale, the knot in your stomach starting to form.

matt’s head falls to the crook of your neck. “you’re taking me so well, baby. so, so well.”

his words cause your legs to shake at his sides, squirming from underneath him as you cum slowly around his dick.

he kisses your lips passionately as he pulls out, putting the last of his orgasm onto your stomach.

he falls softly on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “you’re so much better than a stupid trophy.”

you laugh at matt’s saltiness because of his loss at jenga. “this mother fucker gave me the lecture about how to play jenga when he’s the one who knocked it down.” he continues to complain.

“jenga’s a stupid game, anyway.”

he looks up at you. “thank you.”

you laugh again, the both of you laying there and enjoying each other’s company. matt listened to your heartbeat, and you played with his hair softly, thinking about how much you missed your boy and nothing else.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @mattslolita

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo fluff

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apomaro-mellow · 1 year ago

Text

Sunshower

Read on AO3

Written for @slavicviking for the @steddieholidayexchange !

When Steve Harrington had graduated, Eddie thought he’d be pretty much done with him. Not that they had a lot of face time before. He just thought, in the true fashion of guys that peak in high school, he’d fade into the town, get married young, show his face at the 20 year reunion. Maybe he’d catch glimpses of him around Hawkins, but not for very long. Eddie was planning on hightailing it out of here the moment the diploma was in his hands. So what if it would take another year?

The positive was supposed to be that he was NOT going to see Steve’s face in the hallways. It was a great misfortune to see him walking up from the football field with some kid. Eddie had just finished a deal by the picnic tables. Why Harrington was hanging with what looked like a freshie, he didn’t know.

Eddie would’ve known if he had a brother. So who was the kid? Curiosity got the better of him and he trailed a good distance behind them. He was a little surprised when Steve took him through the cafeteria’s kitchen doors, which had a broken lock. It was the school’s worst kept secret, but he never imagined The Hair sneaking into school during summer vacation.

So what could he do but follow?

What he saw as he crept behind them was Steve Harrington giving what must be a future freshman a tour of the school.

“Here’s the cafeteria. Honestly the food’s not bad. Their creamed spinach isn’t the best, but really who’s is?”

Steve led the kid with the curly hair out of the cafeteria and into the greater part of the school. “Here’s all the lockers. No you don’t get to choose one, but once you get assigned you can always switch with someone who’s got better real estate.”

“Does the location of my locker really matter?”, the kid asked, nose scrunching up.

“Do you want one right next to the bathroom?”

“....Boy or girls?”

Steve smiled. “Good. You’re learning.”

Eddie shadowed them for the whole tour, which ended up being about twenty minutes. Harrington was really showing this kid everything. And yet was giving him the most skewed tunnel vision of high school. Great, just what he needed his third time around as a senior. A mini-Steve. Steve was telling him which teachers would let him get away with coming in late, the best spot to sit in the classroom, what teams it was worth going for.

“Steve, it’s like you don’t even know me. Have you ever seen me dribble a ball?”

“I’m just saying that it’s a fresh start. You could be someone new”, Steve reasoned.

“Did you become someone new in high school?”

Eddie thought back to the proto-Harrington he knew in middle school. The answer was clearly no. He’d been on the baseball team back then and was pretty much just as self absorbed as he would’ve been in high school. Steve gave a non-answer about how everyone had different experiences and pushed the kid on. Eddie decided he’d heard enough. Enough to know this kid was under Steve’s wing, but clearly they had different interests.

So come the first day of school, Eddie wore his Hellfire Club shirt loud and proud. The air was still warm, which meant he did so without his jacket. That just allowed the emblem to show even more. He’d told the other members to also wear theirs. Normally Eddie waited about a week, scoping out the freshies before figuring out who he’d approach to join. But he’d already had his sights set on at least one boy.

Imagine his delight and surprise when said boy had two others hanging around. Eddie was hanging outside the school, his cronies surrounding him as they caught up from what happened over summer. The trio was loud. Very obnoxiously arguing over something. Freshmen tended to be more self-conscious, wanting to keep their heads down at first. Eddie noted the Weird Al shirt one of them had. These boys were the opposite of timid. Perfect Hellfire material.

Eddie waited until lunch to make his move though. Give them a bit of time to get acclimated and at least half a day to see where everyone stood. But when Eddie did get to them, he was glad to see both excitement and relief in their eyes. They were looking for somewhere to belong. And he could give it to them.

Screw any influence Steve Harrington had on them. Which was why Eddie made careful measures not to even mention his name. The guy had graduated. His reign was over. Actually, it had kind of ended back in 84 but who was keeping record? Dustin, Mike, and Lucas were great additions to the club. They had a passion for the game and a never-back-down attitude. Honestly, it was so great, that Eddie almost forgot that these kids knew Steve.

That is until sports tryouts started.

“You can’t honestly be thinking out trying for a team”, Mike said, practically slamming his lunch tray onto the table as he sat down.

“I’m not just thinking. I’m already training”, Lucas replied.

“Ugh”, Mike retched. “Don’t get me started on that. You spend more time with your dad than us now.”

“His dad’s not the one teaching him”, Dustin said. “Steve keeps bailing on driving me places because he’s coaching Lucas.”

Mike had a look of utter betrayal and was definitely about to say something in response when Jeff cut him off.

“You’ve got Steve teaching you? As in Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah”, Lucas answered, much to the jeers of the rest of the table.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen”, Eddie said, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. “We must not bar Lucas from his own choices. And as for Steve, well, let’s just be glad young Sinclair didn’t go to him for academic assistance.”

The others laughed at that and the subject was quickly changed to something else. The rest of them didn’t really want to talk about any of the sports teams, lest that get Eddie really going and off on one of his rants. Sometimes it was nice to have just a stress free lunch.

“He said that?!”, Steve shouted indignantly as he dribbled the ball around on the court. He and Lucas were at a public court. Lucas was getting some practice in with his dad, but whenever he was busy, Steve stepped in.

“He’s not your biggest fan”, Lucas said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well he’s no prize either. Don’t let him get in your head. There’s nothing wrong with the sports programs.”

“But they’re right about there being cliques. If I get on the team, can I even be friends with Dustin and Mike anymore if they’re gonna be in Hellfire?”

“You should go for whatever you want. High school only happens once.” Steve dribbled the ball a few times before giving a bounce pass over to Lucas. “Alright, show me your handling.”

Lucas followed Steve’s advice. He officially joined up with Eddie’s club. He loved DnD and he enjoyed playing with his friends. But walking around with a Hellfire shirt didn’t do good things for their reputations at school. The others took it in stride, but Lucas was tired of being called names and girls looking at him weird.

So as soon as the sign-ups for try outs was out, Lucas put his name down. He didn’t really announce it but he didn’t hide it either the first time the guys wanted to do something and he was busy. The reception was not so good.

“You actually wanna be on the basketball team?”, Mike was incredulous.

Eddie was leaning against the lockers, arms crossed. “I get the feeling someone put this idea in your head. Was it Harrington?”

“He didn’t put any idea in my head he just..encouraged me”, Lucas confessed. “He said I should go for what I want. You only get one life.”

“One life indeed”, Eddie nodded.

“And you wanna use it shooting hoops with Jason and his cronies?”, Jeff asked.

“They’re probably not all that bad. Steve wasn’t”, Lucas defended.

The opinions were mixed on that. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike knew what Steve had done that they couldn’t tell others. He had stood between them and certain death more than once. But they couldn’t tell Hellfire that.

“You guys don’t know what Harrington was like”, Eddie said.

“Are you saying Steve bullied you?”, Mike asked with a raised brow.

“Bullied? Pfft, no. Harrington and I barely crossed paths. I just know his type. I know what he’s about. And he and I couldn’t be anymore different.”

At first it was just a conflicting of ideals. Whatever Steve told them about high school, Eddie told them the opposite. And there was no telling one what the other said.

“Harrington’s an idiot.”

“Munson’s a loser.”

It made talking to either of them hard. Most of their days involved hanging with Eddie and when they saw Steve it was all they wanted to talk about. Sort of difficult to talk about Eddie without talking about Eddie, but they managed for now.

Well, at least they did until the party got super deep into Hellfire. The campaigns were really involved, to the point of needing rides home from Steve when they ran too late. It resulted in quite a bit of petty glaring across the parking lot. Mike and Lucas had resigned themselves to the status quo remaining, but Dustin wasn’t satisfied with that.

It took quite a bit of doing, but what else brought people together more than a missing child? Dustin didn’t actually go missing. He simply concocted a plan with his friends to make it seem like he did and only to Eddie and Steve. He wasn’t crazy enough to get the whole town looking for him. Steve wasn’t crazy about Eddie tagging along for the search but the priority was finding Dustin.

“Why do you need that to find Dustin?”, Eddie asked, reaching a hand out to touch the nails in the bat, just to see it they were real.

“Don’t ask”, Steve bit out as they entered the woods.

Dustin thought getting them to work together would ease the tension, and it did. But only after bickering like children for a little while longer. Steve didn’t like how Eddie was undermining everything he’d been saying about high school. Eddie didn’t like how Steve had been trying to lead his sheep in the wrong direction.

“Yeah well before they were your sheep they were my-”

“....They were your…”, Eddie urged him to continue.

“Nevermind.”

“You and Nancy must’ve been pretty tight when you dated to get so close to her brother and his friends.”

“Me and those guys bonded outside of Nancy.”

“Is there a story there?”, Eddie asked.

“Yeah-” Steve froze when he thought he heard a sound before continuing. The sun was still high in the sky, so they didn’t have much to fear just yet. It didn’t hurt to be cautious though. “I just…I guess I just know how high school can be for kids like that. I wanted to make it easy for them.”

Eddie shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what kind of cheat codes you give ‘em. There’s always gonna be someone who makes it harder than it needs to be.”

Steve thought about thanking Eddie for giving them a place right away, but didn’t. Eddie thought of saying how Steve seemed to have changed, but didn’t. When they finally found Dustin, they laid into him hard, especially because he wouldn’t stop smiling despite his lie being revealed. All Dustin cared about was the fact they weren’t arguing with each other.

Mission accomplished.

Mission accomplished a little too well.

Now instead of having two friends who hated each other’s guts, Dustin had two friends who reveled in being shitty older brothers to him. Any time Steve picked them up from Hellfire (which he did with a suspicious amount of willingness now) he and Eddie traded notes on whatever it was that Dustin did that week. It was like a Henderson Briefing and the main objective was to either embarrass him or annoy him, sometimes both.

“I regret ever forging this friendship”, Dustin said.

“I think it’s the best thing you’ve ever done”, Lucas beamed.

Mike was grinning too. “It’s definitely the funniest.”

It got to the point where sometimes Steve and Eddie would hang out on their own. And wasn’t that just bizarre? What did they even do together?? The answer was mostly smoking, drinking, and shootin’ the shit. Even though Steve wasn’t able to tell Eddie any of the grimier details of the past couple of years, he was still able to tell plenty. And Eddie had no NDAs to speak of.

They were sitting out by Steve’s pool one day in March, the weather just starting to warm up to be able to relax there without freezing. Spring would officially come soon and with it, maybe a day or two where they could actually take a dip.

“I’m telling you, the lunch ladies changed the formula. Something’s different about the meatloaf”, Eddie said, fully reclined in a pool chair.

”You’re implying that they actually cook that stuff in the school.”

“I’ve seen the vats of mystery meat stew, Steve. But some of the food is made on-site. And the meatloaf is one of them.”

Steve smiled up at the clear sky. They talked like this, high or not. Just the most inane things that he never wanted to end. What did he care about the food at a school he no longer attended? He cared when Eddie was the one talking about it.

“So you’re done with the loaf then?”

“I don’t even think it’s the same meat anymore”, Eddie said. “Or maybe they changed the seasoning…?”

Steve continued gazing up at the sky as Eddie mused on that. Suddenly a drop of water hit his head. Then another, then a third. He wiped his face and looked to Eddie, who was also blinking through drops. Wordlessly, they got up from their seats and went under the porch awning as the rain began falling in earnest.

“How is it raining? The sun is still out”, Steve said, reaching a hand out just to be sure it was still rain.

Eddie snorted. “Never seen a sunshower, Harrington?”

“No”, he answered honestly.

“Don’t sweat it. I’ve still gotta knock ball lightning off my strange weather checklist.”

“It’s just weird seeing it rain with no clouds”, Steve said.

Eddie watched the droplets fall in the sunlight. It was like liquid gold falling from the sky. He watched Steve’s face, no hard lines or sarcasm, just awe at seeing something new and wonderful.

“You know, some folks back where I’m from have a name for this.”

“You mean something other than ‘sunshower’?”, Steve tore his eyes from the rain to look at him.

“They say the devil’s kissing his wife”, Eddie stuck his tongue out. “Give you any ideas?”

He had been a hundred percent teasing. Eddie had just been talking. Flapping his gums. Doing his usual friendly flirtation style. He had no plan in place for when Steve actually kissed him. But when it happened, there was only one choice: to kiss him back. The rain provided some pretty romantic ambience in his opinion.

“So are you the devil in question?”, Steve asked when he pulled back.

“Only if that makes you my sweet, lovely little wife”, Eddie teased and then made kissing noises.

“Fuck off, Munson”, Steve laughed.

Feeling like they were on the edge of something, Eddie took the plunge and kissed him again instead of cracking wise. Steve softened so beautifully that Eddie wished he could go to the past and kick himself in the pants. He probably could’ve been doing this months ago.

“You know we absolutely can’t tell Dustin about this?”, Steve said against his lips.

“It’s none of his business anyway.” Eddie didn’t feel the need to mention that no one could know. He just put his hands on Steve’s hips and for once was thankful for the privacy the backyard gave them.

Weeks later, during the spring break from his darkest nightmares and the stroll through actual hell, Eddie would have an epiphany.

“That’s why you have that bat!”

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #dustin henderson #i hope ya like it!#steddie holiday exchange

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ramp-it-up · 11 months ago

Text

II Most Wanted Pt. 2: Pedal so heavy

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: The feelings are getting real as you make a decision about giving Jake Syverson the time of day (or night, rather) at your 20 year reunion.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Flashbacks, horny teenagers being horny (over 18 tho). Prom night, early 2000's music, mentions of sex acts, "Captain" kink, mentions of teenage pregnancy, divorce, breakups. The Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Reckless driving?

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the second installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

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

May 2024

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

When you heard that, you went into fight or flight mode. Rage, regret, and sadness all flooded your body at once, and Sy’s eyes flicked down to your dominant hand which was curling into a fist. A wry smile started on his lips, and then he straightened up and looked you in the eye as he started to speak again.

“Butter-”

You shook your head, which silenced him. Then you raised your chin, released your fist, and turned your back, walking toward your friends.

—---

Get out (LEAVE!)

Right now

It’s the end of you and me

It’s too late (NOW!)

And I can’t wait

For you to be gone…

Carla and Tiffani followed as you fled to the restroom.

“Why did you even tell him I liked him? I blame both of you.”

You were hurt, so you brought up a 20 year old slight and lashed out weakly at your friends. You were trying to ascribe meaning to your emotions.

How could everything still hurt this much?

Carla wasn’t having it.

“Unh unh. No. Nope. We were sick of you running your mouth all the time about how cute he was. And Jakey boy had heart eyes for you since the day you walked into school, despite Becca the Bitch. After they broke up, we had to put you both out of your misery. It had to be done.”

Tiffani was nodding her head in agreement.

You sighed.

“‘M sorry guys,” you sat on the bathroom vanity and smiled to yourself about your Powerpuff councils in the 3rd floor Central High bathroom all those years ago. Then you grimaced when you thought of Sy.

“I just… Can’t…”

“So what just happened?”

Despite your surliness, Carla was ready to go to war for you.

“He wants me to go talk with him, ‘someplace quiet.’”

“Wow. Your air quotes are kind of aggressive.”

Sweet Tiffani was also calling you out.

“Maybe you do need to talk to him. I heard what happened, and it’s kind of a lot. A hell of a story.”

“Tiff has a point. You forbid us to say his name after you two broke up…”

You interrupted Carla.

“After he found out Becca was pregnant, you mean..”

“...That is a part of the story you need to hear. She did him dirty. They split when he finished his first tour. He asked about you, but you were already engaged to Scott…”

You’d heard that Sy enlisted instead of going to State for football like he planned when Becca fell pregnant, but the bit about the split hit you like a ton of bricks.

But why? And what did it matter now?

“Sy spent the better part of the last 20 years in Afghanistan, and I think it’s because…But that’s not our story to tell. You really ought to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do-”

Your voice was a little shrill and you closed your mouth when you heard yourself. You stood in the bathroom awkwardly until the familiar beginning of a song wafted into the room:

“Teen drinking is very bad.”

Carla and Tiff started screaming the next line:

“Yo, I got a fake ID tho.”

The beat dropped and they pulled you out of the bathroom onto the dance floor.

One, here comes the two to the three to the four Everybody drunk out on the dance floor Baby girl ass jiggle like she want more Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour...

…..Everybody in this bitch getting Tipsy.

This was your thot song, and after a minute of standing there, fake offended by their dancing, soon you were shaking your ass with your lifelong friends.

—-----

Sy knew how much he was trying it when he asked you to talk, but he had been waiting 20 years for this chance.

Tonight was the night.

And he wasn’t going to let the night pass without shooting his shot. But the truth needed to be told first. He hoped that you still cared enough to let it happen.

When you stared at him blankly, he started to sweat. He knew you lived your life since then. He feared that any feelings you may have had for him were over and done with. But then he saw your hand balled into a fist, and hope entered his heart.

Sy never shrank from a fight; hell, he’d started too many, but he never wished for someone to sock him in the mouth as much as you.

He wanted to fight with you.

And he wanted to make it up to you.

His heart dropped when you walked away, but he decided to let it ride and give you some space. After you disappeared into the bathroom with Carla and Tiffani, Sy ventured into the venue, ready to interact with others now that he had laid down the challenge with you.

—---

You were having a ball dancing with the girls until that song came on. You stopped moving, the hair raised on the back of your neck. When you turned you found Sy staring right at you. You’d managed to ignore him the entire night, but this song and his blue eyes were wearing you down.

I'd sure hate to break down here Nothin' up ahead or in the rear view mirror Out in the middle of nowhere, knowin' I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin' So, God help me, keep me movin' somehow Don't let me start wishin' I was with him now

You walked toward Sy, drawn to him as if on a string. You had that feeling in the small of your back as you stood before him, the one that you hadn’t felt in ages, and suddenly everything felt inevitable.

Just like it did 20 years earlier.

—---

May 2004

On Prom night, you came out of your bedroom and Sy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes never strayed from your face as he murmured,

“You look amazing.”

You blushed and smiled while your mom ‘awwwed’ and went to get her camera. You approached your boyfriend and he took your hand to twirl you around as he appraised the rest of you in your sleek emerald green dress. When you faced him again, he was licking his lips, trying to make the look on his face respectable. You smiled because you could read his mind.

Sy didn’t flinch as your mom called him “Jacob,” and you didn’t have it in you to be annoyed as she took a couple of pictures. Sy’s hand on your waist and his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin at the opening on the side of your dress made you shiver in anticipation.

You were caught up.

Soon, Sy was loading your bag into the back of Betty, and pulling off, your mom having accepted your explanation of staying over Tiffani’s after going bowling with the group after the prom.

In reality, a bunch of the crew were renting a huge chalet in the mountains, 45 minutes away. You and Sy had your own room, and you were ready to give him everything that night. You were distracted, imagining having your way with him that night.

And Sy was right there with you.

“Y’know, Buttercup, we can just head on up to the chalet.”

He cut his eyes over to you to watch your reaction. When you didn’t answer and just bit your lip, that’s when he knew.

“Our suite has its own bathroom with a shower in it. We’re definitely using that this weekend. Can’t wait to see you all soapy and wet. ‘S all I could think about in the shower tonight. Almost jerked off to the image, but I decided to save it all for later…”

Sy knew you too well, and had keyed into how you responded when he talked dirty to you. He was priming the pump for later.

You pictured Sy in the shower, his lithe muscles clenched as he fisted himself, made you suddenly need a drink of water. You cleared your throat and found your voice.

“We have to go, Sy. I spent so much time getting ready. And you look so handsome in this tux….”

You skimmed your hand down his lapel, down his torso to his thigh, and you quickly ascertained his situation. He grinned at you.

“You’re right.”

Sy winked, smiled and concentrated on the road while you tried not to be a slut in the passenger seat. By the time you reached the venue, you had yourself under control. He parked, then turned toward you.

“Let’s have a good time tonight, Buttercup. Think you can keep your hands offa me for a couple of hours?”

You scoffed, and Sy took your hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed your palm, smoothing the joke away because in reality, It was him who couldn’t help touching you.

“Don’t want to mess up your makeup right now… might ruin it later tho.”

You whimpered in his grip as he kissed up your arm and you tucked a long errant curl behind his ear.

Sy’s eyes went soft and he held your hands in your lap.

“Y’know, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can dance all night if you want to. Bowl the blue balls away.”

You laughed and Sy fell in love even more. You were so beautiful.

“I love you, Buttercup, and us having sex or not won’t change that, not one bit.”

You melted as you stared at your handsome fella. He was fiddling with your hand, and then you felt something cold on your finger. You pulled your hand back and saw the delicate white gold ring with a tiny perfect diamond in the center that had been his grandmother’s.

You gasped.

“Sy!”

You looked from him to his grandmother’s ring. You’d come across it the first time you were over his house, ‘studying’ in his room on a chilly November night after football practice. You were being nosy and looking at everything you could touch as he went to get some snacks.

Sy was embarrassed when he came back and saw you with it. You thought he was mad at you for snooping, but he wasn’t. He’d told you that it was just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, not worth anything,’ and that no one would want it, but that his Gran had left it for him to give to his future wife.

“But, I’ll propose to someone with a bigger ring than this.”

Sy’s denim blue eyes held yours for a beat. Your heart flipped. You didn’t know why, because you’d only been talking for a couple of weeks and this was the first time you were alone together.

You didn’t know that Sy was repeating something Becca had told him when she turned her nose up at the antique when she happened to see it, and you didn’t care as you took the black box and sat down on his bed. You stared at the ring inside like it was the crown jewels, and after about 5 minutes of studying it, you looked up at him.

“Well. I think this ring is beautiful and precious. The detail is stunning. Your future wife would be lucky to get it.”

That was exactly when Sy realized that he was in love with you.

Back in the Bronco outside of the prom, you were in disbelief.

“What are you doing Sy….?”

All of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. But after only six short months together, Sy knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Calm down, Buttercup, this is just a promise ring.”

He kissed your hand again.

“I know we're jumpin' the gun, and we're both still young.”

Those eyes held you in a trance.

“But one day, we won't be.”

“Oh, Sy…”

“It’s my promise to you, Buttercup. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”

And it seemed kinda crazy. But you believed him.

—-

May 2024

I made it this far without cryin' a single tear An' I'd sure hate to break down here Oh, no

It was either the music, the dancing, or the alcohol, or all three that made your mind up, but you were ready to listen to what Sy had to say.

Stephanie Prince, the class president, was calling the Homecoming court up to the stage, and Sy looked that way. Anger bloomed again inside you.

Damnit, Sy needed to choose you this time.

“You still wanna talk, Sy?”

Your body language that screamed aggression: the cocked hip, the crossed arms that pushed up your tits, the tapping foot in those heels, all made Sy soft on the inside and hard on the outside for you. When he answered you, his voice broke.

“Ye– yeah.”

Christ, you had him weak. But he made a decision, found his strength, and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the Marriott.

You followed him obediently, and that set him on fire. He stopped and turned around when he reached the Bronco.

But he didn’t let go of your hand.

You two stared at each other in the late spring night air, stars winking down on you two.

“So where we goin’, Sy?”

Being this close to him again, and the feeling of his touch made all those 20 year old pheromones perk up again. Damn, this man.

This huge, handsome, hairy man.

“Where do you wanna go, Buttercup?”

What your brain was doing was insane, so you just kept silent.

Becoming mute was one of your tells. Sy was elated that maybe you wanted him, at least physically. He was so thirsty for you.

“Hm.”

Sy grunted, straightened up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, all while still holding your hand. It was like he didn’t want to let you go.

And he didn’t.

“Tell you what. Let’s take a spin in Betty. See what’s up in the ol’ town.”

Your eyes flicked toward the truck, and you knew it was dangerous.

But you were grown now.

And so was Sy.

Sy led you around to the passenger side door to help you up into the high profile vehicle, leaning over you to buckle you in, only releasing you to put his hand on the door.

“I can’t believe you still have her,” you whispered, indicating the Bronco. “How is she still the exact same condition?”

“She’s been in storage for the better part of 20 years. Thought about her everyday though.”

Sy was looking at your lips, and the memories came flooding back.

“I bet she missed you.”

Sy cocked his head and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His voice came out gruff and he had to clear his throat again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Sy.”

Any smooth line was lost as his brain short circuited with the concentration it took to not kiss you right now.

“Well, we’re about to have some fun together again, you, me, and Betty. Sit tight, pretty lady.”

Your cheeks heated at the compliment.

“Ok, Captain.”

Sy actually blushed, shook his head and closed the door, leaving you to breathe in the old leather smell of the Bronco with your eyes closed, conveniently leaving him to pump his fist behind the car unseen by you.

He got back in the car, jacket off. And he leaned near you to place it on the back seat, you got a whiff of him, the familiar cologne adding another dimension to your roiling senses.

When you opened your eyes, you witnessed him rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He caught you ogling him and you gulped and crossed your own arms and legs, angling yourself to look out of the open window.

Sy looked over at you closing yourself off from him, then smashed the gas to make sure that you'd squeal and grab his arm like the good ol’ days as he peeled out of the parking lot, pedal so heavy like you were the two most wanted criminals in town.

—---

Hit reblog if you like it!

Next part Here

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louisisalarrie · 23 days ago

Note

It's not about hating harry, it's about the arrogance he's shown since he started his solo career.

don’t you think it’s unfair that Liam keeps getting dragged through all these horrible rumors in the press, and Harry not wanting to be part of a tribute just to protect his career seems selfish? And if the rumors about him releasing new music in April are true, it’s only going to make him look like a hypocrite.

ok… you wanna talk about it? let’s talk about it. anon, a very big welcome to the show which has had quite the break recently. but we back on tour!

I think everything in the media and the whole thing that happened with Liam is fucking disgraceful. I know I don’t talk about it much, but that’s mainly because it makes me feel physically ill and I don’t wanna start having people in my inbox start shit with me about Liam. I miss him dearly every day and he didn’t deserve to pass and he didn’t deserve all the hate and all the absolutely disgusting behaviour that “fans” and the media put him through.

I don’t think it’s fair at all how any of those boys have been treated in the media since the break. I think Louis, Niall, Zayn and Liam were all at a disadvantage with harry having been groomed from the 1d days by the Azoffs and them being prepared to give him everything they could if he walked away from the band. I despise the Azoffs and while they are incredibly successful, they are incredibly successful because they’re assholes. They are money hungry and saw an opportunity and took it. That’s the nature of the job and the nature of the industry. You don’t get anywhere by being polite.

I think the article from the Sun is no different than the consistent “harry is better off solo” shit we’ve seen in the media for the past 8ish years. I think it’s ridiculous to believe anything from the Sun, and they’re jumping on the back of the 1d reunion rumours a few days before the Brits for some clout and clicks. 99% of that article is mainly talking about how Harry’s team thinks it’s a bad idea and what they have to say about it, with no direct quote from harry himself (but a very chatty “source” instead!).

I think he’s been consistently marketed as “better” than 1d, and of course they have that angle, because it’s what gets people listening. It’s literally to get him more famous. That article says something about how he’s worked so hard to have now earned “respect and credibility” as if 1d weren’t respected or credible because they were a boyband. Which is what boybands have always been viewed as. It’s the same formula we have seen time and time again. 1 successful breakout star, the rest left behind. “He would never go back, that’ll be a step back in his career!! Stop the rumours!! We have more money to make off him!! He will never be a successful solo star again if he goes back!!! It’ll halt his whole career!! It’ll look like a money grab!! No one will take him seriously anymore!!” which is…….

Kinda true in a bit of a roundabout way. Solo harries will spontaneously combust and be upset with him, of course they will, and it would be extremely tricky to have this done right without looking like he’s losing credibility or whatever other shit they wanna spew. I think if harry did a big interview explaining what 1d meant to him and that he’d love to do it to honour the fans and the boys and how he got to where he is now and assure everyone he’s not stopping his solo career, maybe it’d calm them down. If he genuinely doesn’t give a fuck and goes against what his team has to say about it, it’ll be an absolute power move but yes, it will look like a money grab. And it’ll look like a money grab if any of the other boys agree to do it. To “boost their fame” and then another article about a vendetta or whatever comes out.

And you know what this boils down to at its very core? This absolute fucking bullshit about “losing credibility” if he were to go back? This shit about boybands?

It’s about misogyny. It’s about young girls “not knowing what good music is”. About swooning and wanting to date boyband members. About how silly they are because all they can see is hot boys. About how hysterical the fanbase is. About how “boybands don’t put in the work, they just have to look pretty”. About how they don’t get credibility because a bunch of straight dudes who think they know what “good” music is don’t like them. And it’s been an ongoing theme since the beginning of boybands, my friend. It’s easy to make money off a boyband, and that’s why they’re created. But, they’re never taken seriously.

Anyway, young girls run this damn music industry, by the way. Young girls keep the pop genre running. They keep these artists afloat. And they have done nothing but keep harry going since 1d ended, and (most) continue to support the other boys in their own careers. It is no different being a fan of an artist to being a fan of a sports team. Hell, those guys keep the sports industry running, and they’re more hysterical (and way more violent) than we’ll ever be.

My point is, that boybands don’t get taken seriously because young girls don’t get taken seriously. But we are the driving force behind pop music. And until there is some recognition and a tip of a hat to 1d for everything they went through and their work ethic, some good media, a fucking doco, SOMETHING, his team is gonna advise him not to go back. Hell, they will still advise against it, but hopefully he can make his own decisions throughout this renegotiation/change of management/label and be able to do the things he wants to do. I hope he speaks up. And he has a fuckton of power to change things, and that’s why his managers freak out.

Okay, well, final notes and if you got this far, congrats. Maybe there will be an encore sometime. But my point is that none of those boys would’ve been advised to go back if they were in harrys shoes. If Louis had run the same career as harry, did the exact same thing as harry to a T, people would be hating on him too. It’s the same formula any team would run with any of the boys if they had been the “frontman” of the band. It’s the same formula that’s been pushed on every boyband ever. It’s the same thing every fucking time and it’s so damn disappointing.

#anon #answered #louisisalarrie chats #phew this is long #mentions of #fly high liam

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anistarrose · 1 year ago

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The possible explanations for why the fuck Barry could've felt the need to open that scene with "are you afraid?" have been analyzed by this fandom for basically ever since the Red Robe identity reveal, and a lot of people have brought up good theories that I've adopted bits and pieces of from each. But one thing that I haven't actually seen proposed as a factor is this:

Talking to Tres Horny Boys through the facade of the faceless "Red Robe" might've just been Barry's backup plan. Plan A was, quite possibly, to sneak Junior's ichor out of Lucretia's private quarters, be able to actually inoculate THB, and actually have them recognize him. (A proper reunion, with no cryptic warnings. With no dancing around static — just Barry and Tres Horny Boys, actually trusting each other innately.)

Why do I think this is plausible? Let me clarify the timeline a little: at the start of the Petals arc, before THB leave the Bureau, all is normal with their soon to be ex-roommate Pringles/Robbie (Ep. 18). Upon return, THB are informed that at some point during their (overnight, so 24 hour-ish?) absence, Pringles was thrown in the brig (Ep. 28).

It's eventually revealed by Pringles and Barry, in The Suffering Game and Reunion Tour respectively, that Barry possessed Pringles to do "reconnaissance" on the Bureau, specifically on where to find the second Voidfish (ie, Lucretia's private office, which is where Pringles "woke up" and was "arrested summarily").

I will note that Barry describes this as just recon — implying information gathering, and not necessarily a Voidfish ichor heist. However, this was an explanation he gave through a recorded message in the coin, where he was likely choosing his words carefully to confuse THB the least amount possible. And moreover... I just find it hard to believe that Barry wouldn't let himself hope, leading up to and during this infiltration, that he could make it out with the ichor he so desperately needed.

After all, Barry may be Going Through It during the podcast, but he definitely knows that as much as he needs information, it's going to be a lot harder to pull off his eventual heist if Lucretia catches him in the act, and winds up knowing that he has that information. Barry also chose to make his infiltration attempt while the Bureau was distracted, monitoring the Gaia Sash — in a lot of ways, this might've seemed like not just his first chance at the ichor, but also his best chance at it.

Barry's both an incredibly determined and opportunistic, calculating guy. I don't think Barry would've left Pringles' body unless/until he was absolutely cornered; no hope left of getting out with the ichor this time. He wouldn't pass up a chance to restore his family's memories — because of his deep, deep emotional and practical stakes in restoring those memories, first and foremost — but he even feels kinda bad about possessing Pringles (calling it "unfortunate collateral damage"), and would certainly prefer for his unsavory tactics to be, you know, worth it.

So when Barry fails? When he comes away from his mission he's no doubt been planning for weeks, waiting intently and single-mindedly for his chance with the right Relic-based distraction — and it turns out he has information, but no ichor, to show for it? When he fails, Barry's left on the back foot.

He'd dared to hope it might turn out better than this. He'd dared to hope this might be a turning point, and the world might remain in danger, but at least he'd have his family back. He'd dared to hope he might be able to speak to them, in his right mind, with his memories, and be recognized for the first time in a decade.

So when none of that comes to fruition? When he knows his boys won't recognize him yet, no matter what he does? Yet he still needs them on his side? He still needs them to be prepared for the horrors coming?

Well, he just fucking improvises.

"Are you afraid?"

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #barry bluejeans #taz meta #this is actually a conclusion i reached while working on a fic recently!#but this topic is buried right in the middle of mostly non-barry pov; so it deserved its own post for visibility #disclaimer that i don't actually think griffin intended this explicitly - but i think it's a very powerful read on barry's character #and writing-wise barry's motivations were spun together on the fly so much anyways that i think i'm allowed to extrapolate #what was griffin doing if not extrapolating from his own previous writing choices anyways? (i'm so glad he did. i love barry)#long post

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canonically-asexual · 8 months ago

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I've seen so many people express disappointment that The Suffering Game was pared down in the book to make room for more Reunion Tour, and I am genuinely curious about why. I obviously had a very different reaction to it, and while I'm super not interested in inviting a bunch of negativity into my comments (I can't stress that enough) I would welcome some alternative takes. Because for me, Suffering Game was the toughest arc to listen to. It lacked a lot of the goofy humor that the other arcs had. It was just relentlessly depressing, just bad things happening to the boys over and over and them being helpless to stop it. They had very little agency, if any, and while I recognize that it was important to the story, I found it hard to get through. I loved how it was shown in the book. I thought the graphic novel covered all of the most important bits without prolonging the misery any longer than necessary. If you're on team "Suffering Game Should Have Been Longer," I'm curious what aspects you felt deserved more attention the book and what you missed seeing the most from Wonderland. (The stipulation is that this is 100% an "agree-to-disagree" conversation. This is not an invitation to trash the book or argue who's opinion is right. Remember kids, it's just a comic book.)

#the adventure zone #taz balance #taz suffering game #taz gn #taz graphic novel #taz gn spoilers

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applepato · 1 year ago

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Chapter 5 is here!! Along with a bunch of much needed information!

#the bad boys #smallishbeans #jimmy solidarity #grian #pearlecentmoon #fanfiction #life series fanfic #life series #limited life #ao3 #mcyt #trafficblr #the bad boys reunion tour

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hornyfor-redacted-onmain · 1 year ago

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Late Night Reunions

Pieces of My Heart - Chapter 11 Stray Kids OT8 x reader, Soulmate AU

Masterlist | Next Part

You were feeling proud of yourself.

The words on the screens looked familiar to you now, and you were able to understand enough of the foreign language that you found your way through customs without having to ask for help. You pointedly avoided reading the English translations right below the Korean. It felt like cheating.

The sudden change to online classes had left you with an unexpected amount of free time since you didn’t have to show up to your university physically. It meant that in between classes you could do short Korean lessons, you could watch kdrama’s while you ate, and you had the hour that would normally be spent on public transport to do nothing more than practice. You advanced so quickly that the conversations around you as you walked through the airport made sense, and you actually felt bad for eavesdropping on strangers.

It had only been a month.

The boys had finished their tour a week ago and were now on a short term break in between comebacks. You remembered the tired but satisfied looks on their faces when they finished their last show, the live notification that had popped up on your phone. You watched them spend an hour with Stay, only to get the added benefit of a video call immediately after, while they got ready for bed. They had spent most of the call talking about how much they missed you, wishing you were there for their concert, completely unaware of the plan you had put into motion.

Only Chan had been aware at the moment that you already had your soulmate visa.

When you originally brought up the plan to him, he had mentioned saving the information until you were sure of the time frame, to avoid getting them excited only for the plan to not pan out. It was notoriously difficult to get a soulmate visa, since you needed proof of your soulmate connection, and neither you nor Chan had a physical soulmark. You were worried you would need to talk to someone or argue your case to demonstrate your connection.

But all it took was a written statement from Chris and just like that, you had your soulmate connection officially and legally confirmed. It was almost laughably easy.

You trailed behind a group of people, your suitcase rattling as you dragged it next to you. The crowds around the airport made it hard for you to get a clear look on who you were looking for, so you paused next to a pillar for a second to glance down at your red string in hopes of it guiding you, only to notice that seven of the strings were all focused in the same location, with the eighth one not in front of you.

Hands pressed against your eyes from behind.

“Guess who.”

You laughed. “Chris!”

You abandoned your suitcase and spun around, throwing yourself into the arms of the man behind you. He caught you with a grunt, spinning you around with a laugh when you let out a squeak at the sudden movement. You refused to let go of him, even when your feet touched the ground once again.

“Hi,” You rested your chin against his chest so you could look into his eyes.

He was wearing a mask, but you could see his smile from the curve in his eyes. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“Hmm, I missed you too, sweetheart.”

You were tempted to pull down his mask and kiss him right there, but you were still in a public location and Chris was still a famous idol. So instead, you settled for staying in his arms, letting him rock you two back and forth while humming something under his breath.

“Where are the others?”

“Ah, I told them we were having movie night. It was the easiest way to get all of them together without it being suspicious,” He said.

I blinked. “And they weren’t curious about where you were going so late at night?”

“I told them I forgot something at the company building. I think I have maybe 10 minutes before they start to get suspicious.”

“Doesn’t the drive back to your dorm take at least 30 minutes?”

“Guess we’ll have to come up with something.”

Coming up with something apparently meant sending them a text from Chris’s phone that he was going to get snacks, which then turned into actually having to get snacks when Felix asked for some cookies. Chris kept his mask on, slinking around the store aisles as quickly as he could, and you kept your distance just in case he was somehow recognized.

When you got back to the car, he held out your favorite candy towards you. “I remember you mentioning you liked these. You should hide them, otherwise the other’s will get to them first.”

You grabbed the candy gently, giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Oh, do you not like them?” He also shared a confused look.

“No, I love these,” You reassured, looking down at the candy and then back at Chris. “But I mentioned it once … in a text message. Weeks ago.”

“… And?”

“And you remembered that?” You wondered.

“Of course.”

You grabbed his arm as he reached to turn the car back on, pulling him away from the steering wheel and towards you. He let out a noise of surprise, but was quick to react when you pressed your lips against his, hand reaching out to steady you as you practically threw yourself towards him. He let out a chuckle, but you quieted him with another kiss, your eyes welling up with emotions. You heart was pounding so loud in your ears you wondered if he could hear it.

His hand was firm against your waist, thumb rubbing soft circles against your skin. His other hand reached up to pull your hair away from your face, palm cupping your cheek and engulfing you in warmth. You breathed in his essence, the cologne, the smell of his laundry detergent. His tongue tasted like peppermint. Your chest began to ache.

You let out a breathy whine when he pulled away.

“Hey, hey sweetheart. Are you okay?”

The tears in your eyes had slipped down your cheeks, and you immediately reached up to wipe them away. You nodded your head, unsure if you could speak, throat heavy with emotion. Chris stared at you for a second before a soft smile pulled at his lips.

“I missed you too.”

-0-0-

Sneaking you into the dorm was surprisingly easy. Chris had led you to the door, giving you the universal sign for ‘be quite’ with a finger to his lips, and you followed behind him quietly. The layout to the dorm room placed the entrance right in between the common area and the bedrooms, which meant that as Chris headed towards the right, you had the perfect opportunity to sneak to the left. You entered the first door to the right, just like he told you, and put down your suitcase as quietly as you could.

You then peeked your head out of the door, but all you could see was the hallway that led to the living room and kitchen, voices bouncing off the walls. You slowly pulled the door closed, pulling out your phone to wait for Chris to text you. He wanted to surprise the boys, and would let you know when they were all settled.

As you waited, you sent out a message to your parents letting them know you had arrived to the dorms and were with your soulmates again. Your mother responded immediately, telling you how happy she was.

After your realization, the fear of being pushed away and left behind, you had a serious conversation with your parents, but mostly with your mother. Your father was quick to reassure you that you had to live your own life, and that you weren’t leaving them behind since they would still be there for you if you needed them. He also wanted to make sure you weren’t staying away from your soulmates for his benefit, and you both had a good cry when you realized how guilty he had felt thinking he was holding you back.

Your talk with your mom went much about the same way. After shed tears and long hugs, She reassured you that she loved you and would always love you, but she wanted what was best for you. And she wanted you to be happy.

She helped you realize just how much the boys made you happy.

Even now, being so close to your soulmates, your heart was beating hard in your chest and your skin felt alight with excitement. You were minutes away from seeing them again. So close to them, so close to holding them in your arms.

Your phone buzzed in your hands.

Chris Ready? Y/N *thumbs up* Chan Nobody should be looking, come out whenever you want ;)

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jerreeeeeee · 7 months ago

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*"understanding" meaning they know they disagree but also understand the other can't be stopped/thinks they're doing the right thing, whether that manifests as avoiding the topic altogether when they meet, or just weary acceptance and frank conversation; and "antagonistic" meaning at least one of them is actively trying to interfere/stop the other/convince the other to stop, in the interaction itself

i see a lot of different interpretations of barry & lucretia's relationship after the voidfish and i've gone back and forth over what i think so i wanted to see what the general consensus is

my thoughts under the cut

i can't imagine barry realizes what's happened and doesn't try to 'reason with' lucretia for a little while, before eventually somewhat accepting that she won't listen to him, because after a certain amount of time, it just gets exhausting to hope he can still sway her. like i don't think he gives up, he still tries sometimes, because he has to, that's his whole life at this point, hoping and trying and not giving up in the face of isolation and despair and impossible odds, but he knows he has to pick his battles. and sometimes they catch each other on bad days and he’s just really fucking glad to see her and really fucking disappointed in her and really fucking tired, unable to muster the conviction or energy to fight with her.

and lucretia doesn't do much trying to convince barry, because she knows she couldn't get him on board with her shield beforehand, and he definitely doesn't approve of what she did to taako and himself, not to mention davenport (if he even knows about davenport, cause that’s gotta be really distressing for him, right? do you think barry ever tries to kidnap davenport).

i think after that initial period, and certainly after the BOB is created, they're both afraid of what the other is up to, afraid the other will disrupt their own plans, and try to avoid the other detecting them altogether. but, they're also both incredibly lonely and know the other is the only person in the world who understands what's at stake and the burdens they're both carrying, so even though they don't seek each other out often, they both want to, and maybe sometimes do. a conversation after lucretia gets out of wonderland is especially compelling.

i don't think they interact between here there be gerblins and reunion tour, though, mostly because i think lucretia just doesn't really leave the moonbase now that the bureau has some wins and is getting closer to its goal, and as soon as she knows barry's messing with the boys, she's too paranoid at whatever barry's plans are that are completely unknown to her and wants to avoid him in case he's come up with a way to really stop her. and barry is equally paranoid about her discovering his information gathering and keeping him from his plans to infiltrate the moon base, so he doesn't want to show back up on her radar. i don't think lucretia confronted barry when he possessed pringles, because barry still puts the instructions on his coin for the old puzzle, but if he'd been caught, i think he would've anticipated it changing, so i think she discovered it after the fact.

i don't know if i even think they've spoken since lucretia created the bureau, because that's when they start to become, like, "enemies," officially, as lucretia genuinely starts to villainize barry, however reluctantly. although, depending on how much contact they'd had before that, depending on if she's aware of him out in the world working against her or if from her pov he just sorta disappeared somewhere mysterious, maybe she's not even really thinking of barry as 'the red robe,' and more thinking of herself. because she does tell thb originally that the red robes are all dead and gone, and if she'd truly anticipated them coming into contact with barry, wouldn't she have said, there's still one out there, he's dangerous, don't talk to him, etc, like she does later? maybe the red robes story was originally just an easy way to explain away why the relics existed, and privately, to hate herself for her role in it. maybe she doesn't even realize she's villainized her old friend until that consequence makes itself clear by accident, and then there's nothing for her to do but lean into it and turn the remnants of their family against him for real.

#SORRY I KEPT FUCKING UP THE POLL real version now #the idea of those conversations fascinates me oughhh especially early on when the wounds are all fresh #the comfort and reassurance of the only family you have left. someone who knows you in a world where you're both ghosts #the agony of being opposed in a way you both know cant be reconciled. certain the other is getting closer and closer to destroying themself #taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #mine #barry #barry bluejeans #lucretia #taz lucretia

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cruesuffix · 15 days ago

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Another Crüe Interview

From: The Observer (January ‘05)

Transcribed by: Miss Lily (me)

Tagline: ‘Sex, drugs and hip replacement surgery... the continuing adventures of Motley Crue, the most notorious rock'n roll band in the world.’

Wrecking Crüe’s Return

The most obnoxious and excessive band ever are back. In Los Angeles, Caspar Llewellyn Smith asks Mötley Crüe about facelifts, Pamela Anderson and hip replacements. Photographs by Jamie-James Medina

IT IS A CHILL winter night in Los Angeles when the four members of the band billed as the most notorious on earth unfurl themselves from unfurl themselves from their hot rod hearse. The two figures that loom largest are Tommy Lee, with all the goofy energy of a maniacal drummer and former husband of Pamela Anderson that you might expect, and the vampiric Nikki Sixx, bassist and de facto leader of the group in its present incarnation. Less able to command the flashbulbs and TV carnera booms - less able to extricate himself from the vehicle - is guitarist Mick Mars, who is more the wraith, bent double and stick thin, barely mobile following his hip replacement operation less than five weeks ago.

Despite $70,000 worth of plastic surgery, courtesy of MTV which has been filming him for a reality show, singer Vince Neil looks puffy in the face, not the lip sticked blonde pretty boy who fronted the band when they were the most baroquely glamorous and barbarically decadent act ever seen. But as the group forge, and in one instance, hobble their way into the venue, is the serpentine way in which Vince's tongue flickers from his mouth that makes the fans outside the Palladium - chanting “Crüüüüüe! Crüüüüüe!” as if a moratorium on umlauts has expired - believe this is the day they feared would never come.

Vince's reptilian aspect is repulsive, frankly, but this band more than any proved that when it comes to heavy metal, a little sleaze surely never hurt. So, after the several overdoses and deaths among their circle of friends, after the soap operas of their many and varied lurid relationships, after all the all the bad-blood between them.... more than five years since they spilt, seemingly for ever. Mötley Crüe have risen.

Alas, from the media's vantage point, impossible to discern the precise object of Vince's desire. That is because the Crüe's arrival at the venue has been fraught, and the reporters gathered - from publications including the Wall Street Journal and Metal Hammer (Germany) - are already listening to five men in suits at a press conference, as silent video footage behind them describes the scene outside. It could be an accountants' convention, as Dennis from the American booking agency explains that this reunion, encompassing a global tour, has come about because Nikki was 'treated like an icon' by fans when he toured with his own band following publication of The Dirt, the Crue's bestselling autobiography (described by Rolling Stone as the most detailed account of the awesome pleasures and perils of rock'n' roll stardom ever'). Nikki was busy writing his own Heroin Diaries, an account of his old addiction, but finally capitulated to the demands of promoters, rang the other guys, and lawyers smoothed it all through.

Since the group fell apart, Neil too has had his own band, as well as his fledgling TV career (Remaking: Vince Neil started airing in the States this month) and interests in motor racing and golf. Likewise Tommy, presently in the middle of recording the “best thing I've ever done” with his outfit Methods of Mayhem, also the star of a forthcoming reality show for NBC TV (in which he gets sent to university to take classes in chemistry, literature and horticulture). Then there was last year's autobiography, Tommyland, in which he said that his long standing antagonism towards Vince would prevent the Crüe ever reforming

Mick, the eldest at 48 by two years, has been mostly laid low by his ankylosing spondylitis or the 'grey ghost’ as he calls it - a genetic bone disease that is slowly fusing the joints in his body and which necessitated hip surgery.

Vince, Tommy and Nikki talk with relish about their extracurricular activities, and Tommy has already disparaged four new songs that the band have recorded (“they're wack!”). As for Mick, it seems an act of demonic sadism to force him to throw himself into the demands of a crushing rock tour. But next, at the press conference, Rick from VH1 notes that “our audience has a great interest in metal overall right now,” while Jim from Clear Channel Entertainment, the dominant media force in US rock, admits to having “recently refamiliarised myself with their hits' like 'Girls, Girls. Girls'.” He announces that one of the 'polished new numbers, 'If I Die Tomorrow,’ “will definitely be a hit in 2005.” Rick and Jim are as heavy metal as the Olsen twins and their dour rapaciousness feels depressingly at odds with the vaunted spirit of this particular group

It is to a more romantic view that Tommy subscribed earlier, during the band's only formal interviews on this occasion. They have gathered at a studio rehearsal space in outlying Burbank and plan to board a helicopter painted in their livery to fly to this evening's show. While Nikki is having his hair teased ("Make it bigger!”), the wolfishly grinning drummer responds to the suggestion that the Crüe have always been the quintessential LA band because all the madness of the civilised world washes up here - you go west and then you can't go any further - “So true,” he laughs, “so true!”

Tommy is wearing a baseball cap, a singlet and combat shorts, revealing several tattoos. He talks fondly of Pamela Anderson. but says he advised her not to come to the gig tonight because of the anticipated press 'clusterfuck'; confesses to drinking 'a bit' still; and enthuses about groups such as Snow Patrol and Sigur Rôs (who left him on the floor 'curled up like an infant’ when he heard them for the first time).

“I know, it's kind of crazy." he says of the reunion, “but I just go with whatever seems to be fun at the moment. Wherever my heart is. First I was like. "Ah no, fuck I'm busy." But then there was this overwhelming demand from the fans.” The band constantly pay tribute to their fans. “I'm not stupid, so fuck, let's go!" Of the Crüe's early days, he reminisces: “We were just rebelling against everything else that was fucking going on. Fucking wearing girls make-up… fucking crazy hair and leathers and spandex!"

THE BAND'S ORIGINS LIE GENERALLY IN the decline of Western civilisation, but specifically in a West Coast music scene that had fallen for English pop groups like Haircut 100 and local new wave bands.“Skinny ties with the short hair... we were like, "No fucking way!". The band had come together by April 1981, and Nikki, Vince and Tommy lived together in a two-bedroom cockroach invested apartment on Clark Street, 50 yards from the Whisky A Go Go club on Sunset Strip.

"We'd get drunk, do crazy amounts of cocuine, and walk the circuit in stiletto heels, stumbling all over the place," Vince said in The Dirt. “The Sunset Strip was a cesspool of depravity.” “Is it still like that?" I ask Vince, who is wearing a T-shirt with a pink slogan ('I think that stripper last night liked me') stretched over a waist that belies the fact that he still boozes, It's arguable whether his brow-lift, partial face-lift, check implants, nose job, and jaw-line sculpturing have improved his looks.

“I don't know, he says. “Nobody in the band lives there any more. I'm sure you still have the same wannabes and poseurs who act like rock stars. It's the same old scene. It’s cool.”

Tommy, who has seen Vince perhaps twice' since the band split, begs to differ: “Everything's way different.” He says the local LA scene is on its ass and that “a lot of weird things have happened between from the time we started ‘til now. People wear condoms!"

If Tommy as a kid was a shy outsider, being in Mötley Crüe changed him, as it changed them all. Certainly, girls came flocking, and in the early days there were endless hilarious escapades - like the time that Nikki tried it on with Tommy's mum (“If you can get in there,” said Tommy's father, “you can have it”). And while the drinking and the drugging and the fighting curdled into something darker - the routine humiliation of groupies in ways that make the fable of Led Zeppelin and the mud shark seem quaint, for instance - the band grew closer to each other.

“It was about being in a gang.” says Vince. "People said we wouldn't make it, that we sucked. We were like, "Fuck you!" We just went ahead and stuck to our convictions." The band self financed their first recordings (known as the Leathür tapes) and carried out their own promotional duties, “driving around putting up fucking flyers on telephone poles ourselves,” as Tommy recalls. “There was something really special about that,” he continues. “We fucking made it happen, you know what I mean?"

Finally signed to Elektra Records (despite the label's boss complaining. "I'm not in the circus business”), the Crüe swiftly became the hottest heavy rock act in the States. Records such as Shout at the Devil led to trailblazing tours across North America and Europe. Only Ozzy Osbourne could out-gross them - in a literal sense - as the carnage reached its zenith. (See box page 17.)

Is rock'n'roll a more conservative business these days, I ask Tommy? “Oh my god, it's completely different, it's fucking retarded. Knowing more about it makes me appreciate how the West was won in the old days, how we did it.”

All this time, Nikki in the background is explaining why the group won't take their shirts off for a photograph - nothing to do with their collection of sagging tats, it's because “we're not a fucking boy band!"

Meanwhile, outside on his own in the tour bus sits Mick Mars. Dressed all in black - black sunglasses and a black blanket on his lap, too - he repetitively tugs at the folds of loose skin on his hands. Tommy only met him for the first time in six years three weeks ago and say “he's anti-social - he hates everybody,” as if the prospect of meeting any of the band wasn't potentially intimidating already, But while his condition means he can't turn his head to mect my gaze, Mick seems relieved and pleased to have someone to talk to, and he discusses President Bush's opposition to the stem cell therapy that might help others with his disease with grace and humour.

While Vince is nervous about this evening's imminent performance - “If we screw up, we screw up in front of the world….. it might be the most important gig of our career” - Mick is confident that despite his AS, he can give it '11o per cent'. Forget the sex and drugs, I say, that never-say-die attitude is true rock'n'roll. “That's right."

Nikki suddenly appears and interrupts. The helicopter journey has been cancelled - something to do with the LA Fire Marshall and the negotiation of a landing fee. “That sucks!” shouts Tommy outside. According to the bass player, there's a different reason anyway. "We're the fucking Crüe - that's why!”

Tickets for the Palladium show this evening have been distributed for free to 2,000 fans, who have queued for them outside the Hustler magazine store on Sunset Strip. It is a mostly male crowd, and judging by the faded T-shirts and engorged guts, most of them have been fans since the outset. Thirty-six-year-old Sean Warner, who first saw the group in 1981, and calls the swimming pool cleaning business that he runs 'The Pool Crüe', has however brought his two young sons with him. "It's important that they see the original line-up,” he insists.

The calculation is, of course, that a younger generation will fall for the band's charm given the success of contemporary cock rockers such as the Darkness (at whose gigs the Crüe’s promoters have run teaser ads for this reunion). Also present in the queue, more improbably, is current Los Angeles resident and British pop star-in-the-making Har Mar Superstar. Indeed, it transpires that Har Mar is such a fan that he is living in the Crüe's old apartment. And given the enthusiastic response to this comeback from whippersnappers such as Slipknot, perhaps the Crüe have tapped into the rock zeitgeist. It's mean-spirited to suggest that the spectacular interest in their coming together again reflects a modishly ghoulish desire to learn if they can escape their latest escapades alive.

IN THE YEARS THAT FOLLOW THE BAND'S first flush of succers, the lunacy is pandemic. Nikki starts shooting heroin and coke; the reliably priapic Tommy marries TV starlet Heather Locklear; and on the fourth night of a party to celebrate the release of the band's third album, *Dr Feelgood, a drunken Vince crashes his Ford Pantera into an oncoming vehicle, killing his passenger, leaving the young couple he hits both brain-damaged. He serves a short prison term and enters rehab. Certainly, the pages of The Dirt would make Caligula blush, let alone the band themselves. "The book showed us as assholes,” says Vince, "because for most of the time, that's what we were.”

Nikki goes on something of a drugs bender in Hong Kong - hiring a gaggle of prostitutes dressed as Nazis and nuns for his embarrassed manager - and almost dies of yet another overdose back in LA. The whole band are in and out of rehab, before Vince is fired in early 1992 after falling out with Nikki and with Tommy in particular for the umpteenth time. Tommy weds Pamela Anderson six weeks into their relationship The marriage lasts three tempestuous years and ends with Tommy spending three months in jail on charges of spousal abuse. Hen-pecked and drinking heavily, the reclusive Mick comes close to committing suicide. His extreme case of AS steadily worsens, leading to chronic depression. The others are too preoccupied to really notice. No wonder Tommy tells me: “We are all still alive, right? How crazy is that?"

——————

[Eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, Ozzy looked straight at me: "Do that, Sixx'

In 1984, Motley Crüe supported Ozzy Osbourne on tour - and finally met their match, as Nikki Sixx relates below

OZZY HARDLY spent a night on his tour bus: he was always on ours. He'd burst through the door with a baggie full of coke, singing. “I am the krelley man, doing all the krell that I can, I can,” and we'd snort up the krell all night long. until the bus stopped and we were in the next city.

In one case, that city happened to be Lakeland, Florida. We rolled out of the bus and went straight to the bar, which was separated from the swimming pool deck by a glass window. Ozzy pulled off his pants and stuck a dollar bill in his ass crack, then walked into the bar, offering the dollar to each couple inside. When an elderly lady began to cuss him out, Ozzy grabbed her bag and took off running.

He came back to the pool wearing nothing but a little day dress he had found in the bag. We were cracking up, though we weren't sure whether his antics were evidence of a wicked sense of humour or a severe case of schizophrenia.

We were hanging out, us in T-shirts and leather, Ozzy in the dress, when all ofa sudden Ozzy nudged me. “Hey, mate, I fancy a bump.”

"Dude," I told him, “we're out of blow.”

“Maybe I can send the bus driver out for some.”

"Give me the straw,” he said, unfazed.

“But, dude, there's no blow.”

“Give me the straw. I'm having a bump.”

I handed him the straw, and he walked over to a crack in the sidewalk and bent over it. I saw a long column of ants. marching to a little sand dugout built where the pavement met the dirt. And as I thought, "No, he wouldn't," he did. He sent the entire line of ants tickling up his nose with a single, monstrous snort.

Then he hiked up the sundress, grabbed his dick, and pissed on the pavement.

Without even looking at his growing audience - everyone on the tour was watching him while the old women and fimilies on the pool deck were pretending not to - he kneit down and, getting the dress soggy in the puddle, lapped it up. He didn't just flick it with his tongue, he took a half-dozen long, lingering. and thorough strokes like a cat. Then he stood up and. eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, looked straight at me. “Do that. Sixx" I swallowed and sweated. But this was peer pressure that I could not refuse.

After all he had done so much for Motley Crie. And. Ifwe wanted to maintain out reputation as rock's most cretinous band, I couldn't back down, not with everyone watching. I unzipped my pants and whipped out my dick in full view of every. body in the bar and around the pool. ‘I don't give a fuck,’ I thought to steady myself as I made my puddle. ‘I’ll lick up my piss. Who cares?’

But, as I bent down to finish what I had begun, Ozzy swooped in and beat me to it. There he was, on all fours at my feet. licking up my pee. I threw up my hands: "You win.” From The Dirt by Motley Crüe and Neil Strauss (HarperCollins).]

——————

When Vince is kicked out of the band there is an ill-fated diversion into more experimental musical territory with new vocalist John Corabi. Truth be told, the band's pop metal was never wholly original - Mick argues that the Leathür tapes (collected on the tastelessly titled Music to Crash Your Car To box set) show them at their best, rather than the mooted classics on a forthcoming Greatest Hits. But the new album with Corabi flops and on the accompanying tour the band finally, albeit metaphorically, stiffs.

It is during this period that Nikki takes umbrage in an MTV interview when asked about the plentiful women, fire, and hairspray in their videos. “That's a silly question. Women, hairspray and fire?!”

In late 1996, Vince (whose four-year-old daughter, Skylar, has meanwhile died of cancer) returns to the fold. According to the singer: “I wouldn't have gotten defensive like Nikki. I wouid have said, “You know what, we are about fucking fire, we are about chicks, and we are about hairspray. And that's a whole lot better than being about boredom.”

The band disintegrates again in 1999 - Tommy leaves, the others limping on with a drummer called Randy Castillo for two more years (Castillo then leaves, and dies of cancer shortly thereafter).

No wonder that now, within the next six months, filming is due to start on a screen version of The Dirt. “I want Brad Pitt to play me,” says Tommy. So does Nikki. Vince reckons Val Kilmer could get him down pat. And you, Mick? "Jennifer Aniston,” he says deadpan. “I want her to play me."

AT THE PALLADIUM, AN AIR-RAID SIREN announces that the original line-up of Motley Crüe is about to take the stage for their first live show for more than five years. Vince and Nikki stride on, Tommy hops up to his drum riser and Mick hobbles right. Down in the crowd, Sean Warner rocks out as 'Dr Feelgood’ lurches into life, with bemused ten-year old McKay and eight-year-old Markus squashed beside him.

“This is a monster that's been sleeping,” shouts Vince as the song ends. "It's reared its head again!" Then it's ‘Shout at the Devil,’ 'If I Die Tomorrow' and 'Girls, Girls, Girls'.

Nikki is struggling because he can't hear the click track that the band now use to keep In time, and Vince is prancing around the stage doing more of the tongue thing. The show staggers the thin line between organised chaos and total collapse, much as Mick finally managers to stagger 15 feet across the stage to join in.

"Can I get a "fuck yeah"?” Tommy asks the crowd.

"Fuck yeah!"

“Can I get a motherfucking “fuck yeah"?"

"Motherfucking fuck yeah!"

“That - that is why we fucking love you!"

Show over, Tommy, Vince and Nikki dole out soundbites for TV camera crews, An exhausted Mick (who can't drink after his operation) has gone home. Nikki (who can't drink because "if I drink I die, simple as that”) follows him shortly afterwards. Vince and Tommy head on to a party at the Whisky A Go Go. Vince then slinks off into the night, while Tommy mans the decks and, shirt akimbo, plays a set of techno.

In the morning, it's back to business as the band minus a recuperating Mick sit through a succession of brief interviews with local radio stations across America. They give stock answers to a succession of the same questions: it's for the fans; they’re all getting on just like brothers; lock up your daughters when we hit Wisconsin!

The truth is that the four members of the band will travel on tour in separate buses. But the bonhomie doesn’t seem forced. “It's been like getting back on a bike,” says Tommy off air on getting back together.

“Without a saddle,” says Vince.

"Yeah..” says Tommy. “Woah! My mind was already going to sniffing the saddle.. but then I realised what you were saying.”

I tell Nikki that, if possible, we would like to shoot pictures of the band back at their old apartment, where Har Mar Superstar is now living. “Superstar?” says Nikki. “There is a superstar living in our place?” Even Tommy, more au fait with contemporary music, is utterly baffled.

Of all the band, Nikki is the most sensitive to the accusation that they are only back together to pick up a final pay cheque. “What does money have to do with anything?” he asks when we talk separately.

"When you see Lennox Lewis get S14 million for a fight, do you say he's doing it for the the money? Of course not, 'cause he's got the fucking eye of the tiger. He wants to kill his opponent. That's me. I'd do this shit for free.” Is it all for love or money?

Two days later, all four members of the band make it to Hat Mar Superstar's apartment on Clark St to have their picture taken. The place is tiny and kept in appropriately squalid fashion. Tommy has brought a bottle of cheap white wine with him, which he and Vince chug together out of Har Mar's mugs. They reminisce fondly about how they used to use the balcony as a trash can and came close to being evicted - and how they used to kill the cockroaches with their hairspray and lighters. “This is so sick, dude!” Tommy says by way of general approval.

A month after we meet, on 9 January, Vince gets married for the fourth time, to his gitifriend Lia Gerardini. Officiating at the ceremony in Las Vegas is newly ordained minister and former hip hop star MC Hammer, Vince's personal manager stands in as best man after his first choice is hospitalised. The original best man had been found with serious injuries in a drainage ditch following a party at the Neil household two days earlier. This is but the latest surreal chapter in Vince's life - and in that of the Crüe too, because also present at the wedding are a reconciled Tommy and Nikki.

"Do you think the drink, drugs and women overshadowed the music for a while?” I had asked Mick. “Not for me it didn't. It may have for the other guys but my shadow was AS.”

Nikki had insisted that: “The real thing that brought us together was music. The pussy and the drugs was the icing on the cake. The music was the cake.”

Vince had had the final word: "It's always gonna be with you, the band, isn’t it? It's like a life sentence." And then mixing his metaphor: “The whole band is like an old tattoo.”

All being well, Mötley Crie will enchark on a UK tour in June.

OMM

(this one took way too long and I almost lost my transcription twice… yet i still love to transcribe these things!) (*editors note: the third album was Theatre of Pain, not Dr. Feelgood. think if you publish an article in a magazine, you should do some basic fact checking before hand. for that alone, if you see any more mistakes here, i am terribly sorry, i really tried with this one.)

#mötley crüe #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #red white and crue #interview #love the cover photo #very beatlesesque #terror twins being enthusiastic #vince saying more than two words #and mick is nowhere to be seen

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