#that’s really surreal and mundane at the same time

[silverequation]

Jet asks if you wanna play tag because he saw A Midsummer Night’s Dream

[sims2istheonlysims]

Sims movie should actually be made by those people who made Greener Grass (2019) because the surreal/absurdist, slightly offputting/unsettling but also just comical and almost mundane horror of its uncanny reality a little to the left saturated Wes Anderson-esque isolated suburban world I think would perfectly capture just the right vibes, and you'd just have to watch it to understand what I mean, but like, sincerely, vibes, vibes, vibes.

[leguin]

i suspect that there's more to the faked death situation than anyone remembers/is willing to share at this point - he might've been abusive or an alcoholic etc. but my great-aunt (the only one still alive who remembers this) said she was really amazed at how normal it seemed at the time that a man would permanently disappear to try and keep his family from being ashamed of/shamed by his financial failure, and how bizarre and pointless it seemed to her now that she was in her 80s. lot of shifting cultural and economic expectations...but also idk. at some point people just still being in your life probably starts to seem more valuable than anything else.

[xhoess]

Unscripted connections

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist word count: 8k

Summary: a 26-year-old assistant director who unexpectedly falls for her 55-year-old coworker, Hugh Jackman, while working together on a film.

Warnings: unprotected PiV, age gap, rough, angryy at Hugh (reader) , NFSW, fluff, smut

The morning sun streamed through the sprawling studio windows, casting an ethereal glow across the film set. Everything was bustling with energy—grips hustled about with equipment, makeup artists whispered among themselves, and the smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the nearby break room. You barely had a moment to catch your breath as an assistant director before you were called to the front of the set. Today was your first day, and the stakes felt incredibly high.

As you adjusted your clipboard and steeled yourself for the whirlwind of action and expectation, you felt a flutter of nervous energy in your chest. You had landed a position on a new project starring Hugh Jackman—the Hugh Jackman. Thinking about his name alone stirred something deep inside you, a strange mix of admiration and apprehension. Would he live up to everything you had imagined?

The crew parted like a wave, and you finally caught your first glimpse of the man himself. He stood near the director, exuding an effortless charisma that seemed to extend to everyone around him. Hugh was dressed comfortably in a fitted gray T-shirt and dark jeans, but there was nothing ordinary about him. It was as if he stood in a spotlight no one else could see.

As you walked closer, your breath caught in your throat. You watched him chat amicably with the cinematographer, his laughter warm and contagious. It felt surreal to be in the same space as someone who had captured the hearts of millions. Yet despite the distance in your professional status, there was an inexplicable pull that made your heart race.

“Hugh!” the director called, and the actor turned, a friendly smile brightening his face. At that moment, it felt like time slowed down. You were unprepared for his gaze to flicker in your direction, piercing and yet inviting. When he met your eyes, the world around you faded into a hush, making way for an electric connection that made your cheeks flush.

“Ah, you must be the new assistant director! I’m Hugh,” he said, extending a hand toward you. His voice was deep and melodious, sending thrilling shivers down your spine.

“Oh, hi! I’m y/n,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. As you shook his hand, his grip was warm and firm, sending a jolt of energy through you. You fought the impulse to linger—after all, you were here to work, not to swoon.

“Excited to have you on board. We aim to make something special with this film, and I can already tell you’ll be a vital part of that,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with sincerity. You felt a flutter again, but you mentally reprimanded yourself. You were nearly two decades his junior; thoughts of a romance were simply absurd.

“Thank you, I really appreciate that,” you managed to say, forcing yourself to focus. You knew he was just being kind and welcoming; it was part of his charm. As the morning unfolded, you couldn’t help but admire him from a distance while still maintaining your professionalism. Hugh was incredibly talented but also down-to-earth, taking the time to share stories, crack jokes, and encourage those around him.

Hours ticked by as you coordinated with the team and ensured everything ran smoothly. But your thoughts often drifted back to Hugh, witnessing the way he lit up the atmosphere, turning mundane moments into something lively and unforgettable. He would tease the crew playfully, sharing little anecdotes from his career, and each smile elicited an involuntary warmth that settled pleasantly in your chest.

As lunch approached, you found yourself in line at the food truck that had pulled in for the crew. You absently listened to the chatter around you, stealing a glance now and then at Hugh, who was seated at a nearby table chatting animatedly with a few crew members. You couldn’t help but observe the effortless charm he possessed.

Then, to your shock, he caught your gaze again. His expression softened, and he motioned for you to join him. Your heart raced wildly. Was he actually inviting you over? Wasn't it too soon for such familiarity? For a moment, you debated whether this was all a figment of your imagination.

“Hey, y/n! Come join us!” he called, flashing that dazzling smile of his. You hesitated, your nerves battling with an exhilarating thrill, before gathering enough courage to approach.

“Of course, if that’s not too weird,” you said, attempting to keep your tone light.

“Not weird at all! We were just talking about how crucial the next scene is going to be. Would love to hear your thoughts,” he replied, and the crew members nodded in agreement.

As you settled into the conversation, you felt the chemistry between you and Hugh grow stronger. His genuine interest in your ideas made you feel surprisingly comfortable. You talked about your experiences, and to your astonishment, he listened intently, occasionally adding in playful banter that made you laugh—deep, unguarded laughter that made the anxiety of your first day fade away.

But beneath the warmth of the interaction, you couldn’t shake the truth of your situation. The age gap loomed like a shadow, a reminder that this was a professional endeavor. You had come here to prove yourself, not to entertain fantastical notions of romance. Still, there was no denying the magnetic pull you felt each time he came closer—a brush of shoulders or a fleeting glance that sent electric ripples through your resolve.

As lunch drew to a close and the conversations began to dwindle, you made your way back to your responsibilities, acutely aware of Hugh’s gaze lingering on you. You were determined to keep boundaries, to channel your feelings into your work, but you also couldn’t help wishing that just once, the universe might surprise you.

The film set buzzed with energy after lunch, a chaos of lights, camera equipment, and the chatter of crew members darting about like busy bees. It was your first major production, and as a production assistant, every moment felt electric—an intoxicating blend of pressure and excitement. Each day, you learned something new, gliding through a whirlwind of tasks, from fetching props to helping set up scenes. But nothing matched the thrill of working alongside Hugh, the film's esteemed director.

Hugh was everything you had imagined he would be—a captivating blend of charm and intensity. With his silver-streaked hair and brown eyes, he commanded a room in a way that made your heart race. But it was more than his looks; it was the passion with which he approached his craft, treating each scene as if it were a delicate work of art. As the weeks rolled on, you found yourselves working closely together, often staying long after everyone else had gone home to perfect each detail of the script.

It had been a long day, with filming pushing well into the night. The set lay semi-dark, dimly lit by the glow of a few overhead lights and an errant lamp in the corner. The atmosphere was quiet except for the soft sounds of pages turning and the occasional clunk of a chair. The crew had wrapped up, leaving just you and Hugh in the hushed sanctuary of the set, an empty universe of creativity waiting to echo your voices.

You glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight. With a yawn, you stretched your arms overhead, the weariness settling in your bones. "How many more takes do you think this scene will need?" you asked, trying to shake the fatigue from your thoughts.

Hugh leaned back in his chair, a pensive expression crossing his face. “As many as it takes to find the truth of the moment,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile. “Might take a while, though.”

Despite your tiredness, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his dedication. “As long as you don’t break into a dramatic monologue about the artistry of film again, I think I can endure.”

His laughter echoed softly against the soundstage walls, a warm, rich sound that made your insides flutter. “Do you have a problem with dramatic monologues?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Dramatic, no. Long, yes,” you replied playfully, but in that moment, you both knew that there was more to it than just playful banter.

As the last creased page of the script turned in his hands, he paused, a flicker of contemplation crossing his features. “What about you, y/n? You’ll surely have your own dramatic story to tell one day.”

“Me?” you said, suddenly feeling as if you were the subject of a scene rather than a participant. “I’m just here to help out, learn the ropes. No dramatic monologues in my future.”

He leaned in, his expression earnest. “Everyone has a story, y/n. Even if you don’t see it yet, yours is unfolding right now.”

You swallowed hard, aware of the weight of his words. Was he implying that there was a depth to your interactions, a thread connecting you that surpassed the confines of a simple work relationship? The age difference loomed in your mind, a shadow that hovered just out of reach. He was over 2 decades older than you, seasoned and experienced, while you were still finding your footing.

“What’s it like?” you asked unexpectedly, your curiosity cutting through your hesitation. “To be so… experienced. To have lived so much. Do you ever wish you could start again?”

He seemed taken aback by your question, his gaze drifting over to the surrounding set, shadows playing tricks in the low light. “Sometimes. But not because I regret my choices. Rather, because I sometimes wonder what I might have missed. There’s a beauty in innocence, in exploring new challenges without the weight of expectations.”

You nodded, feeling an inexplicable connection yet not knowing how to breach the distance created by circumstance and years. Yet, as the night wore on, you felt a current passing between you, a spark igniting in the shared vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you think our paths would have crossed differently if we were the same age?” you mused, testing the waters of his perception.

Hugh studied you, a subtle smile playing on his lips. “Possibly. But time doesn’t rewrite the past, y/n. What’s important is what we choose to do with the present.”

The air hung thick between you, humming with unspoken thoughts and feelings. You caught yourself stealing glances at him, captivated by the warmth of his presence. There was a comfort in his vulnerability, a safety you didn’t expect to find in someone who had long stepped into the limelight.

Just then, something clicked in your heart. Maybe this was more than just a crush; perhaps it was as he said, stories unfolding in unexpected ways. But even as warmth blossomed within you, a small voice of reason nagged at the edge of your mind, reminding you to stay focused, to keep your ambitions clear of distractions.

“Enough about me,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “What about the next scene? We should get back to it before the inspiration fizzles away.”

He chuckled, the earlier tension easing a bit. “You’re right. We should get to work.”

And so, you both returned to the script, but now a different current pulsed between your shared moments. Each line you rehearsed now felt laced with an understanding that was beyond the surface.

As the hours slipped by, the bond you shared deepened, masked under the guise of professional friendship. Yet, it lingered in the way his fingers brushed against yours when he handed you the script, the flush on your cheeks when his gaze met yours for just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

As you wrapped up for the night, you caught his eye, and for just a moment, everything else faded—the studio, the crew, the obligations of work. In that shared silence, there was an acknowledgment of something not yet spoken—a connection waiting to be embraced but tempered by the fear of crossing uncharted boundaries.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Hugh,” you said, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Looking forward to it, y/n,” he replied softly, and with that, you parted ways into the stillness of the night.

**a few weeks later**

The bustling sound of the film set was an orchestra of excitement and anxiety. Lights flickered overhead, casting a warm glow over the crew as they moved like clockwork, each with a distinct role in bringing the project to life. You stood at the edge of the set, clipboard in hand, every detail carefully noted, and yet your mind was elsewhere—absorbed by the presence of Hugh.

He had the effortless charm of a seasoned performer, one who knew precisely how to command a room. But today, there was an added layer of tension between you, an unshakable current that neither of you dared to address openly.

As the director called “Action!” you watched Hugh transform into his character, a tragic hero torn by past mistakes. His performance was raw and authentic, and yet, in your peripheral vision, you noticed him glancing at you periodically, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There was an energy there—an electric charge that made it impossible to concentrate on your duties.

After a particularly intense scene, Hugh broke character, brushing back his tousled hair, his forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He turned towards you, his expression unreadable but intense, as if he was waiting for something, and you felt the weight of his gaze. You shifted your attention back to the script, absently making notes about timing and camera angles, while the ache in your chest grew heavier.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice threaded with both curiosity and challenge, breaking through the noise of the crew packing up. You looked up, caught between the professional facade you maintained and the emotions that surged whenever he was near.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, feigning nonchalance but feeling the tension coil within you, a tight spring ready to snap.

“You’re holding back,” he said, his blue eyes piercing through any defenses you, consciously or unconsciously, had erected. “With the vision for the scenes. I can see it. There’s more you want to explore—less of the safe stuff and more of…well, what scares you.”

His demand hung in the air between you like a challenging dare. The intimacy of his observation stirred something deep inside, forcing you to confront feelings you’d carefully guarded. “And how would you know what scares me?” you shot back, apprehensive, but interested.

Hugh stepped closer, the distance closing rapidly, and dropped his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Because I see it in your eyes when you're in a moment of inspiration. And I know what it feels like to refrain from stepping fully into the abyss. Trust me, Y/N, you're not the only one afraid of what’s on the other side.”

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his vulnerability shining through just as brightly as his confidence. “We’re a team here. We both want this project to succeed. But if we dance around the hard truths, we risk losing not just this film, but maybe… something more.”

His admission hung heavily in the air, a precarious bridge spanning the uncharted waters of your feelings. You had been acutely aware of the sparks between you, but the thought of acting on them scared you. There was an age gap—a divide that felt insurmountable, complicated by the realities of fame and perception. You opened your mouth to speak, hesitating as you sought the right words to express your inner turmoil.

“I—I am scared, Hugh.I’m scared of what it would mean if we crossed this line,” you finally managed to say. “You’re not just an actor to me; you’re…You’re Hugh jackman. There’s so much more on the line.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. “Whatever happens, we can face it together,” he promised earnestly, hands connecting with yours, a reassurance sparking at the junction where your palms met. “What we feel—it’s undeniable. Let’s not pretend it doesn’t exist. Let’s explore this together.”

A myriad of emotions tangled within you: fear, hope, yearning. You had spent so long pushing away thoughts of him, labeling them as distractions, but they were more than that. They were a profound connection—a bond deepening with every shared glance, every hidden smile.

The crew was gathering their things. People began to shuffle around you, but together, you and Hugh remained anchored in your own unspoken world. Finally, you inhaled sharply, a resolution forming. “Okay. Let’s take that plunge. But you have to promise to be honest with me, and yourself—whatever this is, we have to confront it head-on.”

“Deal,” he agreed, determination painted on his features. “Just give me your all, Y/N. Push the boundaries of what you create. I want to see the real you—the one who isn’t afraid.”

As the sunlight began to dip beyond the horizon, your heart raced with the promise of inevitable change. You could feel it now: a dawning awareness of what could be. You had both stepped onto a path that was irreversible, like characters in a story that was swiftly unraveling around you, plot twists waiting to take shape.

You shared a glance, the weight of unspoken words passing silently between you, solidifying a new understanding. With the tension hanging thick in the air, it felt as if the universe had conspired to bring you to this moment.

The neon lights flickered dimly in the corner, reflecting the excitement of a film wrap party, the film was almost done, there were only a few scenes left to to.

It quickly transformed into a sea of emotion and uncertainty. Laughter echoed against the laughter but what lingered beneath the surface was something more charged and electric. You could feel it in the air, a breathless anticipation that swirled around you like the flicking trails of the sparklers that lit up the evening sky.

As the director raised his glass, you stole a glance at Hugh. He stood there, impeccably handsome in his tailored suit, leaning back against a marble pillar with a charming smile that made your heart race. The playful glimmer in his eyes lit up the starkness of his chiseled features, and for months now, he had been your anchor in a tumultuous sea of film production. The chemistry between you two had been palpable; unspoken promises lingered like a fine mist, blurred around the edges, but tonight was different. The air felt charged, heavy with the unvoiced tension that had been building.

With each drink, the barriers separating you from Hugh began to erode. Your senses dulled just enough to embolden you. “C’mon, let's celebrate!” one of your co-workers had cheered, passing you another glass of champagne. It fizzed and popped against the crystal, much like the competing thoughts that popped up in your mind.

Hugh caught your eye and smiled, that sincere, slightly crooked grin that always made you feel giddy. Far away from the prying eyes of producers and cast members, the room felt intimate despite its size. You could only hope no one noticed the way the two of you gravitated towards each other like lost ships drawn into the same harbor.

When the mingling subdues to wavering small talk, you find yourself making your way toward him, a determination fueling your steps. “What are we waiting for?” you dared to challenge the uncertainty.

He tilted his head, those warm brown eyes glimmering with intrigue. “A better offer?” he countered playfully, eyebrows raised.

You laughed, feeling the heat of the moment wrap around you like the warm evening air. “Or maybe just… courage?”

In the following moments, laughter became murmurs as people began to drift away, winding down their joy. With the crew’s excitement ebbing like the tide, you made a decision.

“Hugh, do you want to get out of here? Just for a bit?” Your voice trembled slightly, but you masked it with a steady smile.

His eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, I know just the place.”

You found yourself following him into the night. The moon hung high above you, casting a silver glow on the streets as you walked side by side, your fingers brushing against one another, eliciting a jolt of electricity that sent your heart racing.

Minutes later, you were at his house—a cozy, modern space lined with art that told stories of a life lived passionately. As he turned on the lights, his gaze caught yours, and something shifted. The weight of the moment enveloped you, filled with possibilities that had once felt too dangerous to fathom.

“Want to see something?” He asked with a conspiratorial grin as he led you toward his living room, where an impressive collection of movie memorabilia and personal artifacts lived. As he gestured towards a prop from one of his earlier films—a whimsical piece you recognized immediately—you felt the easy banter fade, replaced with an unsteady silence that thrummed with unsaid words.

You gazed around the room—so many things lived here, memories caught between the layers of paint and warmth. The air grew waning with every heartbeat, and you realized this was it; the line had finally blurred.

“Do you remember the scene in the film where the characters finally confess their feelings?” you said, your voice quieter than expected.

His gaze locked onto you, and he stepped closer, invading your personal space in a way that sent your heart into a frenzy. “Yeah, I remember it well.”

You swallowed hard as a flood of emotions surfaced, memories of stolen glances and lingering smiles mingling with hope and anxiety. “It feels like we keep dancing around the truth all this time.”

He took a shaky breath, inching ever closer. “Maybe it’s time we stopped dancing.”

The words hung in the air, vibrating with the weight of meaning. Before you could fully process the invitation behind them, he closed the distance. Your heart leapt as his lips met yours, tentative at first, but then deepened into a fervent exploration, igniting every nerve ending in your body.

Time ceased to exist in that kiss—everything else faded away. The party, the noise, the cufflinks, and long discussions about film—it all vanished as he held you close. You melted into him, sensing that this moment held not just promise, but a thousand unfulfilled desires waiting to burst forth.

The kiss broke just as suddenly as it had begun, both of you pulling away, breathless. Hugh’s brow was furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and exhilaration. You felt warmth creep over your cheeks, the thrill of stepping over the thin line you had both walked for so long.

“What… what just happened?” he asked, astonished, yet the surprise in his eyes was underlined with an unmistakable desire.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your heart racing. “But I think we just crossed a line.”

He took a step back, a bewildered smile twisting at the edges of his mouth. “Nothing between us is ever going to be the same again, is it?”

You shook your head. He sighed "well than we need to make the best of it"

"I've wanted you for so long," Hugh whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I know," you reply, your voice husky with desire. "I've wanted you too."

Hugh's fingers find their way to your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your dress. You moan with pleasure, your body arching towards him as he continues to explore your body.

"You're so fucking sexy," Hugh growls, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.You gasp with pleasure, your body trembling with desire. You can feel the wetness growing between your legs, your body begging for more.

Hugh's hand travels down your body, his fingers tracing a path towards your wetness. You moan as he slides a finger inside you, your body clenching around him as he begins to explore your most intimate places.

"You're so fucking wet," Hugh murmurs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a maddening slowness.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your body begging for more.

Hugh doesn't need to be asked twice. He pulls your dress up around your waist, his cock springing free as he positions himself at your entrance."Are you sure?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hugh thrusts inside you, filling you completely. You moan with pleasure, your body adjusting to his size as he begins to move inside you.

The sex is rough and raw, Hugh's body slamming into yours as he fucks you with a wild abandon. You can feel every inch of him inside you, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time.

"Yes, yes, yes," you scream, your body trembling with pleasure.

Hugh's thrusts become more urgent, his cock swelling inside you as he reaches his climax. You can feel him cumming inside you, his hot seed filling you up as he collapses on top of you.

As you lay there, on he's couch breathless and spent, you know that nothing will ever be the same between you two again. Falling asleep soon after.

The sun streamed through the sheer curtains and cast a gentle glow across your bedroom. Hugh is already gone. He must have carried you to bed when you fell asleep last night. You lay in bed, tangled in sheets and emotions as the events of the previous night replayed in your mind like a broken record. The soft chirping of birds outside felt mocking, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

Last night's party had started off like any other, filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and the vibrant hum of creative energy. But then... Hugh. His laughter ringing in your ears. The warmth of his touch. The way he looked at you, and how everything in that moment faded away until it was just the two of you, worlds colliding in a whirlwind of passion.

You pulled your blanket around you tighter, as if it could shield you from a reality you wished you could forget. What had you done? You felt exhilaration turning sour as doubt crept in like an unwelcome guest. You had been careful to maintain professional boundaries, navigating the murky waters of your career as an assistant director and trying not to be another name associated with Hugh's countless flings. But last night, those lines blurred; you had crossed them willingly, and now it felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to land.

What if this jeopardized your career? Your thoughts spiraled into a worry-induced frenzy. Hugh was charming and talented but notoriously fickle. Besides, the industry could be brutal. Would he even want to be involved with you again after this morning? Did he even care? As you wrestled with your insecurities, your phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand like a swarm of angry bees, reminding you that you had to face the consequences of last night's fleeting moment of weakness.

Getting out of bed felt like running an obstacle course of dread. You dressed meticulously, hiding the tremor in your hands while trying to appear composed. A small part of you hoped that things could return to normal, that a bit of awkwardness in the morning sun could give way to something beautiful on set. But with every passing minute, that hope diminished.

Upon arriving at the set, the scene was already busy with bustling crew members and the enticing aroma of fresh coffee. You made your way to the auxiliary area set up for the production, trying to blend in with the steady stream of people. But as soon as your eyes found Hugh, standing in his director's chair with an intense expression on his face, your stomach dropped.

He was focused on something, oblivious to the world around him. But as your heart quickened at the sight of him, you also noticed how his gaze avoided yours, like he was deliberately steering clear of a riptide he could feel but not see. You forced yourself to breathe, to push past the heat rising in your cheeks, to approach him and acting as if everything was normal. Yet, the closer you got, the more you felt the weight of an invisible wall between you.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to break the silence, but he turned his gaze elsewhere, focused on the staging crew and the angles they were suggesting. The polite smile he gave you felt strained, and it shattered the little spirit you had managed to muster.

A knot twisted in your stomach as you retreated, retreating to the corner of the set where you huddled with the rest of the crew, avoiding Hugh’s distant presence like it was a storm cloud waiting to unleash its fury. Minutes passed like hours, and every time you caught a glimpse of him, your heart sank deeper.

Hours later, when the director called for a break, you felt tense and apprehensive. It was then that the lead director approached you, a stern look on his face that made your heart race with dread.

“Y/N, can we talk?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge that turned your stomach.

You followed him away from the chatter of the cast and crew, your heart pounding and your mind racing. What was happening? He stopped under a makeshift tent away from prying eyes.

“I’m going to be direct,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve been made aware of... what happened last night at the party. It’s not the first time I've seen personal relationships spill into the workspace, but it cannot happen here. I have to let you go from your position as an assistant director.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and in that moment, your world crumbled. What had you done? “You’re firing me?” you asked, your voice a whisper, tinged with disbelief. “Because of what happened with Hugh?”

His eyebrows knitted together in a sympathetic frown. “It’s not just about that. It’s about maintaining professionalism on set. You’re talented, and I wish it didn’t come to this, but the integrity of the production must come first.”

“I can fix this! I can—”

“It’s out of my hands, Y/N,” he said, cutting you off. You felt the gravity of his words pulling you down into an endless freefall.

You nodded numbly, choking back tears threatening to spill. It felt as if the earth beneath you had given way, and you hadn’t even thought to grab for the edges. As you walked away, heart heavy and mind racing, the realization that the best part of the party — the part that you’d held onto so tightly — was now the worst thing that could have happened.

Throughout the rest of the day, your phone vibrated with multiple missed calls and texts from Hugh, but you ignored each one, feeling ashamed and hurt. The ache in your chest deepened as the hurt turned into anger. You wanted to respond, to let him know that his silence had condemned you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to deal with him, the very person who had made you feel more alone than you ever had before.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of violet and amber, you took a deep breath, allowing the tears to finally escape. You had loved the thrill of the job, the collaborative spirit, the late-night brainstorming sessions. And now, you were left with nothing but the echo of a distant sun and a heart that felt like it would never mend.

Your phone buzzes incessantly on the coffee table, each vibration echoing through the silence of your apartment like a relentless tick of a clock. You’ve seen Hugh’s name pop up on your screen several times now, each call wearing down your resolve, gnawing at your anger like a persistent thief in the night. Taking a deep breath, you finally decide to pick up.

“Hugh?” Your voice wavers, laced with a mix of frustration and a tinge of betrayal.

“Y/N! You answered! I was beginning to think you’d never pick up,” he exclaims, relief flooding his tone.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we? Just come over so we can talk,” you reply, trying to maintain your calm. After a moment, you say, “Please.” It’s a softening that belies the tempest brewing inside you.

Fifteen minutes later, Hugh’s familiar silhouette appears at your door; a mixture of regret and hope evident on his face. You step aside to let him in, the air between you crackling with tension.

“I’m glad you decided to see me,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of your couch, as though he’s worried he might sink into the weight of the conversation.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the wall. “You know why I’m mad, right?”

“Well, yes…” He looks down, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair, a sign of both his age and the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. “But I thought we’d talk about it—”

“Talk about it?” You interrupt, your voice rising. “You didn’t even try to stop the director from firing me! You just let him do it.”

“I tried. I really did, Y/N. But…” He hesitates, and you can see the weight of that unspoken truth hanging in the air, heavy and suffocating. “You know how he is. I couldn’t risk my own position. Not with the board breathing down my neck.”

Your heart hardens at his words. “So my job meant nothing?”

“That’s not true!” he insists, leaning forward, desperation carving lines into his brow. “You know my feelings for you. I didn’t want to lose you either.”

The room falls into an uncomfortable silence; the clock ticks loudly in the background, echoing your heightened pulse. You think back to how you’d met in the first place: the spark of connection in board meetings, the shared coffee breaks, the way his laughter lit up even the dimmest of corporate landscapes. But then you also remember the power dynamics, the silence of the office when the affair went from whispers to reality. There was still that chilling fact hovering over your heads: the 29-year age gap.

“It feels like I was just some toy to you, Hugh, something you could play with until the director got jealous,” you say, your words sharper than intended.

His expression softens, and suddenly he’s standing, pacing your small living room. “That’s not how I see it. You’re not a toy to me, Y/N. You were… you are everything to me. But this—” he gestures between you, “it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you scoff, feeling the sting behind your eyes as frustration morphs into hurt. “I can’t afford complications right now. I was fired because of you, because of us. You think it’s easy for me to handle the fact that I have to start over, all because you couldn’t protect me in front of the director?”

His gaze hardens for a moment before it softens again, sorrow painting his features. “I get that you’re angry—”

“Angry? I’m furious, Hugh! I took a chance on you and us, and this is what I get?”

He takes a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as if he’s preparing for a confession. “What if I told you I didn’t just let you go to save myself? What if… what if I told you that I pushed him hard to keep you?”

You raise an eyebrow, the disbelief palpable in the air. “Why should I believe you? You were right there.”

“I know, and I regret not being more forceful,” he admits. “But there’s something more at play here. Do you really think it was just about our affair? It was politics, Y/N. You’re brilliant, and he knew that. You posed a threat.”

Your heart races at his words, a mix of confusion and bitterness swirling inside you. “So what, I’m a pawn in a game?”

“Not like that,” he says quickly. “I mean it, I never wanted you to be caught in the crossfire. I care about you, more than you can understand. But I also care about keeping our relationship safe, especially if the wrong people find out.”

Safe? You want to laugh, but it dies in your throat. “And this is how you protect me? By throwing me to the wolves?”

Hugh steps closer, his eyes pleading. “Can’t you see? If I stood up to him, I’d have lost everything—my job, my credibility… and ultimately, you. I had to think strategically.”

“Strategically,” you repeat, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “You sound like a politician.”

“You know me better than that!” he exclaims, frustration coloring his words. “I didn’t want to lose you! Can’t you understand that?”

You throw your hands up, the weight of the world above you pressing down harder. “Do you think I came into this thinking we’d end up here? That I’d lose everything working alongside you?”

“I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

“Fix what?” You step back, your breath heavy. “The age difference? The possible backlash? Do you think someone like me could ever really have a future with someone like you?”

His expression drops, the harsh truth hitting him like a wave. “It can work,” he insists, the passion behind his words undeniable.

“It won’t work!” you shout, tears beginning to blur your vision. “ You’re twenty-nine years older than me! The world is against us before we even start. I can’t go back!”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration but steps closer daring to bridge the gap between you. “You’ve got to trust me, just give me a chance to make things right. I didn’t mean to—”

“Just stop! For once, just stop!” Your voice softens, breaking as you feel the pain boiling to the surface. “I wanted this to work. I really did. But I can't live in this uncertainty anymore.”

He looks lost for a moment, his face a mixture of emotions you can’t quite decipher, but the sincerity behind his gaze makes you falter.

“Life is uncertain,” he says quietly. “But I want to build something with you—even if it’s complicated.”

You stand there, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, wondering if love can really conquer all.

In that moment, you realize it might not be just about you or the age gap. It’s about truth and bearing the weight of consequences you hadn’t wanted to face.

You meet his gaze, the flicker of hope igniting alongside your fears. “look Hugh, this is hard for you too I know that but, I shouldn't have said those things, I am just angry at the moment okay?” you whisper, needing to gather the broken pieces of your heart.

His relief washes over him like sunlight after rain, and for the first time, you see a glimmer of determination mirrored on his face.

“we can do this together okay?” he asks softly.

You nod slowly, not knowing where this path leads to but willing to take the risk.

Hugh leans down and softly lays his hand on the side of your face. He kisses you softly and the anger flows out of you, Hugh is not just a fling.

You kiss him back, your bodies pressed together as you explore each other's mouths. Hugh's hands roam over your body, and you can feel his growing arousal through his pants.

"I want you," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I want you too," you reply, your voice trembling with desire.

Hugh leads you to his bedroom, your bodies still entwined. He lays you down on the bed and starts to undress you, his fingers lingering on your skin as he reveals more and more of your body.

"You're so beautiful," he says, his voice full of admiration.

You reach up and undo the buttons on his shirt, your fingers brushing against his chest. Hugh's skin is warm and smooth, and you can feel his heart beating fast.He removes his shirt and starts to undress you completely, his eyes dark with desire. He kisses you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam over your body.

You moan as he touches your breasts, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples. Hugh's mouth follows his hands, and he starts to suck on your nipples, his tongue swirling around them.

You arch your back, your body begging for more. Hugh's hand travels down your body, and he starts to rub your clit. You moan louder as he increases the pressure, your hips bucking against his hand.

"I want you inside me," you beg, your voice trembling.

Hugh doesn't need any more encouragement. He reaches for a condom and puts it on, his eyes never leaving yours. He positions himself at your entrance, and you feel the tip of his cock probing you.

He enters you slowly, his cock filling you up completely. You moan as he starts to thrust, his hips moving in a steady rhythm."Yes, yes, yes," you chant, your hips meeting his with every thrust.

Hugh leans down and whispers dirty talks in your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine.

"You like that, don't you?" he says, his voice low and husky. "You like it when I fuck you hard."

"Yes, yes, I do," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hugh starts to thrust harder and faster, his cock pounding into you. You feel the familiar tension building up inside you, your orgasm just within reach.

"I'm close," you gasp, your fingers digging into Hugh's back.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice full of authority.

And you do, your orgasm exploding through your body. Hugh follows shortly after, his cock twitching inside you as he reaches his own climax.

You lay there, your bodies entwined, your breathing heavy. Hugh kisses you softly, his hand tracing your face.

"I think I'm falling for you," he says, his voice full of emotion.

You smile, your heart swelling with happiness.

"I think I'm falling for you too," you reply.

[amethystarachnid]

Now that you have finished the Holiday Special, I would like to request a part two of "Second Chance", please. I would love to see more of their love 🥺 living together, getting married, kids, all the cuteness possible! Thank you

SECOND CHANCE - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k ( I can't believe the either)

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The mornings in the Stark Tower penthouse always start the same: sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, soft music humming in the background (Tony insists on curating daily playlists because "waking up deserves a soundtrack"), and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

Your life has settled into a rhythm, an odd but comforting blend of luxury, chaos, and unfiltered love. It’s been over a year since you moved in, and even though the world now knows you as Tony Stark’s girlfriend—a title that comes with its fair share of public scrutiny—it still feels a little surreal when you wake up next to him.

This morning, you’re the first to wake, your cheek pressed against his chest. His arm is draped lazily around you, his breathing steady, a slight snore rumbling now and then. You stifle a laugh as you carefully extricate yourself from his hold, but before you can fully escape, his fingers tighten around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is thick with sleep, and his eyes are barely open.

“To get coffee,” you reply, smiling. “Unless you’re planning to hold me hostage all morning.”

He pulls you back against him, burying his face in your hair. “Tempting. But if you’re making coffee, I might let you go.”

You laugh, wriggling free and padding toward the kitchen. By the time the coffee is ready, Tony has shuffled out of bed, his hair a mess and his Stark Industries-branded pajama pants slightly askew. He leans against the counter, watching you with a sleepy grin as you pour two mugs.

“This is why I keep you around,” he says, taking the mug you hand him.

“Oh, really? Not for my sparkling personality or my unparalleled charm?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That too. But mostly the coffee.”

Living with Tony means life is never boring. Between his work at Stark Industries, his time with the Avengers, and his natural tendency to attract chaos, there’s always something happening.

Take last week, for example. You came home to find a half-assembled Iron Man suit sprawled across the living room, with Tony perched on the couch, wearing the gauntlet and testing out some new tech.

“Tony, why is there a missile launcher on my side of the couch?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked up, completely unbothered. “Oh, that’s not a missile launcher. It’s a miniaturized EMP. Totally harmless unless you’re an evil robot.”

You sighed, stepping over a piece of armor. “And what about this?”

“That’s a missile launcher,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. “But don’t worry, it’s deactivated. Probably.”

Despite the chaos, there’s a sweetness to your everyday life. The little moments, like when he sneaks up behind you while you’re cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing kisses to your neck. Or the nights when you curl up on the couch together, a bowl of popcorn between you, as he insists on watching “classic cinema” (which, in Tony’s mind, includes Die Hard and Back to the Future).

And then there are the spicy moments. Tony has a knack for turning the most mundane situations into opportunities for seduction.

Like the time you were trying to reorganize the pantry, and he walked in, shirtless and smirking.

“Need a hand?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

“I’m fine,” you replied, reaching for a high shelf.

But then his hands were on your waist, lifting you effortlessly so you could grab the jar you were reaching for. When he set you down, his hands didn’t move, and you found yourself pressed against the counter, his lips brushing your ear.

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything else?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Needless to say, the pantry didn’t get reorganized that day.

Of course, being Tony Stark’s girlfriend also means attending more fancy events than you ever thought possible. Charity galas, board meetings, tech expos—you’ve seen it all.

The prep for these events is almost as much fun as the events themselves. Tony insists on helping you pick out your dress, claiming he has an eye for fashion (which, annoyingly, he kind of does).

“What about this one?” you ask, holding up a sleek black gown.

He tilts his head, considering. “It’s nice. But I think something with a little more… drama.”

“Drama?”

He grins, pulling a shimmering gold dress from the rack. “Now this says ‘I’m with Tony Stark.’”

“You mean it says ‘I’m a disco ball.’”

“Exactly.”

In the end, you settle on a dress that’s somewhere between glamorous and understated—enough to make you feel confident but not so flashy that you’ll blend in with Tony’s usual flair.

When the night of the event arrives, he’s already dressed in one of his custom suits, complete with a matching pocket square. He watches you as you get ready, leaning against the doorway with a look that’s equal parts admiration and mischief.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” you tease as you apply your lipstick.

“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation. “Have you seen yourself?”

By the time you arrive at the event, the cameras are already flashing, reporters shouting questions as you step onto the red carpet. Tony slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he waves to the crowd, his confidence as effortless as ever.

“Smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “We’re the hottest couple in the room.”

Inside, the atmosphere is just as dazzling—chandeliers, champagne, and a sea of well-dressed guests. Tony works the room like the natural showman he is, introducing you to CEOs, celebrities, and politicians as if you’ve been a part of this world forever.

But even in the midst of the crowd, his attention is never far from you. He’ll brush his hand against yours as you pass each other, steal a kiss when no one’s looking, or whisper a sarcastic comment about someone’s over-the-top outfit, making you stifle a laugh.

And when the night finally winds down and you’re back home, kicking off your heels and collapsing onto the couch, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you as he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night to do it.

“You were amazing tonight,” he says, his voice low and sincere.

“So were you,” you reply, smiling against his lips.

Your life with Tony isn’t perfect—no relationship is. There are arguments, moments when his work takes over, or when the pressure of being in the spotlight feels overwhelming. But through it all, there’s an unshakable bond between you, a sense that no matter what comes your way, you’ll face it together.

Like the time you had a fight over him missing dinner—again—because he was working on a new suit. You stormed out of the lab, fuming, and didn’t speak to him for the rest of the night. But the next morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes, Tony standing in the kitchen wearing an apron that read “Genius, Billionaire, Pancake Enthusiast.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plate of slightly burnt pancakes. “I suck at balancing work and life sometimes. But I’m trying. For you.”

You couldn’t stay mad at him after that.

And then there was the time he got you your own lab space in the tower, complete with every piece of equipment you could ever want.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice soft with awe as you took it all in.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his hands in his pockets as he watched your reaction. “You deserve to have your own space. Somewhere to build, create, do whatever you want.”

You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and he just shrugged, trying to play it off. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for you.”

The sun is setting, and the sky outside the penthouse windows glows in a palette of oranges, pinks, and purples that melt into one another like watercolors. New York sprawls out below, the city alive with its usual energy—traffic buzzing, lights flickering on, and the faint hum of life that never seems to rest. But up here, in the warmth of Tony’s bedroom, the world feels far away, like it belongs to someone else.

You’re standing at the window, your arms crossed lightly over your chest, wearing nothing but one of Tony’s old Black Sabbath shirts. It’s oversized and soft from years of wear, falling just enough to graze the tops of your thighs. Your hair is slightly messy from the day’s lazy lounging, and your bare feet sink into the plush rug beneath you. The scene feels like something out of a dream, the city sparkling in the distance and the man you love moving behind you.

Tony’s voice breaks the silence, a quiet rumble that makes you smile without even turning to look. “You know, you’re ruining the view.”

You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said what I said,” he replies, lounging on the bed with a lazy smirk. His head is propped up on one hand, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose from earlier in the day. He looks like he’s stepped out of a photo shoot for Genius, Billionaire, and Dangerously Handsome Quarterly. “I mean, who’s going to look at a city when you’re standing there looking like that?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the grin that tugs at your lips as you turn back to the window. “That was smooth, Stark. Really. Ten out of ten.”

“Only ten?”

You don’t answer, just shake your head with a soft laugh, and you hear him shift behind you, the mattress creaking slightly as he gets up.

A moment later, his arms slip around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. You relax into him instinctively, your hands coming to rest over his. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, grounding you in a way that only he can.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask softly, your eyes still on the view.

“Tired of what?”

“This.” You gesture out at the city. “The attention. The pressure. Being… Tony Stark.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you feel him press a kiss to the curve of your neck before he answers. “Honestly? Sometimes. But it’s easier now. Because I have you.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and your heart swells in your chest. You turn in his arms to face him, your hands resting lightly on his chest.

“Is that your way of saying I make your life easier?” you tease, your voice soft.

“Among other things,” he replies, his lips quirking into a smirk. But there’s something in his eyes—something vulnerable, raw, and unguarded—that makes your teasing falter.

“Tony…”

He steps back, his hands slipping from your waist as he reaches into his pocket. You furrow your brow, your curiosity piqued, but before you can ask what he’s doing, he lowers himself to one knee.

Your breath catches, your hand flying to your mouth as the realization hits you.

“Wait. Are you—?”

“Shh,” he says, holding up a finger, though his grin gives away his own nervous excitement. “Let me do this, okay? I’ve been working on my speech all week.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart pounding as you watch him pull a small velvet box from his pocket. He opens it, revealing a stunning ring that catches the fading sunlight, its brilliance almost as dazzling as the man holding it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he begins, his voice warm and playful. “‘Tony Stark, on one knee? Is this an elaborate ploy to market a new Stark tech product?’ And honestly, fair question. But no, this isn’t a ploy. This is me—just me—asking you to let me be the luckiest bastard on the planet for the rest of my life.”

Tears well in your eyes as he continues, his usual cockiness tempered by a sincerity that takes your breath away.

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” he says, his voice softening. “And for some insane reason, you stayed. You saw the man under the suit, the flaws, the baggage, all of it, and you still chose me. I don’t know how or why, but you did. And I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

You laugh through your tears, shaking your head as he grins up at you.

“So,” he says, tilting his head slightly, “I figured, why waste any more time? Let’s make this official. What do you say?” He pauses, his grin widening. “And just so you know, the ring is fully customizable. You hate it, we’ll get a new one. We’ll get a dozen. Whatever you want.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you kneel down in front of him, your hands cupping his face.

“You are ridiculous,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replies, his grin softening into something more tender.

“I do,” you say, nodding as tears spill down your cheeks. “I love you, Tony Stark. And yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

His eyes light up, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into a kiss, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if he’s afraid to let go. You laugh against his lips, the sound mingling with his own as he holds you close.

When he finally pulls back, he slips the ring onto your finger with a precision that makes you laugh again.

“Look at that,” he says, holding your hand up to admire the ring. “Perfect fit. Must be fate.”

“Or really good measurements,” you tease, your smile so wide it hurts.

“Hey, don’t ruin my moment,” he says, feigning offense. But his grin gives him away, and he pulls you into another kiss, the world outside forgotten as the two of you bask in the quiet, overwhelming joy of the moment.

Later, as the city lights twinkle beyond the windows and the stars begin to dot the night sky, you find yourselves tangled together in bed, the ring still sparkling on your finger.

“Did you really practice that speech all week?” you ask, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation. “You think I just pull that kind of romance out of thin air?”

You laugh, your hand resting over his heart. “Well, it worked. So, congratulations, Mr. Stark. You’re officially stuck with me.”

He smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, the city a distant hum beyond the glass, you can’t help but think that he’s right. This—this love, this life, this man—is the best decision you’ve ever made, too.

The decision to get married in Italy happens almost instantly, and of course, it’s Tony who suggests it. One evening, just a week after the proposal, you’re both curled up on the couch, sharing a pizza and brainstorming wedding ideas. You suggest something small and simple, maybe even local, but Tony scoffs so dramatically that you almost choke on your bite.

“Small and simple? Sweetheart, this is a Stark wedding,” he says, gesturing grandly like he’s unveiling a master plan. “We can’t just have a backyard barbecue and call it a day.”

“I wasn’t suggesting a barbecue,” you argue, laughing. “Just… something intimate. Lowkey.”

Tony narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to comprehend an entirely foreign concept. “Intimate, sure. But lowkey? Where’s the drama? The pizzazz? The flair?” He stands abruptly, grabbing his tablet off the coffee table and pulling up images of sprawling Italian villas, sparkling lakes, and rolling hills. “Italy. Lake Como. Picture it: sunset ceremony, wine that’ll make you cry tears of joy, and a backdrop so gorgeous it’ll make even me look like an afterthought.”

You lean over the tablet, your fingers brushing his as you swipe through the photos. You hate to admit it, but it does look incredible.

“Lake Como, huh?” you say, tilting your head.

“Trust me,” he replies, already beaming like he’s won. “You’ll love it.”

And just like that, you’re planning a destination wedding.

The next few months are a whirlwind of activity, full of laughter, occasional bickering, and more spreadsheets than you ever thought possible. Tony hires an elite team of wedding planners, but true to form, he insists on being involved in every detail, much to their dismay.

One morning, as you’re going over the guest list, Tony lounges across the couch, sipping an espresso and scrolling through his tablet.

“Okay, so I’ve narrowed down the guest list to 150 people,” you say, looking up from your notebook.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Only 150? What about the Stark Industries board? Or the press?”

You groan, throwing a pillow at him. “Tony, this isn’t a corporate launch party. It’s our wedding. We’re not inviting the press.”

He dodges the pillow with a laugh, setting down his tablet to pull you into his lap. “Fine, fine. No press.”

Moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, teasing and laughing—make the chaos of planning worthwhile.

The dress becomes a point of contention about halfway through the process.

Tony insists on knowing every single detail of the wedding, from the floral arrangements (white roses with touches of blush pink) to the menu (a five-course Italian feast that he swears will ruin you for all other food). But when it comes to your wedding dress, you refuse to budge.

“You’re not seeing it until I walk down the aisle,” you say firmly one afternoon as you finalize plans for your first fitting.

Tony stares at you like you’ve just announced you’re canceling the wedding altogether. “Wait, what? Why not? I’m paying for it!”

“And it’s going to be a surprise,” you say sweetly, patting his cheek.

“Surprises are overrated,” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Not this one,” you reply, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Despite his protests, you stick to your guns, and Tony spends the next few months sulking every time the dress is mentioned. You catch him trying to bribe your best friend for details once (“Come on, just tell me if it’s got sparkles”), but she doesn’t crack, much to your delight.

Planning a wedding with Tony Stark also means dealing with the occasional unexpected distraction.

Like the time he accidentally blew up part of his workshop while testing a new prototype. You were on a video call with the wedding planner, discussing seating arrangements, when the explosion rattled the entire tower.

“Tony!” you shouted, rushing down to the lab.

When you got there, he was covered in soot, grinning sheepishly as Dum-E sprayed him with a fire extinguisher.

“Don’t worry,” he said, coughing. “It’s under control. Mostly.”

“You’re going to be late to the cake tasting,” you scolded, dragging him upstairs.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You love me even when I’m a disaster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, though you couldn’t hide your smile.

Before you know it, the big day arrives.

The villa on Lake Como is even more stunning than you imagined. The ceremony is set up on a sprawling terrace overlooking the water, with rows of chairs draped in white fabric and flowers adorning every surface. The air is warm and fragrant, the sound of the lake gently lapping against the shore creating a serene backdrop.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and lavender, you stand in a quiet room with your best friend, your dress perfectly fitted, your heart pounding.

“You ready?” she asks, smiling as she adjusts your veil.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.”

Meanwhile, Tony waits at the altar, looking dashing in his custom tuxedo. But for all his usual confidence, there’s a nervous energy about him as he glances toward the entrance. Rhodey nudges him, grinning.

“Relax,” Rhodey says. “She’s not going to stand you up.”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters, though he can’t help but smile.

When the music starts, and the doors open, everything else fades.

You step into view, and for a moment, Tony forgets how to breathe. You’re radiant, your dress a perfect blend of elegance and simplicity, and the look in your eyes as you meet his gaze is enough to make his knees weak.

As you walk down the aisle, your heart swells with love and anticipation. When you reach Tony, he takes your hands, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You’re stunning,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply, smiling through your tears.

The ceremony is beautiful, filled with laughter and heartfelt vows that make everyone in attendance misty-eyed. Tony’s vow, in true Stark fashion, is equal parts romantic and funny.

“I never thought I’d find someone who could put up with my nonsense,” he says, his voice warm. “But then you came along and not only put up with it, but somehow made me better. You’re my partner, my equal, and the love of my life. And I promise to spend the rest of my days loving you—flaws, genius, and all.”

Your vows are just as heartfelt, and by the time you exchange rings, there’s not a dry eye in the house.

The reception is a blur of joy and celebration. Guests dance under strings of twinkling lights, the food is every bit as incredible as Tony promised, and the speeches are both hilarious and touching.

But for you and Tony, the highlight of the night is the quiet moment you steal away from the crowd. You find yourselves on a balcony overlooking the lake, the stars reflected in the water below.

Tony wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“So,” he says softly, his voice filled with wonder. “We did it.”

“We did,” you reply, leaning back against him.

He turns you around, his hands framing your face as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world. “Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

You smile, your hands resting on his chest. “I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you then, slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. And as the stars shine above and the world falls away, you know that this—this love, this life, this man—is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.

The first days of being married feel like a dream you never want to wake up from. The wedding was magical, but the aftermath—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you—is even better. You wake up the morning after the wedding in Tony’s arms, sunlight spilling through the villa’s curtains. His hair is an endearing mess, his face softened by sleep. When he finally stirs, the first thing he does is pull you closer, murmuring a sleepy “Good morning, Mrs. Stark.” The words make your heart skip a beat every time he says them, and he takes full advantage of that, slipping the phrase into every conversation for the next several days.

“Mrs. Stark, do you want pancakes or waffles?” “Mrs. Stark, are you aware of how incredible you look in my shirt?” “Mrs. Stark, could you pass me that screwdriver? Thanks, you’re the best wife ever.”

You let him have his fun because, truthfully, you love it.

The honeymoon in Italy stretches on for a few more days, spent exploring charming lakeside towns, indulging in decadent food, and stealing kisses in picturesque corners like a couple from a movie. Tony insists on spoiling you at every turn, booking private tours and surprise candlelit dinners. He claims it’s to celebrate “locking down the deal of a lifetime,” but you know it’s because he can’t resist going all out when it comes to you.

When you finally return to New York, reality hits in the form of a media frenzy. The press had already been obsessed with your relationship before, but your wedding—Tony Stark marrying the woman who tamed him—has become the headline of the year. Paparazzi swarm the tower, headlines range from heartfelt to ridiculous (“Genius Billionaire Finally Meets His Match” and “Mrs. Stark: Who Is She, and How Did She Do It?”), and fans on social media dissect every detail of the wedding pictures that somehow made their way online.

Tony, of course, takes it all in stride, basking in the attention like it’s his natural habitat. He gives you a cheeky grin one morning as he reads an article aloud, his feet propped up on the kitchen counter. “‘Tony Stark’s wedding sets new standard for billionaire romance.’ Sounds about right, don’t you think, Mrs. Stark?”

You roll your eyes, stealing his coffee cup and taking a sip. “Are you going to call me that forever?”

“Forever,” he replies, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Get used to it.”

Despite the chaos outside, life inside the tower settles into a new rhythm. You fall into a comfortable routine with Tony, your days filled with work, laughter, and the kind of love that feels almost too good to be true. The other Avengers quickly adapt to your new title as well, with Clint jokingly saluting you as “the boss’s boss” and Natasha subtly slipping “Mrs. Stark” into conversation whenever she can just to see you smile.

The real surprise comes a few months later. You’re in the middle of a particularly lazy afternoon, curled up on the couch with a book while Tony tinkers with something in the lab, when you start to notice a pattern. You’ve been unusually tired lately, your emotions swinging wildly between laughter and tears, and then there’s the morning sickness that hit you out of nowhere. At first, you chalked it up to stress or maybe a lingering flu, but now… you have a feeling there’s something more.

The thought sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you, and the next morning, you quietly sneak out to buy a test. When the results come back positive, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the little plastic stick in disbelief.

You’re pregnant.

The realization hits you like a tidal wave. You and Tony are going to have a baby. The thought fills you with so much joy you can hardly contain it, but it’s mixed with a flutter of nerves. How do you tell the man who built a suit of armor to protect himself that he’s about to become a dad?

That evening, after mulling over a dozen ideas, you settle on something simple but quintessentially Stark. You order a tiny baby onesie online and have it customized with the words, Iron Baby No. 1 on the way, ETA nine months. When it arrives a few days later, you hide it in a gift box and wait for the perfect moment.

The moment comes one evening when Tony’s in the kitchen, making what he calls his “famous” grilled cheese. He’s in a relaxed mood, humming along to the playlist he’s put on, and you decide this is it.

“Hey,” you say casually, walking over with the box behind your back.

He glances up from the stove, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Hey, gorgeous. What’s up?”

“I got you a present,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tony raises an eyebrow, setting down the spatula. “A present? For me? What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it,” you say, handing him the box.

He grins, clearly intrigued, and tears into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. When he lifts the lid and sees the tiny onesie, his expression shifts from confusion to realization, his eyes widening as he reads the words.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the onesie like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Then he looks up at you, his eyes shimmering with tears.

“Are you serious?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, tears welling in your own eyes. “I’m serious. We’re having a baby.”

Tony sets the box down carefully on the counter before pulling you into his arms. His embrace is so tight it nearly takes your breath away, but you don’t mind. You can feel him trembling slightly as he buries his face in your neck, his emotions pouring out in a way that’s so rare for him.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he says, his voice cracking. “Holy shit. I’m going to be a dad.”

“You are,” you whisper, your hands running soothingly over his back.

When he finally pulls back, his face is wet with tears, but his smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. He cups your face in his hands, kissing you deeply before resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of awe. “I love you so much. And I love…” He places a hand gently on your stomach, his touch reverent. “I love this little one already.”

You laugh softly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “I had a feeling you’d be happy.”

“Happy? Are you kidding?” He laughs, though his voice is still thick with emotion. “This is… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To us.”

Over the next few weeks, Tony shifts into full-on protective mode. He insists on accompanying you to every doctor’s appointment, interrogates the OB-GYN like they’re a candidate for a top-secret Stark Industries position, and starts researching the best baby gear money can buy. You come home one day to find him in the nursery he’s set up, designing what he calls “baby-safe tech” to keep the little one entertained and protected.

“Tony,” you say, laughing as you lean against the doorframe. “You do realize we’re not raising a baby genius in a lab, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” he replies, not looking up from his holographic blueprint. “This kid’s going to be the smartest, safest, most spoiled little Stark in history.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with love. Seeing him like this—so invested, so excited—makes you fall for him all over again.

As the weeks turn into months, the excitement grows, both inside the tower and out. The press catches wind of the pregnancy, and the news spreads like wildfire. Headlines range from adoring to absurd, but you and Tony take it all in stride, focusing on the joy of building your family together.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, Tony rests his hand on your growing bump, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice laced with wonder, “I used to think I’d never have this. A family. Someone to love me for who I am, not what I can give them.”

You reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his stubble. “And now?”

“Now I know I was wrong,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you.

The idea for the gender reveal is Tony’s, though it surprises you because he’s usually one for grand gestures. But as he gently suggests the idea of keeping it just the two of you, something in his voice—soft, hopeful—makes your heart melt.

“You’re sure?” you ask one evening, resting your hands on your growing belly as you sit on the couch. “No big party? No fireworks shaped like an Iron Man suit?”

Tony grins, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Sweetheart, I’ve done the fireworks. I’ve done the parties. But this… this is different. This is us.” He pauses, glancing at your belly with a tenderness that still catches you off guard. “I want it to be about you and me and the peanut.”

“Peanut?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, peanut for now. Until they grow into something more Stark-like. Maybe ‘genius’ or ‘CEO.’”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays how much you love him. “Fine. Let’s do something just for us.”

A week later, you’re in the kitchen with Tony, standing before a modest but beautiful cake. The frosting is plain white, with delicate swirls along the edges. Inside, the baker promised, is either blue or pink to reveal the baby’s gender.

Tony’s practically buzzing with excitement as he hands you the knife. “You do the honors, Mrs. Stark.”

You take the knife, your hand trembling slightly, but before you can cut, he places his hand over yours.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple. “No matter what, this kid’s going to have the best parents in the world. Okay?”

Tears sting your eyes, and you nod, smiling up at him. “Okay.”

Together, you press the knife into the cake and lift the first slice, your breath catching as the color is revealed.

“It’s a girl,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

Tony stares at the pink cake, his mouth slightly open. Then his face breaks into the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen. “A girl,” he repeats, as if testing the words. He looks at you, his eyes shining. “We’re having a little Starkette.”

You laugh through your tears, setting the knife down to wrap your arms around him. He holds you tightly, his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he murmurs against your hair.

“And I hope she’s just like you,” you reply, pulling back to meet his gaze.

“God, I hope not,” he jokes, though his voice is thick with emotion. “The world can barely handle one of me.”

In the weeks that follow, Tony becomes even more attached to your growing belly. Every evening, without fail, he rests his head against it and talks to the baby.

“Hey, Starkette,” he says one night as you lie in bed, his hand gently rubbing circles on your belly. “It’s me, your dad. I just want you to know that you’re already smarter than half the people I’ve ever worked with. And that’s saying something.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Tony, she’s not even born yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. “She’s already a Stark. Genius is in her DNA.”

Sometimes, he sings to her—soft, off-key renditions of songs that make you laugh until your sides hurt. Other times, he reads aloud from baby books, though he always adds his own commentary.

“Oh, look at this,” he says one evening, flipping through a parenting book. “‘Babies cry to communicate their needs.’ Really? That’s groundbreaking information. Did we pay for this book?”

Despite his jokes, you can see how deeply he’s invested in this new chapter of your lives. The sight of him doting on you and the baby makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Choosing a name becomes an adventure in itself.

Tony suggests everything from obscure historical figures to names of constellations. At one point, he even suggests “Arc,” claiming it’s a nod to his arc reactor and “totally cool.”

“Tony,” you say, barely suppressing your laughter. “We are not naming our daughter after a piece of tech.”

“Fine,” he replies, pretending to sulk. “But don’t come crying to me when she asks why she doesn’t have a cool name.”

After weeks of debate, you finally settle on a name that feels perfect: Morgan.

“Why Morgan?” Tony asks one evening as you lie together on the couch.

You shrug, smiling softly. “It’s strong but sweet. And it feels… right.”

Tony repeats the name under his breath, testing it out. Then he smiles, nodding. “Morgan Stark. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

The day Morgan arrives starts like any other. You wake up to the sound of Tony tinkering in the lab, but by mid-morning, the first contractions hit.

“Tony!” you shout from the living room, clutching the back of the couch.

He appears within seconds, his eyes wide. “What? What is it? Is the tower on fire again?”

You glare at him, though the pain is already making you wince. “No, you idiot. The baby’s coming.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face going pale. Then he snaps into action, grabbing your hospital bag and practically carrying you to the car.

The ride to the hospital is a blur of Tony panicking and you trying not to laugh between contractions.

“Do we have everything?” he asks, his voice frantic. “The bag? The paperwork? Did we forget anything? Oh God, what if we—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. I promise. Just focus on driving.”

When you arrive at the hospital, Tony is a mix of nerves and excitement. He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement and pressing kisses to your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he says as you breathe through the pain. “You’ve got this. You’re a freaking superhero.”

The delivery is intense, and at one point, you think you might actually break Tony’s hand with how tightly you’re gripping it. But he doesn’t complain, just keeps murmuring reassurances and brushing your hair back from your face.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the first cry.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announces, holding up your squirming, pink-faced baby.

Tears stream down your face as they place her on your chest. Tony stares in awe, his eyes glassy as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

You nod, your heart overflowing as you gaze down at your daughter. “Hi, Morgan,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

In the hours that follow, Tony can hardly take his eyes off Morgan. He holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he cradles her tiny form.

“She’s so small,” he marvels, staring down at her. “How can something so tiny have such a big impact?”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “That’s what love does.”

Tony looks at you then, his eyes full of gratitude and adoration. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For her. For us.”

Over the next few days, the tower becomes a hub of celebration. The Avengers take turns visiting, each one fawning over Morgan in their own way. Even Clint, who jokes about having enough kids of his own, is smitten.

But at the end of the day, it’s the quiet moments with just the three of you that mean the most.

One evening, as you sit in the nursery, watching Tony rock Morgan to sleep, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace.

“Welcome to the world, Morgan Stark,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her tiny forehead.

The first days at the hospital are a whirlwind of exhaustion, joy, and learning curves that neither you nor Tony could have anticipated. You’re still lying in the hospital bed, Morgan nestled in your arms, when the nurse comes in with a soft smile and an armful of pamphlets. She explains everything from feeding to burping, swaddling to diaper changing. You listen attentively, but Tony’s focus is entirely on Morgan. His hands are gentle but a little awkward as he cradles her tiny head, his face full of wonder.

When the nurse shows him how to hold Morgan correctly, Tony nods along seriously, but the second she leaves, he looks at you with mock indignation. “I think she thought I didn’t know how to hold a baby,” he says, feigning offense.

You laugh softly, your body still sore but your heart full. “Do you?”

“I’m a genius, remember?” he says, lifting Morgan a little higher, though he holds her like she’s made of glass. “But… okay, I might have needed a little help.”

It becomes clear quickly that while Tony can invent world-changing technology, mastering baby care is a completely different challenge. He spends fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to swaddle Morgan properly, only for her to immediately kick her legs free. “It’s a conspiracy,” he mutters, trying again as you laugh from the bed. “I’m telling you, she’s already smarter than me.”

Feeding Morgan proves to be a team effort. The nurses show you how to breastfeed while Tony hovers nearby, asking a million questions that make the staff chuckle. “Is she getting enough? How do we know? What if she’s still hungry?”

“Tony,” you say gently, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s fine. Trust me.”

He sighs but nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Later, when it’s time to bottle feed, Tony insists on being the one to do it. He sits in the chair beside your bed, Morgan nestled in his arms, and looks up at you with a proud grin. “I think she likes me,” he says as she sucks greedily on the bottle.

“She’s a Stark,” you reply with a smile. “Of course, she likes you.”

The nurses come in periodically to check on you and the baby, and each time, they offer more advice. By the end of your stay, your head is swimming with information, but Tony’s enthusiasm makes it easier. He takes notes—actual notes—and even sketches out diagrams for things like diaper changes.

“Who knew being a parent involved so much engineering?” he jokes, but there’s a genuine determination in his eyes.

Finally, after a few days, you’re cleared to go home. The excitement of leaving the hospital is quickly tempered by the reality of the paparazzi camped outside. News of Morgan’s birth had leaked almost immediately, and now the world is desperate for the first glimpse of Tony Stark’s baby girl.

You sit in the hospital room, holding Morgan close, while Tony stands by the window, peering through the blinds. “It’s like a circus out there,” he mutters, turning to look at you. “They’re not getting a single shot of her face. Not until we decide.”

You nod, your protective instincts flaring. “How do we get past them?”

Tony smirks, his confidence returning. “I’ve got a plan.”

The plan involves Happy pulling up to the hospital’s front entrance in a decoy car while you, Tony, and Morgan slip out through a back exit. Wrapped in a soft pink blanket and nestled securely in your arms, Morgan is hidden from view as you rush to an unmarked SUV waiting in the alley. Tony shields you both, his arm around your shoulders, and Happy drives like a man on a mission once you’re inside.

By the time you arrive at the tower, the paparazzi are still circling the hospital, none the wiser. Tony grins as he steps out of the car, glancing at you. “Mission accomplished, Mrs. Stark.”

Inside the tower, the chaos of the outside world melts away. The nursery is ready, every detail meticulously planned by Tony. The walls are painted a soft, calming gray, accented with touches of pink and gold. A custom crib sits in the corner, along with shelves stocked with books and toys.

You place Morgan in her crib for the first time, your heart swelling as you watch her tiny chest rise and fall. Tony stands beside you, his hand resting on your lower back.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice full of awe.

The first night at home is… an adventure. Morgan wakes up every two hours, her cries piercing through the quiet of the penthouse. You take turns getting up with her, though Tony insists on doing most of the work.

“You just gave birth,” he says, gently taking Morgan from your arms when she cries again at three in the morning. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

You don’t argue, though you can’t resist peeking into the nursery an hour later. You find Tony sitting in the rocking chair, Morgan cradled against his chest as he hums softly. It’s a sight that makes your heart ache with love.

In the days that follow, you and Tony fall into a rhythm. It’s far from perfect—there are diaper disasters, sleepless nights, and moments where you both feel completely overwhelmed—but there’s also so much joy.

One afternoon, you walk into the nursery to find Tony lying on the floor beside Morgan’s playmat, his finger grasped tightly in her tiny hand. He looks up at you with a goofy grin. “She’s got a strong grip,” he says. “She’s going to be an inventor. Or maybe a pilot.”

You laugh, sitting down beside him. “Or maybe she’ll be an artist. Or a writer.”

“Whatever she wants,” Tony agrees, leaning over to kiss your temple.

Mealtimes become a highlight of your days. Tony insists on taking charge of the bottle feeds, claiming it’s “bonding time” with his daughter. He talks to her as she eats, telling her stories about his adventures as Iron Man and the time he built a robot that accidentally tried to take over the world.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his tone light. “We’ll teach you to build better robots.”

When Morgan isn’t eating or sleeping, she’s the center of attention. Tony spends hours playing with her, making silly faces and inventing little gadgets to keep her entertained. One evening, he proudly unveils a tiny Stark-branded mobile that lights up and plays lullabies.

“Look at that,” he says as he hangs it over her crib. “Custom-made for the best baby in the world.”

You smile, leaning against him as you watch Morgan’s eyes widen at the softly glowing lights. “You’re going to spoil her rotten.”

“Absolutely,” he replies without hesitation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

Despite the exhaustion, these first days are some of the happiest of your life. There’s a quiet magic in the way your little family is coming together, in the small moments that remind you of how much love surrounds you.

One night, as you sit on the couch with Morgan asleep in your arms, Tony comes over and sits beside you. He leans down to kiss Morgan’s forehead, then rests his head against your shoulder.

“We did good,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You smile, your heart full. “Yeah, we did.”

And as you sit there, with your daughter in your arms and your husband by your side, you know that this is just the beginning of a beautiful journey.

Morgan’s first year is a series of milestones that come at you faster than you’re ready for. One morning, as you’re feeding her in the kitchen, her tiny fingers gripping the edge of the high chair, you notice something new. She’s gnawing relentlessly on one of her teething rings, a tiny scowl of determination on her face.

“Tony,” you call over your shoulder. He’s tinkering with some gadget at the counter, but he looks up immediately.

“What’s up?”

You motion toward Morgan, who has abandoned her teething ring and is now attempting to bite the tray of her high chair. “I think we’re entering teething territory.”

Tony sets down his tools and comes over, crouching to her eye level. “What’s going on, little Starkette? You trying to eat your way to freedom?”

Morgan responds with a high-pitched squeal that makes both of you laugh.

Teething quickly becomes a challenging phase, and Morgan is not shy about letting the world know how much she dislikes it. She chews on everything—her toys, your fingers, Tony’s hoodie strings. One night, as you’re watching a movie together, she grabs the edge of Tony’s expensive leather belt and shoves it into her mouth.

“Hey, hey!” Tony says, gently pulling it away. “That’s Italian leather, kiddo!”

You laugh, handing her a proper teething toy. “Welcome to parenthood. Nothing is safe.”

Tony takes the challenge of teething head-on, dedicating hours to researching remedies. He orders every teething toy imaginable and even develops a custom one that vibrates slightly to soothe her gums. When he proudly presents it to you, you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Only our child would have a high-tech teething toy,” you tease.

“Hey,” Tony says, holding up a hand. “If she’s going to chew on something, it might as well be Stark-approved.”

Despite the sleepless nights and the constant need for gum-soothing gel, there are sweet moments too. Like the way Morgan clings to you when she’s particularly cranky, her tiny hands fisting your shirt as she nuzzles into your chest. Or the way Tony sings softly to her as he rocks her in his arms, his voice low and soothing even when he’s dead tired.

One morning, as you’re sitting on the living room floor with Morgan in your lap, she surprises you by letting out a string of sounds that almost—almost—sound like words.

“Ba-ba-da-da,” she babbles, her little fists waving excitedly.

You gasp, looking over at Tony, who’s lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee. “Did you hear that?”

Tony grins, setting his mug down. “Of course I did. That’s pure Stark genius right there.”

“She’s just babbling,” you say, though your heart swells with pride.

“Don’t sell her short,” Tony replies, scooping her up and lifting her high in the air. Morgan squeals with delight, her chubby arms reaching for him. “She’s probably already working out her first patent.”

As the weeks pass, Morgan’s babbling becomes more frequent and animated. She talks to her toys, to you, to Tony, and even to Dum-E, who dutifully beeps in response. One day, as Tony is feeding her, she looks up at him with her big brown eyes and says something that sounds suspiciously like “Dada.”

Tony freezes, the spoon halfway to her mouth. “Did you just… did you just call me Dada?”

You’re watching from the doorway, and you can’t help but laugh. “I think she did.”

Tony’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. He sets the spoon down and pulls Morgan into his arms, holding her close. “That’s right, baby girl,” he says, his voice full of emotion. “I’m Dada.”

Not long after, Morgan starts to show signs that she’s ready to crawl. She spends hours on her belly, wiggling and rocking back and forth as she tries to figure it out. Tony, ever the innovator, decides to “help” her by building a tiny baby-sized robot that moves just out of her reach, encouraging her to chase it.

“Tony,” you say, crossing your arms as you watch him test it in the living room. “You can’t engineer her milestones.”

“I’m not engineering,” he insists, though his grin betrays him. “I’m motivating.”

Morgan seems to agree because within a few days, she’s crawling across the floor with surprising speed, determined to catch the little robot. You cheer her on, clapping and laughing as she finally grabs it and lets out a triumphant giggle.

From that point on, nothing in the penthouse is safe. Morgan is everywhere, pulling herself up on furniture, opening cabinets, and exploring every nook and cranny she can reach. Tony installs baby-proofing measures at an alarming rate, though he still insists on letting her “experiment” within reason.

“She’s curious,” he says one evening as Morgan pulls herself up on the edge of the coffee table. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is,” you agree, though you keep a close eye on her as she wobbles precariously.

The day Morgan takes her first steps is one you’ll never forget. She’s standing near the couch, holding onto the edge for support, when suddenly she lets go. You and Tony are sitting on the floor, a few feet away, watching her with wide eyes.

“Come on, Morgan,” Tony coaxes, holding out his hands. “You can do it.”

She wobbles, her little legs unsteady, but then she takes one step. And then another.

“Tony,” you whisper, your hands flying to your mouth.

“I see it,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

Morgan takes three more steps before tumbling into Tony’s arms, giggling as he scoops her up and spins her around.

“You did it!” he exclaims, pressing kisses all over her face. “That’s my girl!”

You’re crying by the time he looks at you, and he grins, holding Morgan out toward you. “Your turn, Mom.”

You pull her into your arms, kissing her forehead and whispering how proud you are. It’s a moment that feels almost too perfect to be real.

As Morgan grows, her vocabulary starts to expand. Her first word, unsurprisingly, is “Dada,” which Tony proudly declares is the best thing he’s ever heard. But her second word, “Mama,” quickly follows, and you feel an overwhelming surge of love when she says it for the first time.

She picks up other words too—“up,” “no,” and “cookie” become favorites—but her babbling remains a constant source of entertainment. She has long, animated “conversations” with you and Tony, complete with hand gestures and facial expressions.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you tease Tony one evening as Morgan waves her arms dramatically, babbling at the top of her lungs.

“She’s got your sass,” he counters, smirking.

Through it all, the two of you marvel at how quickly she’s growing and changing. Every milestone feels like a little miracle, a reminder of just how much love and joy she’s brought into your lives.

And as you watch her toddle across the living room one evening, her tiny feet padding against the floor, you realize that this is what happiness truly looks like. A life full of love, laughter, and the sweetest little girl in the world.

Life with toddler Morgan is a delightful mix of chaos, laughter, and the kind of exhaustion you wouldn’t trade for anything. She’s a whirlwind of energy, always exploring, always asking questions—or rather, yelling, “Why?” in her tiny voice as she points to every object she can find. You and Tony quickly learn that raising a toddler is a whole new kind of challenge, but also, it’s endlessly rewarding.

From the moment Morgan wakes up in the morning, she’s a ball of energy. She’s in the phase where she wants to do everything “by herself,” which means you often find her trying to pull on her socks upside-down or insisting on pouring her own juice, resulting in small floods on the kitchen counter.

“Did we adopt a tiny Tony Stark?” you ask one morning, watching her stubbornly refuse your help as she attempts to zip up her jacket.

“Excuse me,” Tony replies, sipping his coffee while lounging against the counter. “She’s a perfect blend of your determination and my brilliance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, arching an eyebrow as Morgan gives up on the zipper and stomps her foot in frustration. “Your brilliance is why we now have a child who insists on building towers out of every item in the living room, including the remote and your sunglasses.”

Tony grins, crouching beside Morgan to help her with the zipper. “Don’t crush her creativity, babe.”

The penthouse is now toddler-proofed to a degree that feels both excessive and still somehow inadequate. Every corner has been padded, every sharp object locked away. Still, Morgan manages to find ways to keep you both on your toes. She’s discovered the joy of climbing, which means nothing is out of reach—not even the countertop.

One afternoon, as you’re folding laundry, you hear a crash from the kitchen, followed by Tony’s panicked voice.

“Morgan! No! You can’t—oh, my God, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You rush in to find Morgan perched precariously on a stool, reaching for the cookie jar on the highest shelf. Tony is holding the stool steady, looking both impressed and horrified.

“She’s got determination,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish grin.

“She’s going to give me a heart attack,” you reply, scooping her up and giving her a stern look. “No more climbing, little miss.”

Morgan giggles, clearly unbothered by the reprimand. “Cookies!” she declares, pointing at the jar.

“She’s definitely your kid,” Tony mutters, earning a playful swat on the arm from you.

Despite the chaos, you and Tony try your best to find moments of intimacy. It’s not always easy with a toddler running around, but you both know how important it is to keep your connection strong.

Late at night, after Morgan has gone to bed, you often find yourselves curled up on the couch together, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes, Tony pulls you into his lap and kisses you like it’s the first time all over again, his hands sliding over your back as if he can’t get enough of you.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, Tony turns to you with that mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know,” he says, trailing his fingers along your arm, “we make pretty amazing kids.”

You smile, already knowing where this is going. “Oh, do we?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “Morgan’s a genius in the making. Imagine if we had another one.”

You laugh softly, turning to face him. “Are you suggesting we try for baby number two?”

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “I mean, why stop at one when we’re so good at this?”

His hand slips to your waist, pulling you closer, and you roll your eyes even as your heart flutters. “You just want an excuse to keep me barefoot and pregnant, don’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, feigning offense. “I want an excuse to have more of you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and before you know it, he’s kissing you deeply, his hands roaming your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

“Tony,” you murmur against his lips, but he silences you with another kiss, his intentions clear.

Needless to say, the idea of a second baby becomes a topic of serious discussion—and action.

Meanwhile, Morgan keeps you both busy during the day. She’s entered the “why” phase with a vengeance, questioning everything from why the sky is blue to why Tony’s suit can fly. Tony, ever the teacher, takes her questions as opportunities to explain science in the simplest terms possible.

“Because, kiddo,” he says one afternoon, crouching beside her as she pokes at one of his gauntlets, “when air moves faster, pressure drops, and that helps create lift. That’s how planes—and my suit—stay in the air.”

Morgan looks at him with wide eyes, nodding solemnly before asking, “Why?”

You laugh from the couch, watching Tony try to answer her endless stream of questions. “You’re in for it now,” you tease.

“Don’t worry,” he replies, winking at you. “She’s a quick learner, just like her mom.”

One of your favorite moments comes when Morgan starts to show an interest in music. She’s discovered Tony’s collection of old records and insists on playing them every evening. Watching her dance around the living room, her little feet stomping to the beat, fills your heart with a joy you didn’t know was possible.

“She’s got moves,” Tony says one night, pulling you into his arms as Morgan twirls around in her pajamas.

“She gets that from me,” you reply, grinning.

Tony laughs, spinning you around as the music plays. “Sure she does.”

Despite the busyness of raising a toddler, you and Tony make time for yourselves as a couple. You sneak away for date nights when Happy or Pepper can babysit, though you always end up talking about Morgan within the first ten minutes.

One evening, after putting Morgan to bed, Tony surprises you with a romantic setup on the balcony—candles, champagne, the works.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask, leaning against him as you gaze out at the city lights.

“Do I need an occasion to spoil my wife?” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Moments like these remind you of how lucky you are to have him—not just as a partner, but as the most incredible father to your daughter.

As the weeks go by, you find yourself wondering if maybe, just maybe, another little Stark would be the perfect addition to your family. And judging by the way Tony looks at you every time Morgan does something adorable, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s one of those mornings where the world feels calm, rare moments of peace in the Stark household. The sun is streaming through the windows, and Morgan is sitting at the kitchen table, coloring in her book with her usual level of intensity. Tony is at the counter, making what he swears is “the best pancakes you’ve ever had,” wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that Morgan insisted he wear because it matches hers—bright pink with a cartoon unicorn on it.

You’re leaning against the counter, holding a mug of tea, trying to figure out the best way to tell Tony the news that’s been buzzing inside you for the past week. You’ve been keeping the pregnancy test hidden in your nightstand, waiting for the right moment to share it. And now, as you watch Tony flip pancakes with Morgan’s enthusiastic commentary in the background, you know the moment is here.

“Hey, Tony?” you say, setting your mug down and crossing the kitchen.

“Yeah, babe?” he answers, not looking up from the griddle.

You slide your arms around his waist from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning his head slightly to glance at you over his shoulder.

You pause for a moment, your heart pounding with both excitement and nerves. Then, you step back and pull the small onesie you’ve been hiding out from your pocket. It’s white, with the words “Iron Baby No. 2 ETA: 9 Months” printed on it in bold letters.

Tony turns fully to look at you, his brow furrowed. His eyes fall on the onesie, and it takes a second for the meaning to click. When it does, his jaw drops.

“Wait. Are you—?!”

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “We’re having another baby.”

Tony stares at you, completely still for a beat, before his face lights up with that signature Stark grin. He lets out a laugh of pure joy and scoops you into his arms, spinning you around right there in the middle of the kitchen.

“Another Stark genius on the way!” he exclaims, his voice brimming with pride and excitement. “Oh my God, babe, this is—wow. Just wow.”

Morgan, still at the table, looks up from her coloring book, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Daddy, why you spinning Mommy?”

Tony sets you down gently, his hands still on your waist, and crouches down to Morgan’s level. “Well, peanut, we’ve got some big news to share with you.”

Morgan blinks, her crayon poised midair. “Big news?”

You kneel beside Tony, taking her tiny hand in yours. “You’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart. Mommy’s going to have a baby.”

Morgan’s eyes go wide, and she looks between the two of you. “A baby?!” she squeals, her face lighting up with excitement.

“That’s right,” Tony says, pulling her onto his lap. “There’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy right now.”

Morgan stares at your stomach like she’s expecting to see the baby immediately. “Right now?” she asks, her little hands gently pressing against your belly.

“Right now,” you confirm, smiling at her curiosity.

Her expression shifts into something thoughtful, and then she asks, “Can I share my toys with the baby?”

Your heart melts, and Tony lets out a laugh, hugging her tightly. “That’s a great idea, peanut. You’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

Over the next few weeks, Morgan becomes completely obsessed with the idea of the baby. She asks a million questions—“How does the baby get in there?” (to which Tony coughs and quickly changes the subject), “When will the baby come out?” and, most frequently, “Is the baby going to like me?”

Tony takes every opportunity to reassure her. “Of course the baby’s going to love you,” he tells her one evening as they’re building a block tower together. “You’re going to be their favorite person.”

When you find out the baby is a boy, Morgan’s excitement reaches new heights. “A baby brother!” she exclaims, jumping up and down. “I’m going to teach him how to color and how to play with Dum-E and how to eat pancakes!”

Tony grins, pulling her into a hug. “That’s my girl. He’s going to be one lucky little guy.”

As the months pass, the preparations for the baby kick into high gear. Tony insists on designing the nursery himself, turning one of the spare rooms in the penthouse into a space that’s both practical and beautiful. Morgan helps as much as she can, picking out toys and decorations and offering unsolicited advice.

“I think the baby would like stars on the ceiling,” she says one afternoon as Tony is painting the walls.

“Stars it is,” Tony replies, pulling up a design on his tablet and letting her help choose the layout.

You spend hours together as a family, getting everything ready. Morgan loves to help fold tiny clothes and stack diapers, even if her “help” usually results in more work for you later.

When the day of the birth finally arrives, it happens in the middle of the night. You wake up to contractions and gently nudge Tony awake.

“Tony,” you whisper. “It’s time.”

His eyes snap open, and he immediately jumps into action. “Time? Time for—oh my God, it’s time!” He stumbles out of bed, pulling on clothes and grabbing the hospital bag you packed weeks ago.

Morgan wakes up in the commotion, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “What’s happening?”

“You’re about to meet your baby brother,” you tell her, smoothing her hair.

Tony calls Pepper, who comes to stay with Morgan while you head to the hospital. As you’re leaving, Morgan gives you a big hug and whispers, “Tell the baby I love him, okay?”

Labor is intense but thankfully not too long, and soon enough, baby Jake Stark makes his grand entrance into the world. He’s a perfect mix of you and Tony, with a head of dark hair and big, curious eyes that already seem to be taking everything in.

When Tony holds him for the first time, he’s completely overcome. Tears fill his eyes as he stares down at the tiny baby in his arms. “Hey there, little guy,” he says softly. “I’m your dad. And you’ve got the coolest mom and the best big sister waiting to meet you.”

When you return home the next day, Morgan is practically bouncing with excitement. The moment she sees Jake, her face lights up, and she immediately runs over to you.

“Can I hold him?” she asks, her voice filled with awe.

You settle on the couch with her, placing Jake carefully in her lap. Her small hands gently cradle him, and she stares at him with wide eyes.

“Hi, baby brother,” she whispers. “I’m your big sister Morgan.”

Tony sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders, watching the two of them with a smile that’s equal parts pride and pure love.

Jake lets out a little coo, and Morgan gasps. “He likes me!”

“Of course he does,” you say, brushing a tear from your cheek.

From that moment on, Morgan takes her role as big sister very seriously. She insists on helping with everything, from feeding Jake to picking out his clothes. And while life with two kids is undeniably hectic, it’s also more wonderful than you ever could have imagined.

Watching Tony with your children, the way he adores them and you, makes your heart feel like it could burst. Your family is complete, and every day feels like the greatest adventure yet.

[cinnamonest]

how do you think goro would feel about a childhood friend!darling?

Goro Akechi has a lot of hate in that heart of his, but other than the man he hates more than anything, there are two other things he hates the most: lack of control, and vulnerability.

He needs control over situations, over people, and when he can manage it, over the course of fate itself. The Metaverse and years of hard effort into a public persona he wears so flawlessly have granted him the sort of control he desires, for the most part.

He hates to be vulnerable, hates his own weaknesses, hates them being perceived by others.

You present both.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Really, up until the point you saw his name on screen one day, you admittedly remembered him as ‘that sad boy at school I was nice to when we were little,’ and your memories of him had all but faded into the background of your life, never thinking of him much after that until he pops back into your life.

At first, you think it can’t be the same person, surely. At least until the familiar — albeit aged a bit older than in your memories — face comes on the screen. It feels quite surreal. A drastic shift from the little boy you remember angrily sulking on the playground all by himself away from the other kids, whom you admittedly talked to mostly out of pity. Still, you felt like you bonded in the end, before he got whisked away when the relatives fostering him decided to dump him off onto someone else, thus forcing him to transfer schools.

You’re happy for him. He looks very happy now, you think, his situation must have improved. He’s even living in the city now apparently, just like you.

The positive coincidences stack atop each other when you actually get to see him.

Completely by chance, not seeking him out or anything, you just so happen to be walking home on an uncrowded street, and he just so happened to be coming back from a hit, now as normalized and mundane to him as any other work-related task — and you just so happen to meet right as you each turn a corner, perfectly scenic, as if ordained by fate.

And while Goro Akechi has spent a very long time by now perfecting the art of composure, what he sees takes him so far aback that even he lets the mask momentarily slip — completely freezing up, slack-jawed and stiff with shock and disbelief. There’s a moment where only silence passes, he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost, an expression almost like horror managing to escape his automatic efforts to keep a straight face.

You don’t notice that part. You’re too caught up in the surprise and elation, gasping and smiling and rambling on about what a coincidence it is, and—

Do you remember me…?

The shock only lasts a split second. The composure is back, the mask pushed back into place, and with practiced mastery of charm, he bounces back near instantly.

Even in spite of the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories that feels like his very soul is being stabbed at, he manages to keep up the usual Prince-Charming act of his. Says the lines expected of him, so standard you could probably guess them before they come out of his mouth — wow, long time no see, what a coincidence, it’s good to see you, how have you been, all the generic phrases and lines one should say, just like the ones you provide in return. A back-and-forth dialogue predetermined by conventions and standards of normalcy and expectation as composed by a given social framework in which all humans live. You do mention that you’ve seen him on TV — for some reason, it makes his stomach feel like its twisting, but he gives you a humble-sounding reply all the same.

All as his heart pounds so heavily it feels like it’s going to burst though is chest. Adrenaline surges thought his veins and every nerve on his body feels like it’s frozen over, an ice-cold chill that runs through his blood, a ringing in his ears, even a lightheadedness that begins to take hold, his entire body reacting in shock and panic.

You fetch a piece of paper from your bag, scribble something down, hand it over to him — his own hand moves reflexively, as if out of his control, to take it. A series of numbers — oh. Your contact. You’re smiling now, saying something about how you would love to catch up sometime. Your voice sounds far away, his head feels like it’s spinning, but he still manages his signature soft smile and voice as he gives you yet another generic reply.

Sure, that would be wonderful.

A few more lines back-and-forth that he doesn’t even remember by the end of the day, his brain essentially giving replies on an auto-pilot means of conversation. He manages to make some excuse about work, churns out a farewell, briskly walks off with a noticeably deliberate fast pace.

You feel a little embarrassed, as you walk home. He seemed in a hurry to end the conversation. Perhaps it was presumptuous to give him a contact. He probably couldn’t care less. He’s a big, important person now, someone like that has no time for someone like yourself.

…

Your suspicions are more or less validated. He doesn’t contact you.

In fact, from the moment he gets home that day, he tries to forget the interaction entirely.

There’s multiple reasons why. For one, you present a potential obstacle, a burden, a risk. He can’t afford to have you complicating things, getting in his way. It takes some time for his heart to stop racing, and that alone irritates him — why do you get to have such a reaction from him, beyond his control?

Moreover, the emotions that hit him when he saw you were too much. Dangerously intense, something he can’t allow to weigh on him, doesn’t have the time to focus on.

To be frank, those emotions were largely negative anyway. The mere sight of your face stirs up all sorts of memories from that era of his life, most of which were deeply unpleasant. There’s a deep-rooted bitterness that rises up in his stomach, old emotions he’s worked so long to suppress, and you came and dug them up in just a few brief minutes. In truth, he thought about you very often back then — he never really got to say goodbye to you (even if, he often bitterly thought, you never cared that much about him anyway), and he had to force himself to forget you over time, and yet you’ve come and undone his efforts.

And finally — the thought of you makes him feel a new emotion, one he does not like. Something like anxiousness, fear, and in turn, anger at himself and you alike for inducing such a feeling. You stand as a sort of weakness, a single unstable factor in a world where he feels like he has some degree of a grasp of control on nearly everything — you feel uncertain, unsteady, out of his reach… no, it’s not just that. You feel unsafe. You have knowledge and memories of him that no one else does, you have seen him at his weakest, and that makes him feel far more vulnerable then he can stand.

And yet, he saves your number to his phone all the same. Lets it sit there.

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore. He is a busy person, he can keep himself distracted. Sometimes, though, in the odd hours of the night when his emotions are at their peak, he types a message, two, a dozen, he loses count — only to shake his head and come to his senses, huffing in frustration and holding the backspace down until it’s all deleted, cursing himself internally for even coming close to doing something so foolish.

You keep coming up in his thoughts, an emotion he can’t pretend is anything but yearning feels like a knot in his chest, yet the very thought of you makes him feel sick to his stomach. The conflict between the emotions is unbearable, makes him lose sleep, makes him lose focus.

You who knew him when he was this quiet, sullen, embittered child — you were nice to him, one of the only people who showed him genuine kindness back then — you who certainly knows that the charming act in front of the cameras is merely that, an act, a mask, a lie. It feels as if playing a game with one’s own cards facing outwards towards the opponent, completely exposed, laid bare. The act can’t work on you when you know what he’s really like, know his pains and vulnerabilities, have the potential to strike at the weakest parts of him.

Nor do you fall under his realm of control. The means he has for control relies on his ability to enforce it — means to kill and ruin lives. What he wants from you, though — at least, what he wanted from you back then, he won’t let himself even consider the matter now — falls entirely out of the realm of how he likes to control people, the usual purpose for which he desires the manipulation of others — power, advancement in his goals, to snake his way inside to strike.

It's all confusing. Irritating. It's outside the realm of what he has an easy way to manipulate, and that means he's at a disadvantage, that you have an upper hand, and he can't stand for that.

Still, he wonders about you. Every time a camera faces his way, he wonders if you’ll see the filming. When he makes posts to the little page he runs that the fans eat up, he wonders if you visit it too, if you’re one of those thousands of faceless followers. He wonders how often you think about him. He wonders about the day the two of you ran into each other for the first time in so long — did you go home, and look him up online? How long did you spend doing so? What did you read? Did your view of him change, positively, negatively?

And of course, he thinks about you and your life. What have you been up to, since then? Where has your path in life taken you? You probably have friends. You probably have a partner too. You’re someone who always seemed to be loved by others — he still recalls perfectly the burning bitterness in his stomach when he saw your happiness, your family, your friends, the things you had that he did not. How he resented you for it — he still does, even if he tries to tell himself such emotions are childish. Sometimes he almost thinks he hates you, even if in the end he always finds that he can’t.

And worst of all, he finds that the mere thought of you changes how he behaves.

When he’s at a lower-end news outlet interview, he doesn’t put quite as much energy in… until it occurs to him that there’s always a chance you’ll see it, and he finds himself sitting up straighter, putting in more effort into being charming and witty for the camera.

He almost says something in another interview, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know how you feel on the matter, and he finds himself taking what was originally a strongly-worded response in his head and neutralizing it as much as possible, to avoid upsetting you should you see it and disagree with him. He doesn't even realize it until the words are out of his mouth.

You do that to him. He who has come to think of himself as so far above others, and yet you — some child from long ago who just so happened to find him again and speak to him for no more than a few minutes — influence his actions, you consume his thoughts. You control him, and you don’t even know it, nor did you have any intention to. And even though he recognizes it, even though he tries to put it to rest and forget you entirely, he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t tap the screen to delete the contact.

It’s infuriating. He can’t stand it. The fact that you do what you do to him so effortlessly leaves him seething and stewing in a rage you probably don’t even realize he’s capable of. And that much he’s acutely aware of as well. You know more of the “real” him than anyone else, you saw him in a phase when he was always pouty and melancholic — yet even then, you don’t know the half of it, don’t realize just how much malice and fury rests beneath the calm outward surface, nor how deep it runs.

He’s not a delusional sort, he’s very self-aware, and he knows how ridiculous the thoughts he’s having are — yet he has them anyway. It’s what, three in the morning, and here he is sitting on the edge of is bed, hunched over in the dark with his face in his hands, stewing in bitterness because he just can’t stop thinking about you. Yes, he knows the thought is absurd, yet he allows it anyway — allows himself to blame you, to resent you for it as if it were an intentional act on your end, to think of you as audacious, having committed some grand transgression against him.

He’s a celebrity, a genius, he has powers unfathomable to the average person — and here you are, you’re nobody, making him think about you. The more he gives in and allows himself to slip into that way of thinking, regardless of how nonsensical he knows it is, the angrier and angrier he gets, the greater the malice that swells in his chest—

—and the darker his thoughts become on what to do with you.

If he forces himself to think it through reasonably, of course, he realizes that you’ve done nothing wrong, that you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him even feels guilty for any unwholesome, sinister thoughts run through his head — you don’t deserve anything bad to happen to you, and he’s being embarrassingly childish for such boorish, overly-simplistic thoughts like keeping you and taking you away and hurting you and making you pay. Particularly the last — you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve any harm, and in the rational part of his mind, he knows this.

But if he were to allow those petulant feelings to take over…

If he let the irrational resentment and yearning and attachment and bitterness take over, if he stopped being rational about it, if he just acted on impulses and feelings alone, then he would have something to make you pay for. To make you the object of all the negative emotions that plague him, make you an outlet for his crippling desperation and rage and affection and covet and pain and misery and yearning — yes, he could put all those emotions into you, unload that burden and force you to take it off his shoulders, force you to be something for him to have to himself and use for his own desires and ease of his pain like he always wanted back then.

Maybe he never stopped wanting that, even if he forced every thought of you to the back of his mind for so many years. It was easier to deny the yearning when he could tell himself he would never see you again. He doesn't have that to hold him back anymore — he stares at the screen of his phone that burns his eyes in the darkness, knowing contact with you is a few mere taps away.

But even back then, he wasn’t so stupid as to not realize you interacted with him because he was pitiful and pathetic and obviously troubled and you were the sort of sweet person that went out of your way to be nice to such other children. He was acutely aware of that fact, it irritated him then, it irritates him now. Yet he latched on like a leech anyway, a fact that makes his face feel hot with embarrassment when he recalls how his child self clung to you so strongly, so pathetically. He couldn’t help it. He was so weak, back then.

But here he is, spending hours of his time thinking about you — can he really say he’s less weak to you now?

It’s not as if it’s the first time he had dark thoughts regarding you. Of course, he envied your life back then, but far more than that, he envied you. To have you to himself, as if an object from which he derived happiness that should be just for him. How upset he was when you were kind to people who weren’t him, spent time with others. Even back then, as a child, you have no idea the sort of things he crafted in his head, elaborate fantasies where everyone important to you died off somehow so he could have you all to himself. Fantasies that soothed both his bitterness for you and his desire for you — let you feel pain like he had felt, make sure you couldn’t think yourself better than him, while still ending up something all for him alone to have and enjoy for himself, ensure your kindness was just for him.

Only back then, he had no power to act on such fantasies.

Now…

…

…

...And one night, his resistance finally breaks.

You know what? Maybe he does deserve that. After all the effort he’s put in, after all the things he’s endured, maybe he does deserve to have something all for himself, something he truly wants, something he can secure and know with certainty won’t ever leave his side — you can’t if you don’t have the option.

Maybe you’ll hate him for it. Maybe he’d deserve it if so. But if you do, well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

His fingers move without having to really think much about it. Generic, typical lines, just like when he spoke with you. Apologizing for the delay, but surely you understand he’s busy and all, so on and so on. He only pays attention to the very last line, as his fingers slow down in their typing with nerves and anticipation.

>Would you still be up for getting together sometime?

[something-tofightfor]

Aphelion - 12

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand

*Please be sure to consider all chapter warnings before reading! Warnings will be updated for each chapter in individual posts as well as on the Masterlist.

Warnings: language, discussion of the past, mentions of violence, blood and death, mention of self-harm, NSFW, vampirism, biting. sex talk - Oberyn and Ellaria are together in this chapter, but it's offscreen.

Word Count: 14,251 (whoops.)

Summary: It's one night out - and you need it.

When Tyene and Toban take you out to give Oberyn and Ellaria the privacy they need, you're able to fill the night with something that you've been lacking for the previous weeks: non-vampire company.

While out, you spend some time talking with everyone, digging just a little deeper into how - and why - their family has lasted for so long.

Back at the apartment, the group springs something on you ... and you decide to take your chances and let Oberyn know exactly how it makes you feel.

A/N: First of all, we're very sorry that this has taken a literal year. Life happens, but we're back at it with our favorite Vampire Prince. We appreciate your patience, and we really and truly hope that this chapter is everything you've hoped for - there's not too much left to this story now, but I can tell you with certainty that this chapter contains the bulk of their last "relaxed" moments before shit hits the fan.

Thank you for reading. Happy Halloween (if you celebrate!) Questions or concerns? You know where to find us.

Catch up with the Aphelion masterlist here!

(banner by @valkblue )

You hadn’t stopped smiling since Toban handed you the phone and told you to invite a friend out for drinks. And once Nora showed up at the bar you suggested, you knew the smile wasn’t likely to fade any time soon. Oh, I really fucking needed this.  

The past two weeks had been surreal in every way. 

Just fourteen days earlier, you were at Golden Lion’s Halloween party, and the biggest shock had been the fact that Oscar - the alluring and attractive stranger you’d met in a chance encounter a few days prior - was also in attendance. 

Since then you’d watched that same attractive stranger wield what you thought had been a prop blade in an alley fight as he saved your life from a brutal attack while risking his own. You’d also learned that his name was not Oscar but Oberyn Martell - Prince of Dorne and one of the immortals known as Others that you always assumed were just the stuff of ancient folklore. 

All of that would have been enough to fill your Bingo card of things you never even dreamed were possible. But it was only the beginning. 

From the ease with which you’d accepted who and what he was, to the undeniable physical and emotional pull you felt toward him; from the paralyzing fear that filled your heart when you thought you might lose him, to the overwhelming urge to do everything in your power to help him not only survive but also conquer his enemies, you’d been on a non-stop adrenaline fueled rollercoaster. And it’s not over yet. 

Under normal circumstances, you never would have gone through so many life-changing events without opening up to Nora about it. The two of you rarely went more than a day without talking, even if it was just about the mundane details of your Thursday afternoon. The fact that you hadn’t been able to talk to her at all, let alone tell her about everything you’d been through, had made the stress of it all seem heavier. For obvious reasons you still couldn’t tell her most of what had happened since the last time you spoke, and you weren’t sure if that would ever change. 

But as she wrapped you in a tight hug and then slid into the seat across from you at one of the high-top tables, you realized that it didn’t matter. Not that night, anyway. That night, all that mattered was that for an hour or two, you got to have a normal night out with your friend.

As discussed with both Toban and Tyene prior to Nora’s arrival, you kicked off the conversation with your cover story for being MIA for the last two weeks.  You explained that immediately after the Golden Lion party, the company contracted you for another big project. This one, unlike the archival work they’d had you doing previously, dealt with much more sensitive information - and as a result, the confidentiality protocols were far more strict. 

“The two other people on the team both had to travel pretty far for this job. Golden Lion put us all up temporarily in a hotel downtown so we’d be able to work together and not have to commute anywhere.” You didn’t love lying to her, but it was more like a stretched version of the truth than an outright fabrication. Plus, you had previously worked on projects that required you to relocate for the duration, so you hoped that Nora would buy your explanation without too many follow up questions. “And in the chaos of packing and all that, I lost my phone and just got a new one today, so that’s why I haven’t called or texted or anything until tonight.” 

You were met with a smirk. “Yeah, that and the fact that you hooked up with rooftop bar guy. I’d lose track of my phone, too.” You rolled your eyes as she winked. “So is this him?” Nora asked, cocking her head in the direction of the bar, where Toban stood waiting for your drinks. What? Oh, she must have seen me talking to him when she got here. “The guy you absconded with after the Halloween party for… hmm, let’s call it a -” She held up her fingers to make air quotes. “A long weekend of do-not-interrupt style sex and- ” 

Your eyes went wide as you cut her off. “Oh my god, Nora, no.” In your peripheral view you could have sworn you caught Tyene barely conceal a snort from across the room. You knew without a doubt that Toban had also heard the assumption. But while he was likely to just brush it off and never bring it up again, you could already hear Tyene teasing you about it every chance she got. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now. 

You let out a small huff of laughter and shook your head. “Toban is one of the people on my team for the new project Golden Lion has me working on. We get along well, but… no. It wasn’t him.” 

She clicked her tongue. “Here I thought I was gonna get to meet the guy that charmed you out of that costume you spent days making. What’s his name? You never told me. And where’s he tonight?” 

Oh, he’s busy fucking the side effects of an ancient immortal’s powerful blood out of his system so that he can focus on finishing a two thousand year old revenge plot. You cleared your throat. “His name is Oscar, and he already had plans for tonight.” Circling your wrist, you went on. “Some kind of family obligation I think.” 

Nora gave you a small frown. “Well that’s a bummer. But-” Her frown curved upwards, morphing into a smirk. “Since he’s not here, that means you can tell me everything. So spill.” 

You laughed, one hand coming up to cover your eyes as you shook your head. Oh, Nora, even if I could tell you everything, I’m not sure you’d believe me. Dropping your hand back to the table, you looked up at her wearing a small smirk of your own. “Okay, well, I’m not gonna tell you everything, because…” You trailed off and rolled your eyes at the ceiling. “Some things need to stay between me, Oscar and the walls, if you catch my drift.” Like the fact that I kept him alive by letting him drink my blood, or that he gave me a mark of protection that he hasn’t given anyone else in hundreds of years. 

Nora scoffed. “Fine. I’ll settle for whatever you can tell me. Like… What’s he look like? What does he do for a living? And, the most important detail -” She held up one finger and tilted her head, fixing you with a serious stare. “What’s it like to kiss him?” 

At her third question you felt your cheeks flood with warmth. Pretty sure he invented good kissing. Letting out a breathy laugh, you answered her in order. “Well, he’s so goddamn handsome that he literally called me out for staring at him when we met.” Nora snorted as you went on. “He’s got gorgeous brown eyes and an incredible smile. Dark hair, tall, strong - like, really strong.” Immortally, supernaturally strong. “He dresses really well, too. Like, he looks just as good wearing clothes as he does out of them.” Tyene is never going to let me live that one down but I don’t care. 

“Hot.” Nora’s smile widened. That doesn’t even come close to describing it.

You laughed and addressed her next question, telling her that Oscar was an art and antiquities dealer, and that he was at the party because he was doing business with Golden Lion. That was a fabrication, again one that you decided on beforehand. But it also had some anchor in the truth - between his pendant, the spear, and - you were positive - countless other items of priceless value that he likely owned and had stashed away in places around the world, he could at the very least be deemed a collector. And he definitely has business with the Lannisters, so… 

Luckily, Nora didn’t press you for more on his occupation. “Nice. So he’s hot, cultured, smart and has good taste.” She ticked those qualities off on her fingers and you nodded along with each of them. “Now what about the smooching?” 

You took a big breath, your tongue poking into your cheek as you tried and failed to contain your smile. Letting out a sigh, you looked your friend square in the eye. “Dizzyingly good. It’s hard to stop, honestly.” 

“Ah!” Nora drummed her fingers against the tabletop. “Good for you! So is this like, a thing?” She flattened her forearms in front of herself and leaned over them. “Are you guys like, seeing each other?” 

One hand came up to the side of your neck, your fingertips instinctively finding the place where you wore Oberyn’s mark on your skin. You thought about what he’d told you about why he’d stopped offering his protection, even to those he cared deeply for - and about what it meant that none of that mattered to him when he marked you. Toban’s words from the rooftop echoed through your mind - “I am glad that it will not be the same with you.” - as though he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Oberyn intended to offer you more than just his protection. 

Your chest swelled as you recalled what Oberyn had said regarding finally finding someone to make that offer to  - “I will be the luckiest man on this planet if they say yes.” Throat going dry, you heard your own voice as you almost uttered the words “I love you” to him as you were falling asleep. 

If all of that didn’t qualify as a thing, you weren’t sure what did. 

“We, um…” You swallowed, dropping your hand down to the table and letting out a nervous laugh. “I think so, Nora.” Nodding, you bit your bottom lip and shrugged. “We’re not… we haven’t really talked much about the future or anything.” Your head shook from side to side. “We’re just seeing how things go for now though.” 

That was true. 

As much as you wanted to believe that you would be in Oberyn’s plans - and in his life - after things with the Lannisters had been settled, you needed to make it to the after, first. As much as you wanted to let yourself imagine what being with him without a constant threat hanging over your heads might look like, you needed to get out from under it before anything you imagined could become possible. 

Nora reached across the table and placed her hand on your wrist, one eyebrow arched high. “But you like him?” 

At that, you couldn’t help the amused sound you made as you blew out a burst of air. “God, yeah.” You rolled your eyes at the way heat bloomed in your cheeks and in the center of your chest at the admission. “Yeah, I like him. A lot.”

“I can tell.” She beamed at you, gently shaking your arm. “This is as over the fucking moon as I’ve ever seen you, and it sounds like this Oscar feels the same.” Releasing her grip, she drew her hand back, resting that elbow on the tabletop and her chin in her palm. “I’m happy you’re happy, even if it’s new.” She wrinkled her nose. “Just be careful and all that shit I’m legally obligated to say as your friend.” 

You laughed again. “I will,” you assured her. In more ways than you mean, I will. “I promise.” 

She nodded once. “Well, if this does turn out to be a thing, I hope I get to meet him next time.” 

I want that to happen. So much. “If it does,” you winked, giving her a small grin. “You will.” 

“Good.” She narrowed her eyes before letting them dart over to the bar, catching on Toban again as he and Tyene started heading back your way, drinks in hand. You had to stop yourself from laughing as her expression turned almost comically wistful. “So, quick question. Do you know if tall, chiseled and handsome over there is fair game? Because…” She widened her eyes, nodding as she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Definitely would hit.” 

At that you snorted. Partially because you’d had a sneaking suspicion that Nora would be attracted to Toban, but also because you knew that he had just heard her comment even though she thought she was being covert. You had no idea if Toban enjoyed the company of humans the same way that Oberyn did, or if he would even entertain Nora’s flirting. But what could it hurt? “Yeah,” you let out a huff of laughter. “Go for it.” 

“Go for what?” Toban asked, a grin tinting his voice and lighting up his green eyes. He set a beer down in front of Nora before taking a seat next to her. “Drinks? We already have those.” 

You pressed your lips together as you watched Nora try to look less flustered than the man’s proximity to her was causing her to be. “Yes we do, thanks to you.” She beamed at him, one hand wrapping around her pint glass. 

Beside you, Tyene plopped into her seat and slid you one of the two drinks she carried, shooting you an amused sideways glance and raising her eyebrows. Yeah, I know. You shrugged as Nora continued answering Toban’s question. 

“No, um, we-” She motioned with her pointer finger between the two of you. “We were talking about a work thing. I was asking her if I should…” Laughing at herself, she shook her head. “Nevermind that, though, we’re here to have fun.” 

“We are.” Tyene spoke up, lifting her glass. “Cheers to that.” 

For the next hour or so that was exactly what you did. 

Conversation flowed easily between the four of you, Tyene and Toban joking and engaging with Nora like they’d known her as long as you had. At one point she mentioned an upcoming trip to Lisbon for her cousin’s wedding, and Toban, laying his wide palm over her forearm and causing her eyes to dart excitedly to yours before snapping back to his, offered enthusiastic recommendations of some of his favorite places in the city. You snorted into a sip of beer at just how raptly she listened, the woman propping her elbow on the table and leaning her chin into her hand. Subtle.

When you finished the first round, Nora excused herself to the ladies’ room, Tyene popping up to tag along so she could touch up her makeup while you and Toban grabbed refills. 

“Nora seems like she’s having a good time.” He leaned against the bar rail and faced you with a smile. “I hope you are, too.” 

You grinned at him as you stepped up to the bar and waved down the bartender. “I am.” You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh. “I really am.” Opening your eyes again, you gently knocked his elbow with yours. “Thank you for this.” 

“My pleasure,” he responded with a quick wink before turning to place the drink order with the man who had just appeared in front of you. “We’ll take four more of the same, and you can put it on my tab. Thanks.” The bartender nodded and headed for the taps, Toban returning his attention to you. “I do have something to ask you, though.” 

You tilted your head, eyebrows drawn together. “What’s up?” You stood up straight and crossed your arms over your chest. Is something wrong? “Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is fine, I promise. If there was a problem, we’d already be gone. ” He placed his hand on your shoulder and you instantly relaxed, dropping your arms again. Damn, that’s useful. “I just still have to take care of finding someone to -” 

“Oh!” Your eyebrows flew up as you realized what he was getting at. He still needs to feed. “Toban, if you need to drink I’ll let you -” 

He shook his head then, cutting you off. “That’s not what I was going to ask you.” He gave you a grateful smile. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer, but you wear Oberyn’s mark.” Your eyes widened. Oh, shit, is that some kind of etiquette thing that I just fucked up? “And while I’m sure he would not be upset, that is a line I won’t cross for my own reasons.” I … don’t know what that means, but now I want to. 

You swallowed. “Okay. So what um -” The bartender showed up then, dropping off two of the four drinks you were waiting on. “Thanks,” you accepted the glasses and waited for him to step away to grab the others before finishing your question. “What did you need to ask me then?” 

Toban shot a glance in the direction that Tyene and Nora would be returning from, then settled his eyes on yours. “I was wondering if you would be okay with me drinking from Nora.” 

The shock you felt registered as a quick outburst of laughter. “What?” You blinked at him, your expression still halfway between amusement and confusion. “You’re asking me permission to…” You trailed off as the bartender set down the other two drinks. 

“Thank you,” Toban nodded to the man. “You can keep it open for now.” Once he’d walked away to take care of other patrons, Toban resumed the conversation the two of you were having. “I’m asking if you would be okay with it, or if you would rather I found someone else. But if I do that, I should start looking soon because we’re probably going to be ready to head back in another hour, give or take.” 

Even though you didn’t want to rush the night, a jolt of excitement passed through you at the prospect of getting back to Oberyn. Ugh, Nora was right, I really am over the moon. But as difficult a task as it was, you set aside your eagerness to be back in his arms and focused on Toban’s question. Because it’s important. We didn’t just come out tonight to socialize, he needs to be ready for… for what’s coming, and that means he needs to drink. 

Clearing your throat, you considered what he’d asked you. “I…” Honestly, I feel like if I say no and Nora found out, she’d be mad at me, so…  You shrugged. “I know you won’t hurt her, so I don’t see why not.” 

Toban locked his eyes with yours. “I won’t hurt her, you have my word on that.”

You nodded. “I trust you, Toban. If it feels right between you … I won’t think it’s weird or anything.” 

He grinned. “Thank you.” Wrapping his hands around two of the glasses, he jutted his chin over your shoulder. “They’re back, we should go join them.” 

Picking up the other two, you followed him back to the table. Well, Nora, you did say you were into him. Let’s see what happens. 

As though she could hear your thoughts and needed to prove them true, your friend spoke up then. “So I noticed that they have a dart board here.” She brought her free hand up and across her body to point out the black and white circular game board. Your eyes flicked in that direction and then back to her face. “Anyone feel like playing?” 

You narrowed your eyes. “You want to play darts?” 

Nora blinked twice and gave you a tiny head shake which you took to mean play along. “I think it could be fun.” Her eyes shifted in Toban’s direction and then back to meet yours. 

Deciding to give her just a little bit of shit, you scrunched your nose. “Are you any good at darts?” 

She widened her eyes at you and pressed her lips together, and you had to take a sip of your drink to keep from bursting out in laughter at the flash of mock frustration in her eyes at your question. “Well, I don’t know. But I’m sure Toban could teach me.” She turned to face him, her cheeks lifting into her eyes with a broad smile. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”  

Tyene snorted before Toban could answer. “Oh, this should be good.” She linked her arm through yours and spoke your name. “C’mon, looks like we’re teammates.” As you stood, Tyene looked over to Nora and jerked her chin in Toban’s direction. “He’s really good with pointy things. He can definitely teach you.”

With that, your group moved to a high top table near the dart boards, the four of you playing a few games. Much to your and Tyene’s - and likely Toban’s - amusement, Nora took every opportunity to ask him  for help with her aim, your friend practically swooning when the man placed his hand on her back and adjusted her stance. This is officially the strangest wingwoman situation I have ever been involved with, but it’s fine. 

Midway through the third game, during one of Nora’s shots, Tyene’s phone dinged from inside her jacket pocket. “Hey,” she flicked her eyes from the screen up to meet yours, and then turned the phone around so that you could see the screen before glancing up to catch Toban’s eye. 

Setting your mostly empty glass on the table, you looked down at the message. 

You can come back whenever you’re ready. 

The words, though simple enough, made your heart pound against the walls of your chest as soon as you’d read them. Excitement to be back in the apartment with Oberyn swirled with a sudden rush of nerves over the potential for awkwardness, knowing what went on while the three of you had been out with Nora. What if it’s weird? What if he… 

Without thinking, you lifted your fingers to brush over the invisible mark on your skin. You felt your own pulse thrum under your touch as you marveled again at the importance of the sigil you wore. No. It won’t be weird. Nothing will be different, it’s just… 

Tyene cleared her throat and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “So I’m thinking we let Bullseye McGee and Toban win this round and then head out. Thoughts?” 

The uncertainty you were feeling seconds earlier vanished as you laughed, muttering “Bullseye McGee” under your breath with a shake of your head. “I think that’s a good plan,” you responded, lifting your glass and tapping it against Tyene’s. “What about -” You tipped your head in Toban and Nora’s direction. “Doesn’t he still need to -” You widened your eyes, and then it was Tyene’s turn to laugh. 

“Yeah, he still needs to walk Nora home.” She winked exaggeratedly, and you took the hint. He’ll take care of that at her place. Got it.  

“Right.” You nodded, winking back at her, and then you finished the last of your drink. “Okay then. Let’s go lose at darts real quick.” 

You caught Toban’s grin as he listened in from a few feet away, and then you stepped up to get Nora on the same page as the rest of you. Well, close to the same page, anyway. Conjuring up a yawn, you reached over to squeeze her elbow. “I think we should probably get going soon. Tomorrow’s a big day for our project, and -” Your stomach flipped inelegantly at the truth of that statement, but you did your best to ignore it. 

“- And you need your beauty sleep.” Nora finished your sentence, pinching your cheek teasingly before rolling her eyes. “Fine, be a buzzkill.” She draped her arm around your shoulder. “But let’s finish this game first. I’m feeling a comeback.” 

You laughed. “Oh are you?” You gestured to the board, where her last dart was still stuck two wedges to the left of where she was aiming. “Alright, then. Let’s see it happen.” 

Twenty five minutes later, you’d hugged Nora goodbye before asking her to let you know when she got in, and then you watched as she and Toban headed down the street in the direction of her building. It was probably about a fifteen minute walk for them - roughly double the time it would take you and Tyene to get back to the apartment you’d been staying in. But the night air was pleasantly cool so you didn’t mind the walk and you knew Nora wouldn’t, either. Especially because it means more time with Toban. 

The thought made you laugh to yourself, prompting Tyene to ask what was so funny. 

“Oh, maybe it’s the fact that I sent my normal human best friend off to make out with an immortal she just met.” 

“An immortal who is planning to drink her blood,” she added, pointing at you with a smirk. “Don’t forget that part.” 

That drew another laugh from you, as you once again pondered how all of this was actually happening in your life right now. That train of thought brought up another question. Wait a minute…  You looked over at Tyene, curiosity cutting a crease between your eyebrows. “Actually, about that part specifically…Can I ask you something?” 

She swiveled her head in your direction, short hair bouncing with the movement, and gave you a small shrug. “Sure. Go ahead.”  

Okay, now how do I word this? “How, um -” You hesitated, clearing your throat and reaching across your body to adjust the strap of your bag. “On nights like tonight, when you go out to -”  Fuck, just ask the question. “How do you drink without the person knowing?” You dropped your arm back to your side, head shaking slightly. “Don’t they feel anything?” I definitely did. “Wouldn’t they… I don’t know, don’t they notice?” 

“Oh, simple,” she replied, facing forward and continuing to walk without missing a step. “We just hypnotize them.” 

You clicked your tongue and gave her a playful swat on the arm. “Tyene.” She laughed at the false exasperation in your tone, the sound contagious enough to make you laugh, too. “I’m being serious.” 

“And how do you know I’m not? Hmm?” She glanced over at you with one eyebrow raised. “You ask a question, I give you an answer, and you automatically assume I’m fucking with you?” Her left hand came up to her chest. “That hurts, you know?” 

“Well maybe if you don’t want to be the girl who cried Direwolf you could try - I don’t know - not fucking with me every chance you get.” 

That only made her laugh harder, her head tipping back. “Yeah, yeah,” she replied. “But where would the fun in that be?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you’d find ways to have fun without playing confuse-the-human.” 

She draped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you in. “Hey, I’ve gotta strike while the iron is hot. I won’t be able to play that game with you forever.” 

She winked, giving you a small squeeze before releasing you. Her words made you suck in a quick breath. She keeps… Your heart thudded hard, and you knew she could hear it. It was far from the first time that Tyene had alluded to the fact that she didn’t believe you would stay human once Oberyn finally had his revenge. You didn’t love to admit it, but you knew that there was a part of you that wanted her to be right. But I still don’t know if - 

Your thoughts were interrupted as she spoke again. “Think of it as a rite of passage.” I will absolutely not think of it that way, but okay. “And if it makes you feel any better, you’re way better at picking up on my bullshit than others have been in the past.” 

“Oh, good.” You said it sarcastically, and through a smirk. But you were aware that the ability to pick up on - and call her out on - her bullshit actually meant something to Tyene. Your smirk grew into a real smile. “I’m so glad.” I am, though. “But can I please get a real answer now?” 

She snorted. “Yeah, alright.” The two of you stopped at a corner, Tyene pressing the button on the post to change the signal. You watched as she did another quick scan of the area, her eyes darting around to make sure that you weren’t being followed or listened to. There were other people out on the street, but they were all self-contained in their own little groups and pairs, none of them paying the two of you any attention. After a few seconds, Tyene confirmed your safety by continuing the conversation. “The answer is actually a simple one, even if it doesn’t involve hypnosis.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “We can control what our bite will feel like.” 

You felt your eyes widen in surprise. Oh. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but it immediately made sense - they wouldn’t want to harm or scare the humans they drank from, but when encountering an enemy, they had the ability to inflict intense pain. Like when Oberyn bit Gregor in the alley. He definitely wanted it to hurt then. 

The walk signal changed and Tyene stepped off the curb, with you following half a step behind. “So,” you took a longer stride to catch back up with her. “So to them it just feels like… nothing?” 

“Well I don’t know if I’d say it feels like nothing. I like to think that after four hundred years I’m a little bit better at making out than nothing.” 

“No, I -”  You groaned, the sound turning into a laugh as you brought one hand up to your face.   “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“See?” The point of her elbow bumped your bicep. “Very good at recognizing my bullshit.” She laughed, letting her arm drop to swing naturally with her gait. “But to actually answer your question, all they feel is the rush from kissing a stranger.” She shrugged. “No one’s going to complain about a little nip on the lip or one of us paying some extra attention to their neck.” No, I guess they wouldn’t. “And we always heal them when we’re finished, so there’s no marks or cuts. No proof.” She looked over at you, pausing to look past you and into the night for another check of your surroundings, her eyes coming back to yours after a few seconds. “We only take small amounts, so they typically don’t feel any side effects. But since we almost always pick someone at a bar it's easy enough to blame any slight dizziness during or immediately after on the alcohol.”

You hummed. “That makes sense.” 

You weren’t entirely sure, because it was dark and you weren’t as familiar with the part of the city the apartment was in as you were with other areas, but you thought you were getting close to the building. Probably just a few more blocks, and then - 

“I’m guessing you’re asking because Oberyn didn’t mask it when he drank from you?” 

“Um.” You blinked, clearing your throat before responding. “No, he… I definitely felt it. I mean -” You shook your head. “I knew what he was going to do, even the first time. I told him to do it, so I guess there was no reason for him to. And he was -” You took a breath that shook as you tried not to think about how close to death he was when the poison was at its worst. “He was injured, so maybe he couldn’t control it as much because of that?”  

“From what Ellaria told me, he would have been too weak to control what you felt closer to when she arrived.” That tracked. The poison in Gregor’s blood had left him so debilitated that he hadn’t even been able to heal you after a certain point. And I was so out of it I didn’t even know it was happening towards the end. “But,” Tyene held up one finger. “Not when he first drank from you. He would have been able to make it painless then.” 

“It didn’t hurt,” you clarified, shaking your head. “I thought it would, but it didn’t.” Heat rose to your cheeks as they lifted in an involuntary smile at the memory. “It was… it felt good.”

Tyene chuckled under her breath. “Leave it to Oberyn to try to pleasure his last meal.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she swung her head in your direction. “I’m kidding, I know you mean way more to him than that. And I’m not trying to make light of how serious the situation you both were in was.” She sighed. “That is like him, though. Thinking more about the people he cares for than he does himself. He wanted you to understand what was happening, because you’re not just some random hookup from a bar.” She smirked. “But he also wanted you to like what was happening, because you’re not just some random hookup from a bar.” 

No, I guess I’m not. You thought back on everything Oberyn had told you about his past - about Isabel and Cameron, and how much they each meant to him. They both knew what he was. He trusted, respected, and loved them enough not to hide it from them. Not to hide himself from them. It was overwhelming to think that that list now included you - that he had already started to feel the same way about you that he felt about them. That’s… I shouldn’t think about that. I should focus on - 

“You know,” Tyene broke the silence, her tone more serious than usual as you turned the final corner that brought your destination into view. “I don’t think I thanked you yet, for everything you did for him.” She sighed, tipping her head back to look briefly up at the sky. “In my first life, I lost my parents when I was still young. But once I met Ellaria and Oberyn?” She paused, turning toward you and wearing as soft a smile as you’d ever seen on her sharp features. “I never felt like I didn’t have a family. They both became like parents to me.” Oberyn had told you as much about Tyene’s history. But hearing it from her - hearing the emotion in her voice - made it hit much harder. “Losing him would have been…” 

She trailed off and you understood why. There weren’t words to describe that kind of loss, especially after centuries spent together. 

Reaching over, you took her hand and squeezed it. “I hope you never have to finish that sentence, Tyene.” 

She returned your squeeze and then lifted her hand to swipe at her eye. “Me fucking too.” She laughed and then you did, too, and then you were walking through the glass lobby doors and into the building. 

The elevator ride up to your floor was quick, with no one else getting on or off. As soon as the light indicated that you’d arrived, Tyene stated that she was headed straight for a shower. “The last apartment had shitty water pressure, so I’m taking full advantage while we’re at this place.” 

“It did, and I don’t blame you,” you responded. You got the feeling that while she was at least half serious about the water pressure, her immediate plans also had to do with giving you and Oberyn some time together, and for that you were grateful. “Enjoy it.” 

She scanned the key fob against the lock, the mechanism beeping as it opened. “Thanks, I absolutely will.” 

You followed Tyene through the door, turning to close and lock it behind you. As soon as you slid the deadbolt into place, and before you could turn back around, you heard your name. “You are back.” 

A syrupy smile spread across your face at the sound of Oberyn’s voice close behind you. “We are,” you replied before you moved, his hands reaching for and landing at your waist. 

“He just means you!” Tyene called from the hallway. “He doesn’t really give a shit that I’m back!” 

That made a laugh burst out of you, your forehead leaning forward against the door as Oberyn’s fingers curled more tightly around you. 

“I do care that you are back, Tyene.” You could tell without looking that he was speaking over his shoulder to her. “But -” You closed your eyes and took a breath through your nose as you felt his lips press behind your ear. “I did mean you.” 

You turned to face him then, one of your hands landing on his shoulder, the other resting flat against the right side of his chest. “I am,” you corrected your response. “Hi, Oberyn.” 

He smiled as you said his name, his eyes shining like dark suns and making you suck in a breath. 

Oh, he’s… There was a slight change in them from earlier, a brightness you hadn’t seen since he kissed you on the balcony at the Halloween party. It hit you hard to know that in that moment he was as much himself as he had been before his encounter with Gregor in the alley. 

There had been a subtle, underlying dullness in his eyes while he was suffering the effects of the poison, and a sharpness to their glint after Ellaria had given him so much of her blood to save him. But now he’s… You lifted your hand from his shoulder, bringing it up to rake your fingers through his hair, and Oberyn’s smile grew with the contact. This is all him, and exactly as it should be. 

“Hi,” he murmured in response, his grip moving from your waist to the crooks of your elbows before sliding down your arms to take your hands in his. “Did you have a good time?” 

You nodded, letting him pull you away from the door. “I did. Seeing Nora was…” You sighed. “I really needed that.” 

Oberyn ran his hands back up your arms, giving your biceps a light squeeze. “Good. I am glad that you were able to spend some time with her.” He dropped his left arm back to his side then, but lifted his right so that he could cup your cheek. “But I am even more glad that you are back. And that you are safe.” 

Pressing into his touch, you hummed. He’s so warm. “Me too. I knew I was safe with Tyene and Toban, though.” 

“You were.” His thumb swept over the crest of your cheek, and then his eyes narrowed as they flicked to the door and back to your face. He dropped his arm, looking over your shoulder at the door, and you took the opportunity to slip your shoes off. “Where is Toban? Did something happen, or -” 

From the hallway, Tyene poked her head back into the room, answering before you had a chance to. “He walked his midnight snack home to make sure she got there in one piece.” She disappeared again, the sound of a door closing behind her telling you that she’d likely gone into one of the bedrooms. 

You snorted, leaning into Oberyn’s chest and laughing. Nora would actually love to know that she was just referred to as a midnight snack. The context isn’t even important. . 

His arms came around you then, holding you close like he wanted to absorb the feel of your laughter. It made your heart flip. Oh, Oberyn. You wound yours around his back and turned your head to fit yourself against him, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke again. 

“Wait a minute. Does that mean…” He pulled back just enough to look down at you, an amused expression on his face. You peered back up at him, barely holding back another laugh as he arched one eyebrow. “He drank from Nora?”

You wrinkled your nose and nodded. “Yeah, I think that was the plan. But don’t worry, she was definitely into it.” 

Oberyn chuckled, the sound bringing a warm amber tone to his voice as a teasing smirk played on his lips. “So she met someone at a bar and she probably let them bite her?” One eyebrow formed a perfect arch. “You and your friend are a lot alike.”  

Rolling your eyes, you let out a scoff. “Yeah. We are. Apparently we’re both irresistible to men who just want to drink our -” 

He cut you off with your name, dipping his head so that he could speak low into your ear. “It is not only your blood that makes you irresistible to me, issa ōños.” 

A shiver passed through your body as that phrase rolled from his tongue, making your heart skip in a way that you knew he could feel. “Oberyn.” 

Straightening up once more, he looked directly into your eyes and released you from his embrace. “You are my light.” He skimmed the tips of his fingers over the skin at the corner of your eye, then dropped them down to the side of your throat. You kept your eyes on his as they flicked down to follow the motion of his touch. “You are the end to the darkness I have known for so long.” You sucked in a sharp breath as he traced his mark, your mouth falling open and his gaze returning to yours. “And that has nothing to do with what runs through your veins.”  

You sighed as he let both arms fall to his sides, your tongue darting out to wet your lips before you slowly nodded. How do I even respond to that? “I know.” 

It was barely a whisper, and it felt inadequate compared to what he had just said to you. But you wanted him to know that you understood how serious he was about you. Even though he just spent three hours in bed with Ellaria, it doesn’t… You swallowed. It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change what he’s feeling or what he wants. 

“Do you?” He asked, his smile poking a dimple into his cheek. “Good.” He took your hand then, gently pulling you away from the front door. You let him lead you towards the couch, but as he did, you realized something. Wait. He hasn’t… “Now come, tell me about your night. What did -” 

“Hold on.” Stopping a few steps from the couch, you tugged his hand so he’d turn back around. There was a question in his eyes, but you didn’t let him ask it, instead reaching for his other hand. Guiding both to your waist, you let yours land on his chest and shoulder. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Oberyn?” 

His fingers curled in the fabric of your shirt, a husky sigh coming from his throat. “Is that what you want?” You hummed, moving your head up and down. “I wasn’t sure, because of what you said before you left.” He tilted his chin downward, eyes glued to your lips. “About how you didn’t know how you’d feel after…” 

“Hey.” You shifted your hand from his shoulder to the side of his face, calling his attention back up to your eyes. “I know. And I still don’t think we should… do anything in bed tonight other than sleep.” You scrunched your nose. “Or I guess, I’ll sleep and you’ll just watch me.” That earned you a small chuckle. “But right now? I feel like I want you to kiss me, Prince - Oh!” 

He didn’t make you wait one second longer, taking the rest of his name right out of your mouth as his lips met yours, parting to take your lower one between them. 

His left hand moved from your waist to the middle of your back, fingers splayed along your spine to urge you closer, while the right came around to cradle the back of your head. You closed your eyes and let out a quiet whimper at the swipe of his tongue along the inside of your bottom lip, immediately granting him what he was asking for. He deepened the kiss with a soft stroke of his tongue along yours, taking you right to the edge of the dizziness you’d mentioned to Nora. 

Nothing about the way that he kissed you gave you any indication that he was still thinking about the things he’d done earlier that night with Ellaria. In fact, every time he kissed you, despite your knowledge of the truth, he made you feel as if yours were the only lips he’d ever kissed. And that’s after only a few weeks. Your knees shook at the thought of how it might feel to be kissed by him after a year or two. Or 10.  

You groaned as you licked into his mouth, the point of your tongue slipping over his teeth and finding that his fangs had descended. He’s not trying to hide them at all anymore. That means… Oh, fuck. You tried to keep the next thought at bay, but your defenses were useless once you felt him nip gently at your lip. 

Imagine what it would be like to kiss him after a few hundred years of it. 

Your heart thumped unevenly and you sighed into the kiss. Stop. Stop it. You needed to rein yourself back in before he noticed how carried away you were letting yourself get. But pulling away from him was difficult, especially when you heard the gravelly sound he made as your tongue slipped over the elongated points of his teeth again. Oh, fuck, Oberyn. It’s not fair.

“If you keep doing that,” he mumbled against your lips. “It will be very hard for me to stop kissing you.” Illustrating his point, he kissed you again, that time surprising you by pulling you down and onto the couch beside him. 

You hummed out a laugh, both of your hands landing on his chest and resting near his collarbone. “Would that be such a bad thing?” 

He wrapped one arm around your shoulders and used the other to drape your legs over his lap. “A bad thing? No.” His thumb swept back and forth over your leg as he said your name. “Very much the opposite. But,” he paused, leaning in to trail his lips across yours and up to the corner of your eye. “I do want to hear about your night.” Straightening up again, he loosened his hold on you. “We will have plenty of time for more of that later, if that is something that you want.” 

Of course it’s something I want. “Fine,” you agreed, pulling your legs back to your side of his body and shifting slightly on the cushion. Oberyn withdrew the arm he had around your shoulders to let you get situated. You bent one knee, leaning it against his thigh, and tucked that foot beneath yourself as you held up one finger. “But I’m gonna hold you to that.” 

Oberyn smiled, and you thought you caught a quick flash of something that almost looked like uncertainty in his eyes. But they were bright and warm again by the time he spoke, his hand coming to rest atop your bent knee. “I hope that you do.” 

You glanced down at where he touched you, letting out a sigh at the way you could feel the warmth of his palm through your jeans. “I’m sure that I will.” Bringing your focus back to his face, you leaned sideways into the couch cushions, ready to regale him with the tale of your night out. “But you want to hear about bar hopping first, right?”

“I do.” He nodded. “How was-”

Wait. Is that…

His question was cut short by the sound of your gasp, your eyes widening at the glint of gold that you saw beneath his shirt with the small movement of his head. His chain. The pendant.  “Oberyn,” you breathed out his name, lifting one hand up to run your fingers over the solid links. “You have it back.” 

Gently, almost reverently, you untucked the chain from under his shirt, exposing the ornate pendant that hung from it. When you lifted your eyes back up to his, it hit you - what it meant to see him wearing it again. It’s how it should be. Though he hadn’t complained once since Ellaria took it from him, you knew that Oberyn hated not being able to feel the sun on his face for any length of time. The brief moments that he’d been permitted to use it while moving between apartments aside, it had been a full week since he had been able to step outside in daylight. You were glad that he had that back again. 

It also meant that you were right about what you saw in his eyes - that he was back to himself, the lingering traces of Ellaria’s more potent blood all but gone from his system. You knew that she wouldn’t have given it back to him yet if that wasn’t the case. Yes, he’d need it for the engagement party the following day, since it started before sunset. But you knew that Ellaria would have waited until the last second if she thought there was even the slightest chance that Oberyn couldn’t be trusted with it. And she didn’t. You swallowed a knot. Because he really is back to himself. 

Seeing that chain around his neck meant that the nightmare that started in the alley, when Oberyn had been poisoned and so gravely injured that every second that followed made you fear his death, was finally, truly over. You didn’t let yourself think about the fact that it also meant that in less than twenty four hours, Oberyn would be face to face with Cersei and Tywin Lannister. This is just about him. Not them. 

“I do,” he responded, reaching for the hand you’d used to free the chain and bringing it up to his lips. They brushed over your knuckles, and then he lowered your hand to press it over the pendant. 

You felt the ridges of the intricate design against your palm, your fingers spreading over the soft fabric of his shirt. “How does it feel?” 

His fingers slipped between yours, curling shut around your hand and the pendant. “Right.” He spoke your name then, smiling around the syllables. “It feels right, having it back.” 

I bet. You bit down on the inside of your cheek before you nodded, giving him  a smile, too. “Good.” He released your hand, letting his own fall back to his lap. You did the same, but kept your eyes on the pendant. The sun was still out when we left, I wonder if… “Did you get to use it?” 

You looked up at him again when he answered. “No. It was already dark when Ellaria returned it to me.” That’s a shame. “But even if it was still light out I would have waited.” 

What? Why? You shook your head, confusion forming a furrow between your eyebrows. “Waited for what, Oberyn?” 

He blinked, long lashes sweeping slowly shut and then opening again to let his eyes rove over your face. “For you.” That caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat at the adoration in his expression as he continued. “Ellaria saved my life, and that is something that I will always be beyond grateful for. But you are the reason that there was anything left for her to save. You are the reason that I will get to feel the sun again.” Using the hand that had been resting on your knee, he tucked the pendant back under his shirt, then reached for your hand. “And I want you to be there when I do.” 

Me. He wanted to wait for me.

You hadn’t realized that a tear had rolled down your cheek until you tasted salt on your lips. “Then I’ll be there.” Your voice warbled slightly, throat thick with the sudden rush of emotion that his response hit you with. “With you, right at sunrise.” 

Another stray tear slid from your eye but Oberyn didn’t let that one reach your lips. Using his knuckle and then thumb, he swiped it from your skin and gave you a smile that turned his eyes to soft leather. “Sunrise sounds perfect.” 

Any time with you sounds perfect, Oberyn. You let out a sigh. “Too bad we have to wait -” Leaning forward, you reached for the phone on the coffee table, tapping the screen so that you could read the time. “- six and a half hours.” 

The warm sound of his chuckle reached your ears as you leaned back into the couch cushions, Oberyn’s arm winding around you to pull you closer. “A handful of hours is nothing.” His lips found a spot near your temple, pressing a kiss there as he continued. “I have waited lifetimes for this. For you.” You sucked in a breath as you straightened up to look at him, the remnants of his laugh still present in his eyes. “I can wait a few more hours.” 

“Oberyn,” you whispered, unable to reply with anything else. You still felt slightly tipsy from the few drinks you’d had earlier, a pleasant buzz humming through your brain and body. But it was nothing compared to the intoxicating feeling of knowing that Oberyn Martell wanted you. Your heart skipped and you knew he heard it from the twitch of his smile. You shook your head, forcing yourself to continue. “You’re one hell of a romantic, you know that?” 

That earned you another laugh, deeper and richer in tone. “Well I have always said that I was a better lover than a fighter.” He brought the hand that was resting near your waist up to curl around your bicep as you rested your head against his shoulder. “And I am an excellent fighter.” 

You hummed out a small laugh of your own. “And so humble, too.” 

Before either of you could say anything else, the phone buzzed on the table and you sat up to grab it. That’s gotta be Nora letting me know she’s home. Opening the message, you confirmed it with a snort to yourself. 

Hot Toban got me home safe and VERY sound if you know what I mean. ;) 

You typed back a quick response, letting her know that yes, you did know what she meant, and that you were glad. You hesitated, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a few seconds before you added one last line. 

I promise we’ll go out again soon! 

I hope. 

You knew you weren’t completely in the clear yet and that there were still things that could get in the way of you making good on that promise. But you were trying not to dwell on that fact as best you could. Because worrying won’t change anything at this point. There was a solid plan in place. All that was left to do was to enact it. And it’s going to work. You leaned forward to set the phone back on the table. It has to. 

“Everything alright?” Oberyn asked, his eyes on you as you settled into your seat again. 

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Nora was just letting me know that she was home.”. 

His expression warmed at that, eyes lightening. “You two care about each other very much.” 

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “We do. I’m lucky to have her.” That was putting it mildly - your friendship with Nora had made your life better in just about every way. You didn’t grow up with a sister, but you’d found one in her. 

“A friendship like that is a rare thing. I’m sure she feels just as lucky to have you.” Oberyn returned his palm to the top of your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “And I’m glad that she got home safely.” Me too. “Now, will you please tell me about your night?” 

You laughed. “I promise it was a very normal night. But, since you want to hear about it so badly…” 

You took him through the whole night out, telling him about the first place you went to with Tyene and Toban, describing the burger you ordered and the excitement you felt when Toban handed you the phone and told you to invite a friend out. You told him again how good it was to see and catch up with her, about how effortlessly she fell  into conversation with the rest of the group, about her very unsubtle crush on Toban and the rounds of darts that you all played. 

By the end of your retelling, Oberyn was grinning. “It sounds like it was a good time.” 

“It was,” you answered, reaching for the hand that he still had on your leg and lacing your fingers with his. “The only thing that would have made it better is if you were there, too.” 

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Shit. That sounded desperate. But Oberyn didn’t seem to agree. Instead, he leaned in and nuzzled his nose along the side of yours. “Then we will have to make that happen soon.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, pulling away to see the smile his promise put there. 

“I’d love that.” I really would. You sighed, leaning against him as he lifted his arm to let you come closer. For a few seconds it was quiet, and you could hear the sound of water rushing through the pipes, meaning that Tyene was still in the shower. But wait… “Oberyn?” He hummed a response. “Where’s Ellaria?” 

“She is in her bedroom, making some last minute adjustments to what we are wearing tomorrow.” You felt his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shirt so they could brush over the skin at your waist. “She will be out when she is done. Or when Toban returns, whichever happens first.” 

“Nora doesn’t live too far from here, so he should be back soon.” 

“But I finished first anyway.” You heard Ellaria speak as she entered the room. 

At the sound of her voice you sat up and turned to see her wearing the same dress she’d had on when you left, though her hair had been secured into a long braid. You wondered if she ever looked less than the dictionary definition of elegant, but as she gracefully lowered herself into the chair opposite you, you realized what a ridiculous thought that was. 

“Did you have a good time?” She asked. “Tyene said she had fun but I didn’t get much else out of her because she was hell bent on getting into the shower.” 

You laughed. “She told me how much she was looking forward to it, so that tracks. And to answer your question, I had a great time. I’m glad it was able to happen.” 

You spent the next few minutes recapping the night for Ellaria, Oberyn’s arm still around you the whole time, his fingers continuously sweeping over your skin. It struck you how normal it felt to be sitting there that way with the two of them. 

Though you knew - and accepted - what was going to happen while you and the others were out of the apartment, before you left you weren’t sure how you’d feel when you got back. And that didn’t just include Oberyn - you were unsure about what it would feel like to interact with Ellaria afterwards, too. But… Nothing is different. It was a striking difference from what you’d felt before she’d arrived for the first time, and you were unsure of how to feel about how quickly you’d started to feel comfortable with Oberyn in her presence. I’ll think about that later.

Tyene sauntered in with a towel wrapped around her hair as you finished bringing Ellaria up to speed. “Did you tell them about how we kicked ass at darts?” She perched on the armrest of Ellaria’s chair, one leg crossed over the other at the thigh. “Because we definitely did.” 

“I did! I -” 

But halfway through your response, the atmosphere of the room changed entirely. In a single second it became tense, the same way it did just before Toban and Tyrion had arrived. You took a breath and held it as the three of them exchanged pointed glances, and began to worry the longer they remained silent. What’s happening? 

You heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway, and then Ellaria shot to her feet, her eyes locked on the door as though she could see right through it. Is it Toban? You felt Oberyn stiffen beside you and your heart started thumping nervously behind your ribs. Or is it… Are we safe? 

Ellaria crossed the room as the door opened inward, and you finally exhaled when you saw that it was Toban. Oh, thank fuck. The relief, however, was short lived, and judging by the tightness in Oberyn’s jaw, you knew that something was off. And as soon as Toban fully entered the apartment and you got a good look at him, you realized what it was immediately. 

He fought someone. 

He didn’t appear to be injured, but he looked generally disheveled - for him, anyway - his shirt bearing a small rip near one shoulder, dirt rubbed deep into the fabric there, and his hair tousled. What the fuck happened? Who did he fight? Was it Gregor again? 

You stood up, unsure which was racing faster; the beat of your heart, or the questions tumbling over in your brain. 

“Toban.” Ellaria spoke his name while she reached for his arm. Her braid fell over her shoulder as she angled her upper body to get the best view of his face. “Are you alright, my love? What happened?” 

He finished with the locks and turned so that he was looking directly at her. Lifting his hands to take her face between them, he locked his eyes with hers. For a handful of seconds it was as though you, Tyene and Oberyn weren’t even in the room with them. “I am fine.” He nodded once, then leaned down to kiss the top of her head before meeting her eyes again. “I promise.” 

You noticed the small movement of his thumb over her cheek, his touch an instant comfort to her. She visibly relaxed with his reassurance, the tension dissipating from her shoulders. You were struck, not only by the depth of the connection that was shared between Others and their Creators, but at how extremely human it was for Toban to be able to soothe her with such a gentle, innocent touch. It was equally impressive for him to want and need to give her that comfort. They love each other so much. So deeply. 

You swallowed and returned the squeeze that Oberyn had just given your hand. He does, too. Even with his and Toban’s history, he loves him.

Just as you were about to turn to look at the man whose hand you were holding, Toban surprised you completely by stepping away from Ellaria and directing his focus toward you. He spoke your name, placing one large hand on your shoulder. “I want you to know that your friend is safe.” 

Eyes widening, you gave a quick shake of your head. “Nora? Yeah, I - she -” You withdrew your hand from Oberyn’s and used it to gesture toward the coffee table, where the phone still sat. “She texted me, and -” Oh. A sudden weight dropped into your stomach as you connected the dots and realized what Toban was actually telling you. Oh, shit. You let out a burst of air, dizziness buzzing through your brain and goosebumps prickling your skin as you sucked in another breath. Oh my god. Your next words were barely above a whisper, your voice shaking slightly. “There was someone at her apartment.” You swallowed. “The Lannisters, they s-sent someone to her apartment? They-” 

They sent someone there to kill her. 

Your knees buckled then, but Oberyn didn’t let you fall, his arm swimming beneath yours to wind around your waist. “I’ve got you.” He spoke softly, lips close to your ear as you leaned your weight into him, letting him steady you. “You’re alright.” He kept his arm in place, even as you got your legs back under you and Toban continued. 

“They did.” The blond man confirmed your assumption, a chill speeding down your spine. His emerald eyes briefly flicked up to meet Oberyn’s before returning to yours as he said your name, the tone of his voice soothing. “They did, but they did not succeed. Nora is safe, I promise you.” He nodded once. “I made sure of it.” 

That means he killed them. He killed them before they could kill her. You swallowed hard, tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you tried not to think about what would have happened had Toban not decided to walk Nora home. Reaching out with one hand, you gripped his forearm and squeezed. “Thank you, Toban. That means everything.” 

His expression softened with your gratitude. “You don’t need to thank me, I would not have let anything happen to her.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek as you took a shuddering breath. “Well I’m thanking you anyway,” you managed, before your throat tightened again. 

Toban simply nodded, patting the hand you had on his arm and giving you a small smile. “Of course.” You dropped your hand when he lifted his, the man shifting his attention again, turning to Tyene. “What about you? Did you run into any trouble on your way back here?” 

Something in the way that he asked made you feel like the attempted attack on Nora wasn’t entirely a surprise. Did they expect something to happen tonight? You glanced up at Oberyn before turning towards Tyene for her answer. 

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, nothing. Guess Tyrion was right about them not wanting to send out too many of their fucking goons so close to the big event.” Wait, what? You stiffened, standing straighter and taking some of your weight off of Oberyn. So Tyrion tipped them off that someone might… that something might happen tonight? Why didn’t… Why didn’t Oberyn say anything about that? She rolled her eyes and examined her cuticles. “I wouldn’t have minded, actually. Fewer of them for us to take on later, and-”

“Speaking of Tyrion’s input -” You turned to look at Ellaria as she cut in, the concern on her face still present but fading. “You didn’t bite, did you my love?” 

That question struck you as strange. Why wouldn’t he? That’s the most efficient way for them to fight, isn’t it? There was something you were missing. There had to be. An uneasy feeling swam through your stomach as pieces started falling into place. 

“I did not,” Toban responded, those three words erasing the rest of the worry from Ellaria’s face. He clapped one large palm to Oberyn’s shoulder. “I think Oberyn’s experience with their poison was more than enough for all of us.”

“What?” You startled yourself by asking the question out loud, and then four pairs of eyes were on you as you shook your head. “What are you talking about? Tyrion’s input?” You looked from Ellaria to Tyene, the girl removing the towel from her hair and tossing it onto the couch with a frown. Why isn’t anyone - You looked up at Oberyn, a furrow forming in your forehead at the almost guilty expression he wore. “Oberyn…” You took a breath and let it out shakily. “What’s going on?” 

He took both of your wrists in his hands as he spoke, his eyes looking directly into yours. “I… I did not want you to be worried.” 

You felt your eyes widen as your mouth dropped open in shock. He knew. He knew that someone would be looking for us tonight. And if Tyrion told them not to bite if they were attacked, that means… You were knocked dizzy with your next thought. That means he knew that the Lannisters were using the same poison they gave to Gregor in all of their foot soldiers. It meant that your fun night out was truly anything but that. 

“Didn’t want me to be worried?” With a scoff, you withdrew your hands and crossed your arms. I’m going to be worried until this is all over. “We’re a little bit past that, aren’t we?” You shook your head. “I would have never invited Nora out if I knew she was going to be in danger because of it.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the others leave the room, and as they did, something else hit you. 

“Oh my god,” you muttered, letting out a ragged breath. “She already was in danger, wasn’t she?” You blinked rapidly, licking your suddenly arid lips. “That’s why you had me call her to -” Another incredulous breath rushed from your lungs. 

Oberyn spoke your name, his tone laced with apology. You looked up at him and instantly wished you didn’t feel as angry and upset as you did. But I am. He… He should have told me. “We -” He frowned, closing his eyes and correcting himself. “I knew that there was a strong possibility that someone close to you would draw the Lannisters’ attention after you went missing,” he admitted, opening his eyes again. “But nothing was ever going to happen to you or to Nora.” 

You blew air through your lips. “You can’t say that for sure, Oberyn.” Shrugging, you shook your head. “What if Tyrion was wrong, and they sent ten men instead of one?” You cringed. “And I’m not just upset about Nora. Toban and Tyene were in danger, too, and you -” Your throat tightened as anger mixed with hurt and a touch of embarrassment. “You just had me believe that it was all fine, and-” I should have known. I should have known that a night out wasn’t just a night out. Not with everything that’s going on. 

“I am sorry.” 

You knew that those three words coming from him were a rarity. And when you searched his face you saw that they weren’t just words. It was there in his eyes, too. A part of you wanted to forgive him right there on the spot, wrap your arms around his neck and tell him it was fine. No one was hurt, and you knew that he had good intentions. Part of you wanted to just let it go, let him kiss you senseless until sunrise and chalk the deception up to him doing what was necessary to keep you from worrying. 

But it’s not just about what could have happened. It’s about the fact that he kept the truth from me. 

That was where the hurt was coming from. You weren’t one of them. You weren’t immortal, you weren’t powerful. You were, by comparison, painfully human. But you were just as much a part of what was happening as anyone else in the group. You deserved to know what they did, especially when it came to your also-human friend. 

You realized you hadn’t responded to his apology when he spoke your name. Breaking yourself free of your thoughts, you focused on Oberyn as he took a small step towards you. “Please, let me explain why I -” 

You stepped backwards, his frown deepening with the distance. “I will.” You swallowed and shook your head, the corners of your eyes starting to sting. “But I need a minute. I need… I just need to process this, Oberyn. Can you -” You blinked and a tear slipped free, his shoulders falling as he watched it roll down your cheek. “Can you just give me some time?” 

He nodded, eyes still tracing the salty track left behind on your skin. “Of course.” His hands clenched into loose fists and then fell open again at his sides, and you knew that he was resisting the urge to reach for you. You knew because you were doing the same. “Take however long you need.” 

You took an uneven breath and let it out, then returned his nod and forced yourself to turn away, leaving him standing in the living room. 

You felt slightly better after a hot shower. 

A hot shower and a good cry, to be exact. 

Standing under the steamy water, you’d let your emotions flow freely. You let yourself feel the delayed fear of finding out that you and people you cared about had been in real danger. You gave in, just for a few seconds, to thoughts of worst case scenarios - of you or Nora, killed by some Lannister lackey, of Tyene, poisoned like Oberyn, but unable to stave off death because she wasn’t as old or powerful as he was, of Ellaria losing Toban, of Oberyn losing you. You let yourself feel anger and rage towards the Lannisters and Gregor Clegane for creating the entire situation. You let yourself feel the smallness that came from being left out of the loop. 

And only when you felt that you’d emptied the tank did you get out of the shower, find a comfortable pair of sweats to put on, and climb onto the bed. Sitting back against the pillows, you brought your hands up to your face, dragging them down over your mouth. What a fucking night. 

A knock on the door startled you then, your whole upper body pivoting towards the sound. You figured that Oberyn would wait for you to go to him when you were ready to talk. Because that’s what he said. You blew out a long, slow breath, licking your lips before speaking. “I’ll be out in a minute, Oberyn.” 

If the knock hadn’t surprised you, the voice that responded would have - especially with its softness. “It isn’t Oberyn,” Ellaria said, adding your name. “Can I come in?” 

Sucking in a small gasp, you blinked at the door. “Um -” You stood from the bed and took two steps closer, heart thumping in your throat. Ellaria? Why is she… She wants to talk to me? “Yeah, h-hold on.” You let out a slow exhale and closed your eyes, trying to finish pulling yourself together before reaching for the doorknob. They opened as you opened the door, revealing the stunning woman on the other side of it. “Hi,” you muttered with a sniff, stepping aside to let her in and closing the door behind her. “Sorry, I -” 

She shook her head, cocking it to one side. “What are you apologizing for?” 

You let out a small, humorless laugh and gestured at yourself. “For…” 

“I understand why you were upset.” She crossed her arms, nodding. “Honestly, you handled it better than I would have.” Taking three long strides, she crossed to the bed, turning so that she could lean back against the mattress without actually sitting down. “More importantly, though -” She fixed her eyes on yours as she continued. “Oberyn understands.” 

Your mouth dipped in a half-frown. “Did he ask you to-”

She gave you a small smile. “No, I’m not here because he asked me to talk to you. I am here because I wanted us to have a chance to speak… without Oberyn present.” 

You felt your eyes widen at that, your mouth falling open. “Where is he?” You cleared your throat. “Won’t he be able to hear us?” 

“He is upstairs, on the roof.” She tilted her head to one side. “And technically, yes, he can hear us. But he won’t be listening.” 

You recalled what he told you about how he learned to tune things out to give others privacy. And he’d never eavesdrop on Ellaria. Clearing your throat, you nodded. “Okay. Should I sit down? I was… I was just about to go and talk to him before you -” 

“You can sit if you’d like, but what I have to say will only take a minute.” She waited to see if you would move to take a seat, and when you didn’t, she went on. “I know that he made a mistake tonight, not telling you things that you probably should have been told, and asking the rest of us not to tell you, either.” You felt your forehead wrinkle as you drew your brows together, but stayed silent while Ellaria continued. “But I also know that you mean as much to that man as finishing things with Cersei and Tywin does.” 

You sucked in a gasp, floored by what she had just said. “Ellaria, I…” 

“I also know that he has a good reason for everything that he does.” She surprised you again by lifting one side of her mouth in a smirk. “He may not always get things right, but he has his reasons.” 

When you spoke, your voice was thin, still breathless from the idea that you meant as much to him as she said you did. “I’m sure he does.” 

She stood straight then, her smirk spreading into a warm smile. “There are so many people in the world he could have chosen. But I am very glad that he waited for you.” 

Your heart slammed erratically at that. It was the first time that Ellaria had basically stated that Oberyn planned to offer to change you. That he wants to make me his first. 

“I… Ellaria, I’m not sure what to say, I -” You sputtered, mouth suddenly dry. 

“You don’t have to say anything.” She crossed the room, pausing to place her hand on your arm. “Just go listen to what he has to say.” Her fingers tightened briefly on your arm, but after she spent a few seconds letting her gaze wander over your face, she released her grip and left. 

You stood there for a solid ten seconds, one hand over your mouth, uneven breaths fanning out over your fingers. Then, without thinking twice, you grabbed the folded blanket from the foot of the bed, stuffed your feet into your shoes, and made your way out to the elevator. 

There was a slight breeze when you reached the rooftop, the cool air making you shiver as you stepped outside. 

You saw him immediately, Oberyn’s silhouette dark against the skyline as he stood near the railing, looking out over the city. He obviously knew that you were there, but you could see the moment that your presence registered with him, his shoulders lifting slightly. He turned, but even as you crossed the space he was still in shadow when he spoke. “I would not have blamed you if you did not come up here tonight.” 

There was a sadness in his tone and you briefly wondered if he was afraid that he’d gone too far, that you’d want nothing to do with him. Couldn’t be further from the truth, Oberyn. You cleared your throat, wanting your voice to sound certain. “Well, we have a sunrise date, remember?” 

He sighed out your name as you tossed the blanket onto the outdoor couch and came to stand beside him. When you finally got a good look at his face, you frowned. Oh, he looks - “I am truly sorry that I did not tell you everything you needed to know. And I am sorry that your friend was in danger because of me.” He shook his head, turning away from the view to meet your eyes. “I thought that I was protecting you both but I… I was wrong.” 

“I know, Oberyn.” You pressed your side against his and wrapped one arm around his waist, his arm winding around you so that you were both looking out at the lights. You sighed, resting your head against him. “I just… I think I’ve handled the truth pretty well so far. You have to give me credit for that. I can take the truth, even if it’s dangerous.” 

He turned to press a kiss to the top of your head. “I know,” he murmured into your hair, the strands still damp. “I know you can.” 

You tightened your hold on him then, your next words coming out just above a whisper. “You should have told me.” 

“You are right, I should have.” He turned to face you, bringing the arm that was around you up so he could cup your cheek. “I would like to explain why I didn’t, even though it was wrong, if that’s alright with you.” 

You nodded, leaning into his palm. “Okay.” 

He swallowed, letting his hand fall from your face to rest at your hip, and you realized that whatever he was about to say wasn’t going to be easy. “I was thinking about Elia.” 

That sucked the air from your lungs. Oh, Oberyn. 

“I was thinking about how when the Lannisters had my sister and her children killed, they did it to get to Ellaria. They did it because they knew that hurting me was a good way to hurt her.” You could hear the vitriol he felt for them even through the sadness in his tone. “ And I know that now they are trying to hurt me, and they know that the best way to do that would be to hurt you.” He sighed. “I know that Nora is like a sister to you.” You felt tears prick your eyes again. She is. “I know she is who you called the first night we were together, when I asked you if anyone needed to know that you wouldn’t be home. And I know that you would have been devastated if anything were to happen to her, just like I was when I lost Elia.” 

You didn’t want to interrupt, so all you did was nod, encouraging him to go on. 

“When I made my choice to become what I am, when I said yes to Ellaria’s offer, my decision was influenced by Elia’s death. With more than two thousand years of this life gone by now, I like to think that I would have made the same choice if my sister had lived.” He heaved an unnecessary breath and shook his head slowly. “But I will never know for sure.” Leaning over, he rested his forehead against yours and spoke your name. “I do not want it to be the same for you.” 

Oh my god. Holy shit. He… 

“When I gave you this…” He lifted his head and brought his hand up to your throat, thumb brushing over the invisible mark on your skin. Your eyes fell closed at his touch, a small breath escaping your lips at the way it felt. “When I gave you my protection, it was not just others of my kind that I promised to protect you from. It was all things that would cause you harm. All things that were within my power to keep from hurting you. And I foolishly thought that if I didn’t tell you about the Lannisters watching Nora, if I just had it taken care of without you knowing, that I was somehow protecting you from feeling that fear.” 

You looked up at him then, silent tears falling freely. “Oberyn…” 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips near the corner of your eye, catching a salty drop before it fell. “I am sorry.” He repeated the same action on your other cheek, kissing away another tear. “I promise it will not happen again.” 

You had no idea how to respond to what he’d said, so instead you simply wound both arms around him and buried your face in his chest. He held you like that for several minutes, until your tears stopped coming, and then, as though he knew that you were overwhelmed by the way he had all but confirmed what Ellaria had hinted at, he simply took your hands and led you over to the couch. 

“It is a good thing you brought that blanket if we are going to stay out here until sunrise.” He pulled you down with him, letting you settle against him before making sure that you were adequately covered. 

“Like I said,” you yawned. “We have a date.” 

He chuckled then, the sound welcome after all the tension of the last hour or so. “If you fall asleep before then I will not take it personally.”

You hummed a small laugh of your own. “Good, because I probably will.” Another yawn broke though. “Just wake me up if I do.” 

“I will.” 

“I bet it’ll feel nice,” you mumbled, exhaustion starting to set in. “Feeling the sun on your skin.” 

“And you in my arms,” he added, his voice like warm velvet. You nestled closer as his biceps flexed around you, and then you felt the press of his plush lips near your hairline, their contact lingering as he spoke. “The last time I felt both of those things, I was unsure that I would survive and terrified that you might not.” He dragged the tip of his nose over your forehead to drop another kiss to your temple. “This time, I know that we both will.” 

You ran your fingertip along the links in the chain around his neck before letting them slip over his skin beneath the collar of his shirt. “We will,” you mumbled. 

You felt yourself slipping under then, but you could have sworn you heard him repeat those two words, and then add a few more. “We will. And then we will have forever.” 

[marloree]

   Your lovely guitarist

Pairing: Guitarist! Student! Beomgyu x Reader

Genre: university au, series

Word count: 0.87 k

Summary: you're studying at university and living your mundane life, that is, until you meet Beomgyu. What will it lead to? Only time can tell.

Part 1!    The beginning

You never considered moving as easy, especially to the city you knew almost nothing of.

"New city, new life, new page", they say.

You agreed with the statement, to some degree at least.

Of course you were happy to get into the university of your dreams. Just how much happy you were. One wouldn't lie saying you were over the moon.

But..there are always numerous buts, right?

To begin with, you were quite introverted. Not that you had no friends, but it was difficult for you to get into new groups. "A way to open up, not as bad as it sounds", you thought, reassuring yourself.

Moreover, you never left your hometown before and knew absolute nothing about the city you were moving in.

Obviously you tried to get to know the city better, but were you good at navigating? Absolutely not.

But we always imagine things scarier than they are in reality, right?

Dorms were decent, the professors friendly, the students quite approachable. You even managed to befriend a few people during the first week. Life definitely didn't seem to be as difficult as you thought it would be at first.

Of course adjusting to the new environment wasn't easy, but it was still decent.

And you really enjoyed the classes. No matter how hard the work was, your eyes shined like diamonds every time you thought of how your life turned to be: studying in your dream university, getting the job you've been passionate about since...how long already? You couldn't have been more lucky, seriously.

Not to mention the newly found friends you've been together from morning 'till night. Let alone them being genuinely nice people, which you really appreciated, they shared your hobbies, your passion. You felt like you've got to experience the so called "y/n life", life of your dreams. Seriously, it felt just as surreal as a dream.

But, you weren't just lucky, you've worked your butt off to live like this. And you had no plans on stopping anytime soon.

No, of course you weren't the typical "good girl" or a "nerd", but you had a goal you aimed to.

You just lived your own life the way you thought to be the right one.

Never having too much friends, you enjoyed the company of a few close friends that surrounded you. Now, with new faces around you, you still kept your usual life style.

You were content with how things are in your private life and had no wish to change that, for now. "School, friends, studies, hobbies" now changed to "uni, friends, studies, hobbies".

"A partner" or "a boyfriend" never appeared in that list. It's not like you were too interested in dating, at least currently. Developing small crushes from time to time, you never got into anything serious. Guys in your school weren't the best ones, anyway.

It was like this and, perhaps, might have stayed just this way if not for Beomgyu, literally the perfect guy that took the same course as you.

You couldn't deny his great physique, but his knowledge was no joke, either.

Matching brains with good looks, the guy sent your heart in heaven.

At first, you didn't even try getting closer to him. He seemed to always hang out with his group of friends, just as you did with yours. The coming up semester exams and a dozen of homework you had to do every night didn't add up to your enthusiasm of getting with your love interest, either.

Your life flew by just the same, only a little flutter of your heart everytime you crossed your ways with Beomgyu reminding you of the crush you had on him.

A month passed like this, and the night before your semester exams arrived.

It was almost midnight when you finished rereading your notes for the millionth time, thinking of finally going to sleep. When, suddenly, you heard noises coming from one of the dorms. Once you opened your window to see what was going on, you could clearly hear someone play the guitar.

"Just the perfect time to do that, eh?" you thought, wondering whether the person was so sure about their academics or simply decided not to study at all.

As curiosity got the better of you, you tried to see where the melody was coming from.

Oh how surprised you got once you realized that it was, in fact, Beomgyu's dorm that the guitar play was heard from.

"Really? Never thought he also knows how to play the guitar", the thought popped in your head, leaving you wonder just how many other skills the guy has.

While thinking of that, you suddenly heard him play a familiar song. Too familiar even, it was one of your favourites.

"So we even share similar music taste, huh.." you thought, the idea of actually trying to at least get acquaintanced with Beomgyu popping up in your brain for the first time.

He wasn't bad at all, somewhat reminding you the image of your ideal type even.

With that thought, you closed the window, sliding down onto your bed and soon drifting off to sleep, accompanied by quiet chords of Beomgyu's play as a lullaby.

[salvadorbonaparte]

January 2025 in Films

Hey what if I do these monthly?!

Godzilla Minus One (2023) - I love a big scary lizard but I love stories of hope and perseverance and of trauma and horrors of war even more so you can imagine the great time I was having crying while watching this

Mutt Boy (2003) - the protagonist's dog is killed and eaten by bullies and he should have been allowed to go full John Wick on them. He does get to beat people though, which is a plus. A very weird film but somehow enchanting. Also a rare example of a film with a mentally disabled protagonist without it being the main focus

Operation Mincemeat (2021) - pretty standard when it comes to based on a true story WW2 spy stuff but fun to watch

Steel Rain (2017) - character dynamics reminiscent of a buddy cop movie, blatantly propaganda and weirdly pro nuclear weapons but also surprisingly nuanced in some ways, some really fun and tragic character moments

Steel Rain 2: Summit (2020) - fascinating choice to have the same actors in different roles and switching nationalities, a lot sillier and a lot more convoluted than the first one, works pretty well as a satire and once again surprises with some character dynamics

Conclave (2024) - Edward Berger's sins (his all quiet adaptation) have been forgiven. So beautifully shot. Like 12 angry men both in some plot aspects and in the way I was surprisingly on the edge of my seat despite it just being old men talking. The plot twist made me gasp

A City of Sadness (1989) - tfw a film called a city of sadness is actually sad... I've screamed about this film before but insane how it portrays mundane beauty in times of political terror, really interested in disappearances and presences in it, my first Taiwanese film and made me really curious about Taiwanese history

In the Mood for Love (2000) - I put off watching this for years because I wasn't in the right mood and then it peeled me like an orange, a film that feels like basking under the warm glow of an infrared lamp while it tears you apart at the seams

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) - Paul Newman I love your salad dressing! Great landscapes and an outlaw polycule

Kommt ein Vogel geflogen (2023) - the poster has a parrot and an old timey German font so I jokingly asked if the parrot is a Nazi and then the parrot actually was a Nazi. Insane film. Funny in a surreal fever dream way. Takes itself too seriously at times but really good when taken as satire

Eternal Summer (2006) - deeply moving and tender, filled with so much yearning I had to hold my breath at times, yearning so intense it becomes self destructive and isolating, I'd argue the ending is more ambiguous and positive than some claim

Girlfriend Boyfriend (2012) - it's only fair that after Eternal Summer Joseph Chang plays the gay yearning part of the love triangle this time, more yearning to the point of self destruction or how the film puts it "the bitterness is self-inflicted", an exploration of teenage rebellion succumbing to adulthood and the changing political landscape

The Silent War (2012) - Good news this included two research interests at the same time and also Tony Leung. Bad news it wasn't very good. Really difficult to find online with English subtitles.

Soul (2013) - this one was surprisingly difficult to find with English subtitles at first but worth the search, a very quiet slow horror film but still shook me to the core, I loved the ambiguity between possession and mental illness because in the context of the movie does that even matter?

[howlionj]

in my alternative rorkelias, gabriel is the one who hungry for mundane civil life. i mean, it is only logical for him: he was alienated from everything ordinary his whole life, never experienced something like neighbourhood or community beyond army and never had an actual home.

he's rawdogging that all at elias' prestige suburbia and his enthusiasm are scary for the walkers to witness. elias himself is quite fond of community life in san diego, but never really liked being fully involved in it: he helps occasionally, organises sometimes bbq evenings and, of course, keeps his relationship with neighbours in good terms. and rorke. well, he went right into the game.

his first real, full summer stay started with connecting with all elderly residents. week later david told his dad that gabriel even befriended their scariest auntie, mrs. hopkins. that women can grind devil himself into the grave and suddenly she gossips with gabriel about everybody and their mothers like she knows him her whole life.

hell, their nicest elderly couple even told elias that gabriel is a good match. not like he didn't know that his partner is nice person, but them being that confident about it after only one week? actually insane.

he also befriended every suburban dad next. and those men are southerners, quite conservative and religious, but they welcomed gabriel like he's their distant relative. well, maybe rorke's career and enormous strength played some role in it, but nevertheless they are pretty chill with him being openly gay and dating their neighbour. elias kept his distance from local men's community, because he's repulsive of such traditional southern masculinity, and here is gabriel magically not only made it into the team, but also explored that they are allies. one of the dads once approached him during lawn work and told that he's good with elias' boyfriend and walkers are welcomed in the neighbourhood like before. he also hardly empathised that no one here is really against queers.

liberal part of the community also was charmed by rorke. their really nice local family with a trans son told him that gabriel is surprisingly cool. and their local lesbian couple are tolerating his presence – a big gesture, honestly. he even helped them to organise drag show for local club and charmed ladies too.

elias feels strange about this all, because, yes, he's really happy for gabriel getting used to civil life, but at the same time he can't shake off strange tension between them both. it's not about current circumstances, at least not directly, but walker sometimes gets the impression that gabriel tries that hard to fit in just to please him and his sons. he knows his partner is honest about his intentions and truly loves to be involved with community, but he's a bit performative about it too.

he's not blind and deaf, he heard from gabriel firsthand insecure remarks about being bothered and trouble, saw him shyly glancing over them with almost grievance. and then, he tries so hard to be good for them: helping with chores, listening to david's rambles and logan's messy punchlines, being sensitive and patient with elias. hell, gabriel is currently taking advanced asl classes just to speak with logan more.

and on mary's anniversary, god, he was so extra considerate and soft with them whole three days, it felt surreal. gabriel is gentle in nature, and it can be considered strange statements for one's who know him in action, but on those days he was almost biblical saint. was it because he feels himself alienated from walkers and needs to prove his worth?

they love him, truly. it might be too early for walkers to say that he's welcomed and appreciated here for the rest of his and theirs lives, but for now they want him to be a permanent part of household. maybe, they not saying it enough? or too subtle about it?

elias is lost, because for the first ten years of his life he feels love this strong. he always was protective kind of person in relationship, but with gabriel it evolved into something newly intimate: his partner doesn't need physical protection, so he tries to provide emotional support. and walker hoped before this summer stay that he was so goddamn good at this, but, clearly, rorke still hesitant about their relationship.

elias knows it's natural for trust to be slow, but now he wishes to rush it all. not because he's irritated with gabriel, but because he wants to make his partner as happy as he makes him.

[luvcozy]

Modern AU! Yakuza! Human! Kokushibo X Soft! Shy! Assassin! Reader

@opheliasadventures1 :- Requested, she likes soft and shy readers and I enjoy it too lol

Warnings :- Dark themes, mentions of blood, assassination attempt, knives and swords, no use of y/n, gender-neutral reader, use of guns, death, assassination attempt completed

🩸 So maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to take up a job offer to take out the Yakuza's right hand

🩸 And maybe it wasn't the smartest to think it would be easy, cause it was FAR from it

🩸 Question after question after question and when you made one slip up you had sent your employer to his death

🩸 These guys on the other hand had other plans, like turning around, offering you way more- just for you to kill him

🩸 Kokushibu was the one to come up with the idea, so you coming back without a problem and accepting the money didn't seem like much

🩸 Kokushibu was a personal assassin and, by request, Muzan hired you in and thus began the courting process

🩸 It started with meetups, to coffee shops, walks to anywhere and nowhere, small cafes and diners, though it didn't seem like much was happening other than him not letting you pay for any of it

🩸 He's a stubborn guy so arguing with him about being able to pay for yourself with him around is already a losing battle, though your cheeks puffing in frustration pits a gleam in his eye

🩸 The whole process is actually heavily mundane compared to others, so it was a soft transition into a relationship, though not a whole lot seemed to change

🩸 Other than his occasional check-ins and what he set to be your weekly date. Reason? His busy ah schedule and yours

🩸 it's when you take jobs together that things really are different

🩸 He always carries a blade on his hip or back for messier jobs, but his sniping is on another level, one that you are having to learn

🩸 it started with the practice range, him poking and nudging your arms, body, and legs into the correct stance. She did this multiple times over countless sessions till you could get the stance right

🩸 Thankfully after that, he would help with your aim and let's just say, his irritation and patience show through on this multiple times, but your still damn good at what you do, he just wants you to get better

🩸 So comes the first night he oversees your first assassination from under his training

🩸 Watching as you set up your sniper he kneels neck to you watching and checking, till you get into position

🩸 The pressure behind such a task can be rattling, considering what you've seen their boss is capable of, so starts the subtle shaking

🩸 As soon as Koku notices he moves to sit behind you, arms taking the same place under and over yours, silent as she adjusts you against his chest

🩸 The smell of fireside and cinnamon coming off of him, the moment surreal to you, being enclosed by him in such a serious moment, yet it made your heart melt at the gesture

🩸 You flinched a bit when he lowered his head next to yours but you didn't pull your head from the scope, a calmness washing over you in this position

🩸 Like his calmness is carrying over to you, you relax enough to focus again with a hard blush covering your face, lining your target with the crosshairs and sending the targets body limp

🩸 Just as you pull away from the edge and your eye from the scope, the vibrations of a chuckle came from the man practically holding you, you looked back at him to meet his eyes

🩸 "Nicely done." At his praise your face bloomed in a harsh blush as you pulled your face to look the other direction, though a sweet smile took over as you mumbled a thank you, earning another chuckle that sent your nerves on fire 🔥

[bubaboos]

due to popular demand (2 mutuals and me) i present to you my top ten movies watched in 2024!

i wanted to be fair and in the actual top 10 i've only included movies that premiered in 2024 in poland (with one exception) but i've also made a honorable mentions list and top short movies (because they deserve as much attention as feature films!). so, here it is! enjoy!☺

10. All Of Us Strangers (Andrew Haigh, 2023) 4/5 stars

It's one of the rawest, most intimate films I've ever seen. It makes you feel like and intruder of someone's deepest thoughts and feelings, as if you were reaching directly into the main characters' minds, souls and hearts. It's uncomfortable in the best possible way and it's very very real. The dialouges are so honest and emotional and gave me chills, some of the shots are out of this world and made me feel like I was personally there, basking in the sunlight or smelling the smoke. AND Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal are a perfect duo, their acting was so believable it makes you forget you're watching something fictional. It has it's flaws yes, but it also made me think about it for days. It's like a healing fever dream in which you're trying to make things better.

9. Evil Does Not Exist (Ryūsuke Hamaguchi, 2023) 4/5 stars

Damn. This one. You know, I wasn't really sure about it at first bc it is frustrating but then I think this film wants you to question it and that's a good thing about it. It's all about perspective and whether you actually believe that evil does not exist. It's a good reflection on grief, cruelty, humanity and how we choose to exist in this world. I wish it reflected more on nature and how we influence the envoirnment around us BUT I also understand why it didn't. It has a beautiful score from Eiko Ishibashi and some hypnotising, breathtaking cinematography. And it proves that evil does in fact exist and is stored in annoying glamping guys who disturb your routine and plan to destroy your envoirnment and community. Also, I'm impressed in Hamaguchi's ability to create a slow cinema film that's under 2 hours, that manages to actually give the story space it needs and resolves all important plot points.

8. Sometimes I Think About Dying (Rachel Lambert, 2023) 4/5 stars🖤

Touching and relatable in ways I wouldn't expect. It was a pretty personal watch for me so I might be biased but I think it's a very interesting take on mundanity, death (and fantasizing about it) and the mortifying ordeal of being known. The cinematography is beautiful, the story is written and told in such a gentle and understanding way, Daisy Ridley is simply great and the music score gives it all a nice touch and sets the mood perfectly - everything works together very well. Justice for boring girls who fantasize about death and live inside their heads!

7. The Beast (Bertrand Bonello, 2023) 4,5/5 stars

It NEVER went the direction I expected it to go and that's a VERY good thing in this case. It crawls under your skin and feels a little haunted. It's unpredictible so it keeps you guessing and wondering all the time and it never gives you a simple answer (and trust me, you'll have a lot of questions watching this), even at the end of the movie. It's a very complex reflection on relationships and love, modern world and gender dynamics, technology and history. It's surreal and realistic at the same time. Yes, you need to be patient with this film but it's worth it. Everything shown, said and done in this movie has its' purpose. And I'm in awe of Seydoux's and MacKay's acting here, it's incredible how they managed to play multiple characters that are basically the same people in different timelines and yet I couldn't recognise them sometimes.

6. Perfect Days (Wim Wenders, 2023) 4,5/5 stars 🖤

Well, it turns out I'm a sucker for some slow cinema. Another film that demands patience from you but it was one of the most memorable watches for me this year. I could watch Hirayama-san go about his life for 10 more hours. Yes, it's a little cliche but it also works because it knows exactly what it wants to achieve. It shows the beauty and freedom in the mundane and it also shows the prettiest public bathrooms you could imagine ajkfgjsfjadsgfaj no, but seriously, I really appreciate this movie for showing that sometimes "a boring life" is just... a good one. You don't need to do great things, you don't need to kill your soul for labor, you don't have to be proud of every choice in your life but it's also not worth it to dwell on the past. It's about whether you're satisfied with how you live now and your life can just be... ordinary. What's important is - are you free and living in harmony and true to yourself?

Some shots here are magical but what caught my attention the most was the sound design and how it adds to the story. I could talk about this movie for hours but I'll stop here.

5. How to Make Millions Before Grandma Dies (Pat Boonnitipat, 2024) 4,5/5 🖤

Have you seen all the videos of people sobbing in theatres as the credits of this film play in the background? I'm happy to inform that all this videos are true and I sobbed like a baby. I have a strong loving relationship with my grandma so this film was a very personal watch for me and a bitter-sweet one too. Guys, this film is a warm hug on a cold day, it's a beautiful, touching story about appreciating your loved ones (even if you lie to yourself that you don't actually care about them) and saying goodbye to them, when you really really don't want to. But it also made me laugh a lot and this is just how life is right? It's bitter-sweet and there's never enough time with the ones you love but it's still worth it. Some beautiful shots, great acting and a simply lovely story.

4. Challengers (Luca Guadagnino, 2024) 4,5/5 stars 🖤

Oh, where do I even start. I must admit that I was sceptical at first with all the hype this movie had and then I regreted SO MUCH that I didn't manage to see this in cinema😭 I just know I would've had an out of body experience. This movie had me sitting on the edge of my seat, pacing around the room, gasping and cheering. The tension is incredible but the pacing is also really good so the story isn't rushed but keeps you intrigued the whole time. The soundtrack is crazy good and got me hooked from the start, the main characters are so interesting and the cast did an amazing job. The final 30 minutes of this movie?! OUT OF THIS WORLD, I'm so serious. Challengers is like watching a very intense match of tennis between a divorced couple and their lover. Literally! And you will have the best time ever watching them and you will get involved and take sides. It's very fun and the cast is incredible, brain goes brrrr!

3. Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023) 4,5/5 stars 🖤

This film has it all. COURT DRAMA, great cast, trilingual queen accused of killing her asshole husband, dog's acting that's better than half of film industry, amazing child acting as well, hot loser lawyer, great script that never lets you get bored and cinematography that makes you feel like you're a part of it all. What I love about Anatomy of a Fall is that it forces you to come to conclusions yourself, not giving you an actual answer. Whether the main character is guilty or not is actually up to you. There were moments where I was totally hypnotised and immersed in the story with my whole body. It's complex but executed very well, so there's no loose plot points and there are so many details too but you also have to decide yourself if they matter or not. And the multilingual part is done SO WELL, it shows the struggle of existing in a foreign country, being forced to use languages that are not yours to build an image of yourself that can never be really true because it's not in your mother tongue and how it affects you in a very honest way imo. I kind of can't wait to watch it again.

2. Wham! (Chris Smith, 2023) 4,5/5 stars 🖤

(Okay, hear me out. So technically I watched this in 2025 already BUT! It was in the first days of january so in my head it still counts as 2024, okay? Okay. And besides, I really want to put it on this list because it belongs here.)

It's not easy to make a decent documentary and it's hard to make a good one. This one? It's very very good, great even. The editing and songs choices are excellent and the whole production feels like a conversation between George and Andrew, them recalling memories as if they were telling you their story at a cozy party. It made me miss Wham! and George a lot but it also made me appreciate Andrew a lot more and understand both of them better. It's lovely to see and hear their perspective on the whole phenomem that was Wham!. It's definitely my new comfort watch <3

1. Monster (Hirokazu Koreeda, 2023) 5/5 stars 🖤

AND THE WINNER IS... MONSTER!!! MOVIE OF THE YEAR, MOVIE OF THE DECADE, MOVIE OF THE CENTURY. TO ME! I've seen it several times, I've had the soundtrack on repeat for the whole year, it's my new comfort watch, I want to give it a whole chapter in my master's thesis, I can not shut up about it ever since I've seen it, it's serious. This film means so much to me at this point that it's hard to describe with words, but I'll try.

If you've seen any Koreeda's films before, you know the drill. He likes to tell subtle stories about what makes us human but he's never idealistic about it, most of the time it's just brutal truths about our world shown in a beautiful way. But he never leaves viewers without hope. And that's what Monster is as well.

It's about two boys, who become friends but we don't know that at first. The story is told from 3 perspectives - the mother's, the teacher's and finally the boys'. And it's an excellent choice because we get to learn everyone's motives behind their actions and then the actual course of events when it's time for the boys' perspective. It's not just "same story told from different POVs" - each POV brings something completely new and focuses on diffrent details. It's told beautifully, with so much understanding for each character and it's just so. gentle. You're waiting for the perspectives to collide, for bits and pieces to connect and show the whole picture and when they do... Let's just say, it's a rollercoaster of emotions. The story is simple but so complicated at the same time. It asks, who is the monster? Is being a monster actually a bad thing? Who decides about all that? I think it's an interesting choice of Koreeda's to answer these questions with this story and these characters.

I love so many things about this movie. It's a story I didn't know I needed. It's like watching someone's distant memories, it's like watching something, that will happen soon. The soundtrack from Ryūichi Sakamoto is perfect and only adds to that feeling. Actors? 12/10, amazing job, especially from the kids and Sakura Ando. The cinematography? Excellent.

I sobbed obnoxiously, I laughed, I was devastated, it was the most cathartic watch for me this year and in general. If you were to watch only one film from my list, I want it to be this one.

Honorable mentions:

1. The Matrix series (Wachowski duo, 1999-2021) 4,5/5 stars overall

2. When Harry Met Sally (Rob Reiner, 1989) 5/5 stars🖤

3. Shinjuku Boys (Jano Williams, Kim Longinotto, 1995) 5/5 stars🖤

4. Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (Hayao Miyazaki, 1984) 4,5/5 stars🖤

5. Tokyo Godfathers (Satoshi Kon, 2003) 5/5 stars🖤

+bonus: Utrata równowagi (Korek Bojanowski, 2024)

Top 5 short films:

1. Pussy (Renata Gąsiorowska, 2016) 5/5 stars🖤

2. Knight of Fortune (Lasse Lyskjær Noer, 2022) 5/5 stars🖤

3. Nun or Never! (Heta Jäälinoja, 2023) 5/5 stars🖤

4. Taniec w narożniku (Jan Bujnowski, 2024) 4,5/5 stars🖤

5. Sierra (Sander Joon, 2022) 5/5 stars🖤

+ bonus: Invincible (Vincent René-Lortie, 2022), Left-Handed Pen (Adas Burkšaitis, 2024), Love, Dad (Diana Cam Van Nguyen, 2021)

letterboxd list with some bonus films: https://boxd.it/DmR84

[phantomdialogue]

˗ˏˋ. ݁₊ ✶ ˖ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 - 𝟔/𝟓 ☆ . ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

premise: clementine's aunt has always told her that her apartment was magical. but after her passing, clementine can't believe in that magic the same way she did at eight years old. however, the apartment decides to prove her wrong when she wakes up in the same apartment, seven years in the past when it was inhabited by a young aspiring chef, iwan.

couple(s): iwan ashton and clementine west

tropes: fantastical elements (time travel), forced proximity, red string of fate, second chance romance (in a way), right person wrong time

content warnings: heavy discussions of grief and death

review below!

review:

i wanted to tell myself that i knew what i was getting into but i really didn’t and i’m absolutely speechless now. this was a heartbreak so profound and beautiful and devastating all wrapped up in the most amazing fantastical romance. i cried and i laughed and i spent half the book dreading what came next because the more i read the more i fell in love with the characters and the more i knew what was coming was going to hurt. 

clementine may be my favorite fmc of all time. she just spoke to me in a terribly heartbreaking amount of ways and i related to her through all of the book. the way that she talks about grief felt like she was speaking right to me at times and that’s cheesy to say but it’s true. this book is truly just the most powerful commentary on grief in all its forms. whether it’s grieving something/someone dead or alive. 

iwan… oh he’s got me wrapped around his finger. both the past and present. he’s the boy i’d love to meet now and the man i’d love to end up with. you spend some parts of this book wanting to know so much more about him and as easy as that could be to accomplish by adding certain elements, the choice not to, to make the reader wait with clementine, just works painfully well. 

i wish i had more to say but this truly left me beyond speechless. i’ll be thinking about it forever. the push and pull of time jumping while staying with the same present day character and reading how things were different and the same all at once. piecing together the world at the same time that clementine did (or shortly before) and truly being on the edge of your seat waiting for what came next. it was done in the most breathtaking way and hats off to ashley poston for breaking my heart several times throughout this book. 

my ratings:

characters - 5 ☆ - believable, change and grow, memorable strong relationships, multilayered

plot - 5 ☆ - addictive, gripping/exciting, satisfying conclusion, steady pacing, well-structured

setting - 5 ☆ - atmospheric, beautiful, magical, surreal

writing style - 5 ☆ - beautifully written, original, whimsical tone

favorite quotes (some spoilers here, of course, but minimal):

“And here we find the rare gentleman in the wild,” he began to narrate—in a really terrible Australian accent, by the way. “Careful. He must be approached cautiously so not to be easily startled . . .”

She only ever had two rules in this apartment—one, always take your shoes off by the door. And two: never fall in love. Because anyone you met here, anyone the apartment let you find, could never stay. No one in this apartment ever stayed. No one ever would.

“I assure you I’ve danced before.” “But not with me.”

“Universal truths in butter. Secrets folded into the dough. Poetry in the spices. Romance in a chocolate. Love in a lemon pie.”

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me—almost as if he thought I might disappear.

You never commit a mundane moment to memory, thinking it’ll be the last time you’ll hear their voice, or see their smile, or smell their perfume. Your head never remembers the things your heart wants to in hindsight.

I knew Iwan wouldn’t be a dishwasher forever, and even if he was, it wouldn’t have mattered—dishwasher or chef or lawyer or no one at all. It was the man with gemstone eyes and the crooked smile and the lovely banter that I felt my soul crushing for.

There was a possibility in the sound of the lock clicking open, in the creak of the hinges as the door flung wide, a roulette that may or may not bring you back to the time when you felt happiest.

“Isn’t it strange how the world works sometimes? It’s never a matter of time, but a matter of timing.”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re going to be amazing.”

That was love, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just a quick drop—it was falling, over and over again, for your person. It was falling as they became new people. It was learning how to exist with every new breath. It was uncertain and it was undeniably hard, and it wasn’t something you could plan for.

And we laughed, and charted each other’s bodies down to our cores, maps of places that were familiar and yet new, and the night was good, and my heart was full, and I was happy, so happy, to fall in love on a night like this, where I felt like I had finally caught the moon, and more.

[tlkshowhost]

location: dolly's diner time: late afternoon status: open!

something about diners. greasy leather seats. overheard secrets tangled up with the clatter of forks. bitter, often stale coffee -- unless you got lucky enough to walk in when the place was mostly empty. unlikely. the kind of place where time hangs heavy, like it got tired and sat down to rest in the corner booth. red creek felt the same, like it had long surrendered to time’s weight instead of running alongside it. no reinvention, no salvation -- just a stubborn place clinging to people like mud after rain, or maybe quicksand, tugging until they sank without a fight. soren didn't have to imagine dark things haunting its bones when its effect where already laying there, sprawled out for anyone willing to see. maybe ancient spirits seeking revenge after having their forever homes suffocated with asphalt and cement. maybe nothing at all, just the weight of a town folding in on itself, vanishing into a fog you didn’t know you’d entered until it was too late. soren wouldn't flinch if someone shattered the silence with a lynchian scream -- sinister close-ups, faces trembling under the pressure of things better left unsaid -- right there in the diner, right as he staed at his gone stale coffee. and perhaps it was his obsession with intricate stories that blurred the line with reality, but twin peaks really didn't feel like fiction anymore; it was a blueprint, a warning for places like this, where the mundane teetered on the edge of surreal, where time sagged, like peeling wallpaper in a room sealed off for too long, and good people stumbled into band endings. even diners -- those greasy churches of familiarity -- could warp into confessional booths. soren let his face fall into his hands, elbows propped at the sides of the cup of coffee. if it had been steaming, it would've made a perfect shot. “ you know what's bullshit, ” he spoke as soon as he felt a presence next to him finally glad to push his inner monologue onto someone else, anyone unlucky enough to hear. he continued as his hands dropped to his lap, revealing a face worn thin by restless nights. “ the fact that they made it illegal to smoke in public places. especially diners. ” though it wasn't just diners. it was also cinemas, trains, pubs.... a beat. then two fingers lifted to his lips, mimicking the pitch of a cigarette between index and thumb. soren inhaled theatrically, face tilting upward as though savoring the hit. then, just as theatrically, he ground the phantom amber into an imaginary glass ashtray, the kind with ornate edges. clock. sound design coming from his tongue against his palate and he swat the phantom ashtray away, still dipped in his interactive daydream.

[doctorstrangereview]

0070: Doctor Strange #175

Cover Date: December 1968 On-Sale Date: September 3, 1968

This issue we kick off the next big arc. This issue Gene Colan abandons any attempt at a traditional panel layout. Heck, he takes two pages to give us the issue's title. This is probably why the story is a page longer than the usual count of this era. He goes hog wild and it's magical. Marvel isn't crediting the colorist yet which is a shame. Colors in this issue pop in all their gaudy wonderfulness. Gene makes it a point to show us lots of contemporary fashion and the colorist makes them impossible to ignore. Despite his extreme overuse of the exclamation point, Roy Thomas gives us tight plotting and great character moments.

After traveling down the sewers of New York City to reach our arc's main villains, the Sons of Satannish, we find them spying on our heroes, Doc and Clea, through their version of Doc's Orb of Agamotto, the Satan Sphere! We finally break the green-coded villain trope of the series. These cultists are wearing wonderful scarlet robes. They are a huge improvement on the plain grey ones we saw Mordo's minions wearing a bunch of months ago. They even have head gear to make The Flying Nun's wimple look modest.

Our voyeuristic cult members follow Doc and Clea in their walk through a park. The narrative doesn't tell us which. My guess is Washington Square Park. It's the closest to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Doc and Clea are having a fairly mundane conversation. While Doc has donned a nice casual suit, forgoing a dress shirt and tie for a turtleneck and medallion that looks like a cross between his cloak's collar and Doctor Who time lord collar. It's eye-catching to say the least. Despite Wong having purchased Clea a new wardrobe last issue, she walks about in her Dark Dimension outfit, still ducking her collar through the Earth dimension's narrow doorways. Clea complains about the sameness she see's everywhere including dress and then this guy crosses their path.

Clea decides she can't take all this mundane walking and decides to give everyone a show of her skintight body suit by flying in the air.

Doc brings her back to Earth and attempts to explain why this is a bad idea. The nearby crowd confirms Doc's explanation. Doc non-consensually wipes their memories of the incident.

Has anyone ever written about superheroes and consent?

Clea starts to feel woozy and Doc decides it's time to grab a cab and go home. Fortunately for them, Herman the cab driver accommodates them even though he usually doesn't pick up those in hippie get ups. (While Clea may be wearing something that could be interpreted as Hippie, Doc is just a bit casual.) This is all being watched the cultists who decide it's time to act and we spend a page and half of them summoning Satannish in a very trippy way. When he arrives, we find that Gene has redesigned Satannish so he no longer looks like flesh cylinder with a face in the middle and arms growing out of the top of his head. To show off the new look Gene uses an entire page to awe us with.

Asmodeus, head of the cultists, pleads for more power in a snobby and elitist way. Satannish bristles when Asmodeus calls himself "supreme among this equals," but gives them the extra mojo anyway. It's immediate turned against Doc and Clea in Herman's cab. Doc senses this. Not wanting to disturb Clea who is resting on him or tip off Herman, he goes ghost for the first time since Gene took over art. And I lied. There are a few panels that are rectangles.

Doc's astral body is surrounded by rings of force which threaten to crush him. Doc is resourceful and manages to free himself. Gene and the mystery colorist give us a wonderfully surreal depiction of the battle.

That looks really cool! I've read that this type of image was a nightmare for the colorist. Doc's mystical feat feeds back into the Satan Sphere causing it to shatter. How will the cultists get their voyeuristic jollies now?

Doc returns to his body just as the cab arrives at Clea's new pad. Doc decides to walk the rest of the way back to his Sanctum. While walking he starts changing into his usual threads to the consternation of the some of the locals. I'm not sure if this was on purpose or if Doc was just being absent-minded.

Doc reaches his Sanctum and, after startling Wong by dropping the last of his illusory street threads right in front of him, he heads to the Book of the Vishanti. After Kaluu kidnapped the book, Doc has been keeping it under something called The Shield of Not-Seeing. Roy, you really could have done better than that. Doc reads up on our devil Satannish. Yup another Faustian bargain! Good thing Clea is safe! Wait, he didn't non-consensually wipe Herman's memory! Uh-oh!

Meanwhile, Clea is brooding in the dark inside her apartment in a delightful Dutch angle.

Miss Clea will be giving us all sorts of melodrama! Her brooding is interrupted by who she thinks is Wong. "Wong" tells her the master has instructed him to bring her to him right away. They set out as Doc finds Herman in his cab, entranced. Clea is in danger.

Switching back to Clea, she suspects there is something up with Wong just as they are attacked by a street gang. Clea tries to fight back even causing one of the attackers to vanish, but her wooziness from earlier has returned and she's out of juice. Just as they close in, Clea is dragged into a nearby alleyway by a scarlet-clad cultist. He tells the weakened and naive Clea he is her friend.

This is a rather exciting start to the next arc. We get some tender moments between Doc and Clea. Doc keeping her at arms length by getting her a separate pad leaves us guessing about the nature of the relationship. Clea is still getting used to this new world that is much more restrictive than where she grew up. Roy weaves in more plot threads with Clea losing her power. How will the confused Clea react to Asmodeus? And most importantly, will Herman be okay? These questions and more will be answered in the next installment!

[oleworm]

on that post you've made - it almost like the burger place scenes are from the lens of Benson's eyes. Everything is taken to the extreme. The young couple aren't just inoffensive lovers who can't get their hands of each other, they are these inappropriate and sinister sex-crazed bullies, Kris isn't just some random jerk - there is a heavy innuendo (if not an explicit theme) to his abuse, the thirst for power and control. The girl is wearing those stereotypical "sexy" clothes (which would be inoffensive and totally fine in any other setting, but contribute to the overexposure of the moment), is all over her man and acts like his cheerleader in violence - a caricature of sorts, too. The manager is all about sex, hiding it behind propriety of a light suit. All while sex is heavily implied to be something negative in B's view - he borderline says so himself. But it's everywhere in that place, unavoidable. You can't even ignore it, stick to your routine and shut down the outside world - because it would be forced upon you by one of them through violence. The boundaries and consent are not very well respected there, to say the least.

All of this stuff happens in like, 5 min - to the point of being unrealistic and hyperbolic. The whole place has those heavy oppressing color of emergency yellow, they have burgers on their hats like targets, like they themselves are food, the secondary characters are so caricaturistic they feel like an explicit parody. It's all really surreal and bizarre, like inferno for someone with a trauma, lol. And then it all stops when the camera floats out of that place and into the wild - suddenly, people are friendly and nice, the lights are bright, the colours are normal and pretty with limited yellow highlights (thinking about the candies in the glass jar at the school's office - the colour of the sweater B wears as he is standing right next to them). It's like, when you have trauma, if something triggers your memory, normal things grow extreme, become overwhelming, a drop of red paint feels like dying, etc - then the panic ends and the world is normal again. But it's a movie so everything is taken to the extreme for drama.

You’re completely on point when you talk about these characters as caricatures, or caricaturistic. It felt that way to me too. They did not look like they were intended to look like real people to me. Jess’s loud and exaggerated screams, the gallons sprayed of blood a nod to slasher horror, which makes sense when you think that the studio that funded this film mostly makes horror movies. Then the film takes a different turn, focusing on the more mundane and real-life horrors.

It's not difficult to become disturbed when you’re faced with constant reminders of the traumatic events that shaped your life for the worse. And maybe I didn’t express myself very clearly, but that is exactly what I felt too—that Benson was focusing on these things because they are the ones that stand out to him, and that the filmmakers were intentionally bringing these elements to the fore. If you met someone like Chris in real life, you’d probably think he was an asshole. Keep to yourself, report him if he went too far. But that’s another thing that adds to the comparison of Benson’s past with his current setting. Hardy is aware of the hostile dynamics at play and doesn’t care, so if anyone actually thought to say something about it, they wouldn’t have anyone to turn to. If the boss is in on it, what do you do? Who do you tell? Does that remind you of anything?

I don’t know if I am reading too much into it. But yes, the way it was filmed, also, made me think of when a stimulus brings back a memory. It takes you out of yourself and at the same time turns you inward. When Benson walks out to his car, he is not only walking toward the gun and towards death but also walking away from the scene that so disturbed him. I think that though he might have decided that now he was really going to do it he also needed to physically remove himself from the situation because it overwhelmed him.

There’s this short clip that I liked, right after Benson and Randy take the bodies to the freezer. They’re mopping and sponging the blood off the floor, off the walls, and if it were not for the red you would think that it’s a normal workday. They’ve closed for the day but they’re heading home soon. They’re working side by side, wordlessly, in a way that I imagine them doing in better moments. But at the same time, I imagine that they’re thinking “I can’t believe I did that,” or “I can’t believe that happened.” And trying to ground themselves and keep it together.

I love what you say about the colour yellow. It makes me sick! I love it. I feel like this film took out my appendix. I need to rewatch some scenes, but now I am getting sleepy. Will answer that part (and your other messages) tomorrow.