#Today I am especially plagued by the problem of memory | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1nhal3r · 1 day

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DROP A PIN ⋆ PROLOGUE

“i fell in love with avoiding problems, and that was the problem.” — come on mess me up by cub sport

WORD COUNT: 7020

OSKAR'S LEAST FAVOURITE TIME OF DAY is the few minutes between the end of evening and the beginning of night. The sun shines its final specks of light in the sky and goes down in the west, leaving beautiful colours as it descends. He's watched the sky dim many times (especially this summer, he's spent most of his break rotting in bed because his parents decided it was the perfect time to ground him) and he's felt himself go down with it.

The life gets sucked out of him, in those moments that the sun disappears, and leaves him with a darkness he can't bear. Something about seeing all-black everything while stuck in his huge empty house with nothing to do makes it difficult for him to pretend to not hate himself. He thinks that the light outside helps him find distractions to ease the unsavoury thoughts that have plagued him for so long, but once the sun goes to sleep, so does his brain's will to ignore what he really thinks about himself.

Today—or night—was worse than usual. Earlier in the afternoon, his parents left for another out-of-country business trip, leaving him by his lonesome. Oskar would usually thank his lucky stars that his parents wouldn't be home for a while, even if staying by himself in such a big space made discomfort churn in his stomach. However, after he spent the afternoon listening to them pack and pace around the house behind his closed door, his mother called him out of his room and they started chewing him out. He couldn't say he didn't somewhat deserve it, but he was left with their harsh words and glares as the last memory he would have of them until they decided to come back.

(Part of him wonders if those trips dragged out so much because they were avoiding coming home to see him.)

Soon after, the front door slammed shut, indicating their departure, and Oskar felt himself start to sink down into this all too familiar self-loathing. It hit him hard—his body numbed with it in the span of a few minutes—so Oskar attempted to push the feeling out by wasting the rest of that shitty evening on his phone, moving to his laptop when mindlessly scrolling through socials didn't work. The pit, as he likes to call it—that feeling like there was a hole in the middle of his chest—still carved itself a place inside his heart, hollowing him out, each breath sending the feeling deeper.

Oskar continued fight it.

When the sun made its descent, it was so much harder to ignore the emptiness in his chest and focus on either of his screens, but Oskar is nothing if not stubborn.

He gave up eventually, when it was around 1 AM, and decided to outsource.

Oskar likes to pretend he's a professional at compartmentalizing. Well, his version of it, anyway. He files away—read: intentionally disregards—unpleasant moments and emotions to be forgotten into the void that is his mind, until his brain decides it would be fun to make him remember. So, instead of spending more time enduring the internal suffering brought on by his parents' opinion of him, he was getting ready to see Jackson.

Well, getting ready is pushing it—those words make it seem like he’s putting effort into himself and pulling himself together. In reality, he just puts on gray sweatpants he finds sprawled out on his bedroom floor (after they pass a sniff test, he's not a total dog) and a black tee with some worn-out graphic design plastered onto it. It's too hot of a summer in Sydney to wear anything heavier and he swears he forgot how to dress appropriately, having spent most of summer break indoors.

Oskar stands in front of his mirror, looking himself over. His dirty blonde hair is a mess from spending the whole day tossing and turning in his bed. He shakes his head—sort of violently, like a dog drying its coat—and then threads his fingers through it, using them as a substitute for a comb. His arm starts cramping up after a good few seconds, so he leaves it alone, grabs his phone and his tangled up earbuds from the edge of his bed and heads towards the front door. He slips on his Converse like slippers, pressing his heels on the back of the shoes, and leaves his house at the ripe time of 1:05 in the morning.

Jackson doesn't live too far away from Oskar—they live around the same neighbourhood, so he decides to walk there even if his limbs feel a little heavy. He has a few friends that live by him that could drop him off if he really wanted, but he would rather stay home and rot than ask any of them for a ride to a booty call. That sort of humiliation isn't something he's gonna subject himself to, especially since his reason for wanting some action was pretty pathetic.

He ambles past the few people out at this time; some late workers and drunk teens stumbling home after their attempt to drag out their holidays before the first day of term. Jackson's house comes into view after a couple minutes out on the road; the familiarity of this side of the neighbourhood makes Oskar spot it immediately, even in the dark.

He walks onto the gravelly path leading up to the wooden stairs attached to Jackson's porch, the pathway decorated with some rocks and flowers in pretty pots as he reaches the front door. He shifts side to side, feeling the wooden boards of the porch creak beneath his feet, and shoots Jackson a text message.

He waits, fumbling around with his phone, and then sees that his text was read. A couple moments later, the latch of the door slides slowly—the sound slightly muted by Jackson's attempt at quietness—and the door's lock gets undone soon after. The hinges creak as Jackson pulls it open. Oskar takes a deep breath and pockets his phone.

He lifts his head to make eye contact with Jackson, and notices how the boy's black hair is messy, probably indicating that he just got out of bed. His suspicion gets confirmed as he drops his eyes to Jackson's plain white shirt and boxers. A pang of guilt hits him, adding itself into the confusing mix of emotions that make up the pit in his chest, slowing making its way to his gut. He finds himself wishing he still had his weed, so he could be at home getting high, instead of looking all pathetic on Jackson's doorstep. Unfortunately, his choices were limited, since his parents found his poorly-hidden ziplock bag full of marijuana right before summer started.

“Os, hey, mate,” Jackson greets with a tired smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. Oskar forces a smile back, sighing through his nose in hopes that some of the tension he feels goes as he exhales. “Didn't expect you to come over today.” The other boy moves out of the doorway to let Oskar in.

He enters and toes his shoes off, leaving them next to several other pairs as the door shuts with a quiet thud behind him. “I wanted to see you,” Oskar replies, turning around to face Jackson. Which—

Not a total lie.

Jackson chuckles, bringing up a hand to Oskar's face and pushing his hair out of his eyes. Oskar regrets not brushing it properly as Jackson starts to thread his fingers in his hair. “You always wanna see me,” he says, all smug, running his nails against the blonde's scalp.

Oskar shrugs, a tiny bit ashamed, taking Jackson's hand out of his hair and holding the tips of his fingers. “Show me to your room?” he asks, looking up at Jackson through his eyelashes.

Jackson licks his lips as he stares down at Oskar. Oskar can see the want in his eyes, and it fills him up with the tiniest bit of desire that overrides everything else.

It's a start.

Jackson leads Oskar up the stairs that face the entrance, carefully stepping on the wooden boards as to not make them sound out. Once the door the Jackson's room is carefully closed with the both of them inside, Oskar quickly scans the room. The other boy's room is typical; he has a king sized bed with a blue comforter over top and a medium sized dresser facing it. His walls are decorated with band posters and athletes, and he has a desk in the farthest corner of the room and a bookshelf with different CDs and vinyls.

The familiarity of everything calms him some, so he saunters over to sit down on the edge of Jackson's bed, putting his hands behind him and leaning on them as he eyes Jackson up. He expects the taller boy to walk over, stand between his legs, lay him down over his comforter, and kiss him until he can’t breathe—just like all the other times Oskar's been over—but instead, he leans back against his dresser, looking down at the blonde with his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oskar scrunches his face up. “What, did you become shy or something?” he asks after a few seconds of nothing.

Jackson smiles, lip still tucked between his teeth, and pushes himself up off of his dresser to stand in front of Oskar. “Nah, just admiring' you,” he replies smoothly, which makes the blonde scoff.

“You suck at flirting,” Oskar says, fond, placing his hands on Jackson's hips under his shirt and pulling him in until he's face to face with his clothed torso. He cranes his head back, his chin reaching just below the other boy's sternum, cheekily running his fingers along the band of his boxers. “And it's actually giving me a limp dick.” Oskar grabs the band and pulls, letting it snap back against Jackson's skin, making him hiss and pull the blonde's hands out.

“You're an arse,” Jackson complains, putting his hands on Oskar's shoulder, about to straddle him. He pauses, and then brings his thigh back down. “Actually, you get on top.”

Oskar whistles teasingly. “Switching things up, are we?”

Jackson rolls his eyes and pinches Oskar's side, right below his nipple. “Shut up,” he chides, backing away to let Oskar get up.

As they switch their positions, Oskar standing and Jackson sitting, the taller boy spreads his legs and pats his thighs, inviting the blonde to sit on them. Oskar's stomach knots and his face heats. He can't deny that the gesture does it for him, but he's not about to let it be known.

He straddles Jackson, making himself comfortable in his lap. He wraps his arms around the other boy's neck, and squirms until Jackson grabs his hips and hoists him closer, making their crotches touch. Oskar was already interested by that point, so the pressure on his dick makes him breathe out a pleased sigh. Even the slightest pleasure starts to cloud over all other emotion; it makes Oskar want more.

“You missed by the way,” he says, playing with the few wisps of hair at the back of the other boy's head.

“Missed what?”

Oskar laughs a little. “My nipple,” he clarifies, “your hand-eye coordination needs work.”

Jackson scoffs, gripping Oskar's hips harder which startles out a closed-mouth whimper from him. “Shut up,” he repeats and then he connects their lips together.

Oskar kisses back immediately, too needy for his liking, but he relaxes into Jackson's touch, weak to it. The previous tension he was carrying around seeps out of him bit by bit each time their lips connect, and Oskar lets out a small noise of relief against Jackson's mouth. Jackson licks his bottom lip and then bites down softly, making Oskar moan and open his mouth enough for the taller boy to slide his tongue in.

All the emotions that make up the pit in Oskar’s chest slowly get overridden by pleasure. He focuses on how good Jackson is being to him and he starts being able to ignore the pit. He wants to forget it completely, wants to feel okay, so he grinds his hips against Jackson's and moans into his mouth.

He doesn't get far.

After three clumsy movements of his hips, they get stilled by Jackson's hands, the hold on them tightening when Oskar tries to fight it, and Jackson pulls his lips away from him, panting. Oskar grips his shirt, threading his fingers into the fabric as he searches the other boy's face. Maybe he was too eager for it, or something, and Jackson was going to tease him, lighting up the shame in his gut again.

“What?” Oskar pants out, sounding insecure. It was always unspoken what they did. Well, it was after the first couple of times. It didn't take them long to become attuned to each other's bodies. Oskar can't honestly remember the last time them fucking around involved a break, so anxiety bubbles in his stomach, right next to the shame.

Jackson gazes up at him thoughtfully, his lips pushed to one side as he gnaws at the inside of his cheek, like he's biting it to hold himself back. Oskar's looking back at him expectantly, but instead of voicing what's on his mind, he cradles the blonde's face with a warm palm and trails kisses over his jaw, steadily going down his neck. Oskar knows what he's doing, but he can't help the way his breath hitches and he has to stop himself from baring his neck. The kisses are half-hearted—Oskar notices immediately—so he laces his fingers through Jackson's hair and tugs gently. The other boy separates himself from Oskar's neck, caught.

“Seriously, what?” he repeats, tensing as he lets go of Jackson's hair. Oskar can't help the shame that steadily grows in his gut, this perceived disinterest fucking with his brain and messing him up further. “I can tell you wanna say something.”

He starts to feel the pleasure that blocked out the pit in his chest slip away as Jackson distractedly runs his hands up over Oskar’s waist and down to his hips. Jackson just stares at him, in that same thoughtful manner that's starting to annoy him, but the blonde just clenches his jaw, shifting in Jackson's lap, waiting.

Jackson takes a deep breath and, all of a sudden, his eyes can't seem to stay on Oskar. Does he not want me? is, embarrassingly, Oskar's first thought, followed by an emotion that feels too similar to betrayal. “I just—” Jackson starts, then stops, licking his lips and forcing his eyes to meet Oskar's piercing ones. He takes a breath, smoothing his hands down the front of Oskar's stomach to fiddle with the drawstring of his sweats. “I like you.”

Oskar, dramatically, thinks that's the worst news he's ever heard.

What is he supposed to do with that?

He feigns ignorance.

“Clearly,” Oskar replies, voice tight with guilt and with a grind against where Jackson's hard in his boxers.

The taller boy scoffs, cracks a smile, and leaves Oskar's sweats alone to still him again. Oskar's joke must've elevated some nervousness, because Jackson says, “No, really,” through a smile. “I like you—like… romantically.”

He doubled down.

Oskar feels like ice water got poured over him, hearing that word come out of Jackson's mouth.

Romantically.

He can't help the way his face drops, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest as the pit starts to peak through any feeling of okayness he managed to get. He also can't stop his arms from subconsciously sliding off of Jackson's shoulders.

“Oh.”

Jackson smiles all confused like he's unable to believe Oskar's reaction, furrows his eyebrows, and then tries to relax his face to mask his hurt. “Oh?”

The hurt on his face makes Oskar's body light up with the most guilt he's felt in a long time, but as much as he wants to love someone in that way—he's learned he can't. Not effectively, at least. Now, he’s the one unable to look at the other boy.

Oskar puts his hands on the other's shoulders again, feeling his palms burn with shame, but this time, it's to help prop himself up off of Jackson's lap. When his legs touch the floor, Oskar tries to remove his hands, but he's stopped by Jackson's own.

“Oh?” Jackson repeats, staring up at him with such an inebriating mix of confusion and hurt, asking for clarification.

Oskar pulls his hands away. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. “I thought—I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” asks Jackson, exasperated.

Oskar's eyes get a little cloudy, and he feels a lump in his throat, a crushing weight on his chest. “I'm not—I told you when we started this that I didn't want anything… romantic.”

Jackson scoffs out a humourless laugh, unbelieving. “Everyone says that, but no one actually means it.”

His words make Oskar's snap down to look at him with a miserable expression, shame hot and sharp in his stomach. Oskar has never thought that anyone around him would understand his disdain for romantic connection, but Jackson's words still make his chest clench up with a kind of hurt he's not used to feeling. He steps back, feeling this surge of uneasiness pump through his veins, but that incites Jackson to stand up.

“I meant it,” Oskar mumbles, looking back down. He focuses on the wooden floorboards of Jackson's room, forcing himself to take in the details to keep the tears he feels threatening to well up at bay.

Jackson stays quiet for a couple of moments, but Oskar feels his stare, like he's examining Oskar under a microscope, looking for any sign of deception.

He finds none, but he still demands, “be serious.”

Oskar inhales sharply. “I am.”

Jackson lets out a breath like he's been punched and then he takes a step forward, which makes Oskar raise his head to look in him in slight alarm. Jackson has this crazed look on his face and it makes Oskar tense up, his body trying to prepare itself for whatever Jackson chooses to do.

It doesn't work, because Oskar's not expecting Jackson to state, “no one wants a relationship where you just fuck,” all confidently, in a tone that leaves no room for argument, like his words are fact. “That's—fuckin' weird.”

Oskar feels himself sink deeper into the emotions he'd come here to avoid. His chest feels like it's an open wound; a throbbing, painfully numbing wound deep in his heart, in his lungs, and he feels suffocated by it, like it's taking up too much space in his ribcage. He lets his head fall as he tries to breathe through the feeling to stabilize himself, to will himself not to let more tears build up in his eyes.

Jackson steps closer again and puts his hand under Oskar's chin, between his pointer and his thumb as Oskar flinches at the contact. He guides his head up and gazes down at the blonde with an expression that makes Oskar's stomach churn with discomfort.

Then, Jackson's eyes turn soft, almost pitiful. “I was giving you sex because I thought that's what you needed to open up,” he admits, tone all sweet and gentle like those words aren't knifes against Oskar's skin. Like they won't stay with Oskar and add themselves to the thoughts that seep away at his will to be. “At some point,” he continues, uncaring of the way Oskar's shoulders have raised up to his ears, the way Oskar's tears have started to slide down his face. “I was—I don't know—expecting something back.”

Oskar feels dirty. He thinks back to all the time they've messed around, and he feels nausea swirl around his stomach.

He yanks Jackson's hand off of his chin and glares up at him, tears still sliding down his face and clouding his vision. “You thought fucking me would make me like you back?” he asks, venomous despite all the guilt and shame swirling in his gut.

Jackson has the audacity to look embarrassed. “When you say it like that, it sounds desperate,” he huffs. “But, yeah… I just thought that's how you were.”

Oskar didn't think he could feel worse.

How he was? Like Oskar's so easy that fucking him would make him feel love, an emotion that he's tried so hard to force on himself to appear normal in the eyes of others—starting with all the girls he's talked to knowing he couldn't give them what they wanted out of him—when all his friends suddenly got interested in romance.

If only it were that easy.

Oskar breathes out, sniffles, and raises his head towards the ceiling in hopes of keeping more tears from rolling down his cheeks. “Well,” he tries, his voice breaking a little, his throat tight with a lump, “sorry you wasted your time.”

Oskar sees Jackson process the rejection out of the corner of his eye; his face going from disbelief to anger in just a couple tense moments. Oskar crushes his eyes together and scrunches his face up, not wanting to see Jackson's face anymore as he brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes, trying to get rid of the wetness there.

Eventually, the silence is broken by Jackson's indignant scoff and Oskar immediately stops rubbing at his eyes, tilting his head down to look at the taller boy as he takes a step closer to him, making himself bigger to tower over the blonde.

Jackson's face is darker than it was just a moment ago, his eyes full of a sort of outrage Oskar's never seen before. “So, you used me.”

Oskar struggles to process the words. His brows knot together as he searches Jackson's face. “What?”

“You used me for sex.”

Oskar blanches, jolting slightly in shock as words escape him at the accusation. A voice inside his head whispers you did, didn't you? as his brain helpfully provides him with flashing images of all the times he's showed up to the taller boy's house, looking stress relief.

He feels nauseous, his stomach swimming with intoxicating amounts of guilt and shame as his chest clenches. “What—no,” he denies, but he wonders if he's telling the truth. “I told you what this was when we started this.”

Jackson huffs, and Oskar can feel all the frustration radiating off of him with him this close. “Yeah,” he acknowledges reluctantly, and the logical part of Oskar thinks that recognition should make some of his guilt die out, but it doesn't, and Jackson continues bitterly, “but what kind of freak just wants sex? Everyone wants a romantic relationship.”

Oskar's eyes fill up with tears again instantly and they start to roll down his cheeks as his breath stutters in his chest. It was weird, wasn't it? He can't love properly, he can't give back to anyone, yet he still wants?

Oskar might be the worst kind of person.

“This freak doesn't,” he replies, voice thick with emotion.

Jackson breathes out angrily, like he can't accept Oskar's rejection. “At least you know what you are.”

Jackson outright saying what he thinks of Oskar now that he knows of Oskar's incapability to love is what makes all the guilt and shame turn into anger, even for just a second.

“Fuck you!” Oskar grunts out loudly as he shoves Jackson as hard as he can, making him stumble back against his bed, the bed frame roughly colliding with the wall behind it.

Oskar feels ripped apart afterwards, so overwhelmingly empty that the anger doesn't cling onto him like it usually does, instead it just leaves his entire body numb in the way he tried so hard to avoid. He just wants to leave now, to escape, so he hurries to the door and harshly turns the handle, opening it and then slamming it behind him, a loud thud sounding out throughout the second floor.

He clumsily runs down the stairs, tears clouding his vision, and hears the creak of multiple doors opening behind him as he makes it to the front door, so he doesn't bother putting his shoes on. He bends down and grabs them instead, opens the door and walks outside, his socked feet stepping over Jackson's porch, and then the rocks on the gravel path leading up to it.

Tears can't stop rolling out of his eyes, onto his cheeks and down his chin, dripping down and dampening his shirt as he struggles to sniffle quietly. His hand comes up to his face once in a while, wiping away at what he can even if he knows the wetness will come back in just a few seconds. It's hard to see or breathe as he passes through Jackson's neighbourhood, his vision fogged and his breath halting in his chest every few seconds. The black sky and the few street lights aren't helping either; the night envelops him in this darkness that makes the pit sink deeper and deeper into his being.

He needs to get away. He needs to be anywhere else than with another person who thinks lowly of him.

---

Oskar mindlessly drifts through the upper-class neighbourhood Jackson lives in, getting further and further away from his house with tears still streaking down his face as he moves with fatigue in each step. He barely feels real anymore—he can barely feel anything at all. His body knows it’s sad, so tears keep flowing, but he feels disconnected from himself. He can't focus on where he's going, he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other. The pit is still there, and even through the disconnect he feels, the pit makes it harder for him to move.

His feet are killing him; he tripped on rocks a couple of times, which made his thin socks rip open and some parts of his feet scrape against whatever bullshit was out on the sidewalk, bruising and cutting them open.

His head is also killing him, swirling with thoughts that Oskar would do anything to stop, and crying so much gave him an intense migraine.

He thinks it would be better for him not to be here.

Oskar stops, right next to a mailbox, when his feet feel like they're about to fall off, lifting his shirt up one-handed to wipe the tears away from his face. He takes a deep breath and yawns, exhausted by the overstimulating amount of sensation he's felt within his body. It's the worst he's felt in a while.

He always forgets it can get this bad.

He looks around, eyes heavy, to his right then to his left, and furrows his eyebrows. He's standing in front of Dusty's house. He tries to perk up, since his subconscious didn't let him forget that he had a friend in this part of the neighbourhood, but the pit promptly stops that, instead spreading a horrible wave of intense numbness throughout his chest.

He sighs, rounds Dusty's dad's car and makes his way up his driveway and to his front door.

Once he's standing at the entrance, he shifts a bit, staring at the door in contemplation. It was probably pretty late by now, so he has no doubt that Dusty's asleep.

He chews on his lip as he uses his unoccupied hand to get his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, and it lights up as he raises it to his face. The screen's brightness nearly blinds him, but he squints and the time reads 1:45 in the morning. He feels a wave of guilt flash through him as he unlocks it to phone Dusty anyway.

His thumb hesitates over the call button, but he presses it anyway, regret filling him up as he hears the phone ring. Oskar wears out his lip as he waits, taking a deep breath through his nose, before his call goes through.

“Hello?” Dusty says over the phone, his voice groggy and slightly deeper from sleep. Oskar hears the sound of bedsheets moving over the phone and presumes that Dusty moved to sit up. Oskar hesitates to speak, breath caught in his throat, and that urges Dusty's raspy voice to sound out through his phone's speakers again. “Hello..?”

Oskar breathes in.

“Mate, I'm—” he tries, but his voice is muddle by all the tears he's shed, so he clears it a couple of times, willing himself not to tear up as he rids himself of the lump that wants to form in his throat. His words feel heavy. “I'm outside, can you let me in?”

The line goes quiet for a few moments and Oskar scrunches his face up, expecting rejection, but Dusty just lets out a confused, “what?” like he didn't hear him. Oskar really doesn't want to repeat himself, he thinks the shame he'd feel from that would send him crying again, but Dusty's phone picks up the sound of his bedsheets shuffling and the floor creaking, which tells Oskar that he got up out of bed.

Oskar puts his lips in a thin line and sighs as the door unlocks soon after. He hangs up the phone and puts it back in his pocket as Dusty comes into view, running his hands through his bed hair and blinking at him a few times. He's only wearing sleep pants that hang low on his hips, and, traitorously, Oskar's brain makes him notice how his boxers peak out slightly.

He burns with slight mortification, forcing his eyes to look at Dusty.

Dusty just tiredly looks Oskar over, noticing his usually pale face all red. All at once, Oskar sees the fatigue fight its way off of his face as he asks, “shit, you okay?”

“Yeah, just peachy.”

Dusty cracks a smile at that and decides to not say anything else, even though Oskar knows how much of a mess he looks right now, all pathetic at his doorstep. He moves to the side to let Oskar in as he continues to eye him down. Oskar sort of feels like Dusty's looking right through him, that he can tell Oskar's fucked, somehow, like how Jackson’s figured that out. Oskar sighs and drops his shoes, stepping further into Dusty's house as the door closes behind him.

There's a light awkwardness hanging in the air between them because Oskar knows that Dusty sees how bad he's fairing, but Dusty's never been a particularly emotional person, so he keeps quiet.

Oskar gazes at his socks, toeing them down to hide the holes as he feels Dusty's expectant stare on him, like if his eyes are piercing enough, the blonde will bare his soul. Oskar peers up, instead, and licks his lips, before asking as nonchalantly as possible, “do you have any… drinks?”

The taller boy frowns immediately and Oskar tries to keep his face as still as possible. Dusty quirks his head to the side. “Drinks?” he repeats, incredulous.

Oskar rolls his eyes, feeling his eyes sting and his gut knot up. “Alcohol,” he clarifies, exaggerating the syllables in slight annoyance. He even mimes throwing a shot back.

Dusty lets out a humoured breath, smiles, and shakes his head fondly. “I know that's what you meant,” he says through his smile, and walks towards Oskar as his face turns back into the frown from earlier. “But, I also know you hate drinking. Hence,” he puts on an exaggerated questioning tone, “drinks?”

Oskar sighs again, presses his lips together into a thin line. He probably shouldn't drink, it always makes him miserable, but what other way could he stop the distressing thoughts that invade his mind, even just for a couple of hours? “Yes, drinks,” he confirms blankly. “I know what I said.” His voice is just on the edge of irritation which he can tell Dusty catches by the way he raises an eyebrow at him all concerned.

“You sure?”

Oskar frustration builds, mixing in with the dangerous cocktail of emotions thrumming through his body. “Fuck, Dusty, I'm not a child,” he says, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone, lightly glaring at Dusty. “Give me a drink.”

Dusty has this look on his face that's eerily similar to pity, which usually would piss Oskar off to no end, but that emotion is working in his favour this time, so he doesn't react to it. The taller boy makes his way to his kitchen, his bare feet tapping against the wooden and then marble floor to reach his parents' alcohol drawer with Oskar on his heels.

Dusty eyes the different drinks in contemplation. Oskar goes on his tip-toes, which hurts so he's sure his feet are cut up or bruised, to take in the options as well. He's not sure what to choose as he trails his gaze over the bottles, but he eventually stops on a drink he's heard fuck people up quickly.

“Give me that one,” Oskar says, more of a demand than anything as he points to the bottle of vodka.

Dusty looks over his shoulder to look at him. “You sure?”

Oskar sighs, frustrated, and lightly shoves Dusty to the side to reach the drawer and grabs the bottle of vodka. Oskar examines the top, silently wondering how to open it as he catches Dusty's concerned stare, which incites him to twist the top and use the counter below the drawer to crack open the drink. He takes a breath, and then he starts downing the drink.

He takes big gulps, closing his eyes as he endures how the liquid burns his throat.

“Oi, hey,” Dusty calls, worry lacing his tone as he reaches for the drink, but Oskar avoids his hands and turns away, stumbling a little as he continues to chug it down.

“Mate, hey, slow down—” Dusty warns again, but the blonde doesn't listen, doesn't even take a breath, and Dusty decides to press himself against Oskar's back and forcefully take it away, a spray of liquid falling down the blonde's face as the taller boy holds it high out of his grasp when Oskar tries to get it back.

Oskar attempts, feebly, to get the bottle back from Dusty, but he makes his way to the sink and dumps the rest of it out, ignoring Oskar’s protests about it. Dusty places the empty bottle next to the sink and turns around to eye the blonde with disbelief.

“Dude, what is wrong with you?” He asks, and Oskar gives him a watery-eyed glare in response. He looks between the empty bottle and the other drinks in the drawer, but as he goes to take another bottle, he gets stopped by Dusty's grip on his arm. “Os, you've had enough.”

“Fuck off,” Oskar complains, trying to free his arm. He's starting to feel his thoughts slow and the familiar panic it comes with, but it's making his brain slowly discard the pit and focus on the wooziness spreading in his veins.

Dusty hardens his grip and stares at Oskar for a few seconds, before pulling him towards the stairs, leading him up with a bit of difficulty since the blonde complains and whisper-shouts at him to let go the whole time, but Dusty still manages to get Oskar into his room.

Once the door to Dusty's room gets closed with both boys inside, Dusty sits Oskar down on his bed and looks down at him like he's insane. “Genuinely, what is up with you?”

Oskar's eyes harden, feeling them sting with unshed tears he blinks away as he pouts a little. “Nothing's up with me, you arse.”

Dusty's eyebrows twitch up, like he can't believe that Oskar would attempt a lie right after the display he made in the kitchen. He furrows his eyebrows down at the blonde. “You came over at like 2 AM and downed, like, more than half a bottle of vodka,” he points out, crossing his arms.

This display of sudden responsibility coming from Dusty sort of pisses Oskar off. “So?”

The taller boy scoffs. “'So?' he says,” he mocks. “The guy who supposedly hates drinking downing half a bottle of alcohol and nothing's wrong with him, sure.”

Oskar feels regret bubbling his stomach at Dusty's words, like they made his body suddenly remember that he chugged vodka and the need to throw up laps at his throat. He frowns, swallowing hard, and slurs, “fuck off,” and ignores the discomfort he feels because his mind would be quiet soon enough.

After a few moments of silence, Dusty huffs, “Os, mate, I'm worried about you,” like he's spelling it out for Oskar, like Oskar's an idiot. “This is worrying.”

Oskar snorts at that, swaying slightly from where he’s sitting near the edge of Dusty’s bed, feeling his thoughts come to a slow. “Since when do you worry?” He slurs, exhaling when the pit in his chest slowly gets discarded by his brain to focus on the new-found drowsiness and sluggishness the alcohol brought with it, which is just what he wanted.

Dusty sighs, his gaze still on Oskar, taking in the way his pupils have widened and how he has to steady himself with his arms to find balance. He uncrosses his arms and sits down next to Oskar, making the blonde smile at him all dopey-like.

“See?” Oskar says, the words dragging as he sways closer to Dusty. “‘verything’s good.”

Dusty turns to face him, looking at his friend with an expression that Oskar can’t decipher, only knowing that it makes his heart clench in his chest. The blonde bites his lip through a smile, holding Dusty’s gaze, proper drunk now.

“Oskar…” Dusty breathes out, sounding defeated as he pushes his hair up out of his face.

“Hm?”

Dusty shifts to the side, his body facing Oskar’s as he raises his hand to cradle the blonde’s jaw. He makes Oskar look at him properly as he observes him in a way that makes the blonde feel hazier. Dusty’s lips form a thin line as he stays quiet, just examining Oskar, and then he finally says, “your eyes are all puffy,” like he hadn’t noticed before.

Oskar just looks at him, dumb and unfocused. The proximity and with the way his head is swimming with the effects of the alcohol, he perceives Dusty’s eyes on him, the warm hand on his jaw, and the fuzzy feeling in his stomach as an invitation to close the distance between them, placing his lips on Dusty’s.

Dusty kisses back, like it’s a habit, before he grips Oskar’s shoulders to push him back a little and halt his movements. Oskar suddenly feels like he messed up, his body feeling cold and rigid, and even through the alcohol, he feels the way the pit in his chest makes itself known again.

“You’re drunk,” Dusty whispers weakly. “I don’t wanna kiss you when you’re fucked up.”

Oskar feels his breath leave his chest, like his lungs are getting squeezed. His eyes sting again, and the pit beats in his chest, like it’s alive, sending waves of self-loathing throughout his body. He shoves Dusty off of him, feeling dirty all of a sudden. “Fuck you,” Oskar finds himself saying a second time as he stands up. “You’re so—you’re so up-yourself, so fuckin’ self-righteous all of a sudden, acting like you have to take care of me—when I know how you are.”

He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, really.

“Os—“ Dusty tries, getting up after him.

Oskar lifts his hands between them, stumbling back away from him, demanding distance. “Nah, you know what?” He slurs, glaring at him, unfocused. “You can go right to hell.”

Dusty’s face scrunched up in hurt, but he still takes a step forward, slow like Oskar’s a scared animal, and tries to touch him again, tries to coax him onto his bed. “Stay, Oskar. You can’t leave all drunk,” he says, trying to reason with him, but Oskar scoffs and shakes his head, feeling disoriented as he continues to back away towards the door.

“You can go right. To. Hell,” he repeats and then stumbles his way out of Dusty’s room. He barely makes it down the stairs without tripping over himself, but his need to escape gives him the stability necessary.

He swings the door open and walks out, forgetting his shoes. Tears are steadily flowing down his face as he struggles to breathe, his crying more intense and pronounced by how out of his mind he is.

He feels stupid.

---

Oskar makes it home after what feels like tedious hours of walking, weighing down on his limbs. He roughly opens his front door with his house-key he had somehow remembered to bring with him. He closes the door behind him and forgets to lock it, the feeling of growing nausea in his stomach taking priority in his head.

He stumbles to the bathroom, attempting to run and failing, and throws up in the toilet, emptying his stomach from the poison that helped him make a fool out of himself. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stays near the toilet for a while, gripping the seat as he sobs.

After his little pity party in the bathroom, he grabs onto the sink and props himself up, staggering as he makes his way to his bedroom. He has to lean against the wall as he walks, every step he takes makes the hallway spin around him.

Oskar enters his room and roughly pulls off his shirt, throwing it on the floor. He flops onto the bed, the fan propped up on the dresser still blowing strong hours later right where he lays his head over his pillow.

He clumsily wipes at his face, trying and failing to stop crying. He lays there, shivering slightly because of the fan as he struggles to even out his breathing.

Everything is foggy and painful. His head throbs, so he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, very carefully not thinking about not waking up tomorrow. He tells himself, in his head, that he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care at all.

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duhragonball · 5 months

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JoJolion Ch. 39-42

This is the "Doobie Wah" arc. But that is not Jobin Higashikata up there. Let's go.

The plot's gotten a little complex up to this point, so I should probably pause to explain this. The main cast is all trying to find out about this mysterious fig-like fruit that may be able to cure the "Rock Disease", a curse that's plagued the Higashikata Family for centuries. Apparently it's also got something to do with "Rock Humans" a species of intelligent creatures who can pass as human but are definitely Something Else.

Now that part is pretty easy to follow, but everyone has different motivations, and this needs to be addressed.

Josuke Higashikata wants to track down the fruit because he has no memory of his past, and he only knows that he used to be two men who were improbably merged together. Josuke believes that one of them, Yoshikage Kira, was trying to track down the fruit in order to save the life of his dying mother, Holly Kira, who is currently dying of the Rock Disease Curse. Josuke feels that if he continues where Kira left off, he can discover who he really is.

The thing that finally hit me today is that learning the truth about himself isn't just a literal goal for Josuke. Sure, when he fought the last Rock Human, Yotsuyu Yagiyama, he tried to interrogate him for information, because Yotsuyu was one of Kira's enemies, and that means he actually knew the guy. So continuing Kira's mission will surely put him in contact with other people who remembered Kira.

But it's also a metaphorical kind of self-discovery. Josuke doesn't really have amnesia because he's not really Kira or the other guy in a new body. He's a whole new person created when their bodies were blended together. He doesn't remember anything before March 11 because he literally did not exist before then. He can't remember, anymore than we can remember our parents' experiences from before we were born.

Josuke's problem is that if he has no past, then he has to figure out what to do with himself in the present and future. Carrying on Kira's search for a cure is as good an agenda as any, especially since Kira is no longer available to do the job. This is no different from the other Jojo's heeding the call to (bizarre) adventure. Each of them began a journey and learned Who They Really Were. Joseph learned to care about other people, Giorno made his dream a reality, and Jolyne got jacked in prison and reconciled with her father.

The difference with Josuke is that when he asks "Who am I?" it's not just a young man experiencing personal growth. If he refuses the call to adventure, he really doesn't have anything else to define him as a person. This is why Yasuho is so important to him, because their relationship gives meaning to his otherwise empty life. Jolyne could have said "screw this" and served out her sentence, or escaped whatever, and she'd still have a life of her own. But Josuke has nothing to fall back on. If he doesn't see this through, he'll just have to come up with some other goal for himself, or he'll have nothing to do and no one to do it for.

Norisuke Higashikata IV wants to track down the fruit because he wants to get to the bottom of this mystery that affects his family and estate. Yotsuyu invaded his property and tried to turn his grandson against Josuke. He also threatened to try to take over the Higashikata estate at some point in the future. He doesn't know what's going on, but he doesn't want to just sit back and wait for the next Rock Human to attack his home.

It should be noted that while Norisuke is interested in the possibility of a cure, he doesn't believe that such a thing exists, and he planned to save his grandson's life using a ritual that involves sacrificing himself. So he may be interested in a cure to save his own neck later, but more likely, he's worried about how these Rock Humans will impact the family after he's gone. He doesn't want his son and grandson to have to deal with this mess down the road.

Jobin Higashikata isn't looking for the fruit because he already knows where it comes from. Last chapter, we learned he's in contact with the Rock Humans. Norisuke doesn't know about this, but Josuke, Yasuho, and Tsurugi do. Jobin's agenda is unclear to say the least. If he plans to use the fruit to cure his son, what's he waiting for? And if he's up to something else, why is he keeping it a secret from the family? Jobin's looking at a different Big Picture than the others, which is a problem, since he's the one who'll inherit the family business when Norisuke dies.

Tsurugi Higashikata wants the fruit because he's guaranteed to come down with the Rock Disease in less than a year. He's desperate and he doesn't know about Norisuke's ritual or whatever Jobin is planning. Even if he did know, he'd rather just eat some magic fruit that makes it all go away, just be done with this curse so he can stop worrying about it and stop wearing girls' dresses.

Tsurugi's desperation is what led him to join forces with a stranger, Yotsuyu Yagiyami, to betray Josuke. It's also what compelled him to counsel Josuke to defeat his own father for information on the fruit.

So what about Yasuho? Well, she's just naturally inquisitive, and she feels a lot of things about Josuke, but I think those are just symptoms of a bigger issue. Yasuho feels just as aimless and adrift in life as Josuke does. Helping him gives her a sense of purpose, and it distracts her from the aimlessness of her own life as a college student whose only family is an estranged father and an alcoholic mother.

Anyway, that's what we've got. Yeah, they're chasing fruit, but it's really about all the things they want that you can't see. Fufillment, self-actualization, survival, security. And this is why a 9-year-old boy is wearing a dress and cyberstalking a Rock Human with the cute girl his loser uncle pines for.

Yasuho has gotten the hang of her new Stand, which can access security cameras on traffic lights and such, and she can also have Tsurugi use his Stand to fold her cell phone into an origami frog, which can hop around and follow their target without being seen. They can use the camera on the phone to see where it goes through a laptop computer.

Said target is Aisho Daienjiyama, a security guard at the local baseball stadium. Jobin stopped at an intersection near the stadium to meet with Aisho about the plant, and Yasuho managed to track down and identify Aisho from there. Her task now is to find out what Aisho is up to, and she finds him carrying the fruit tree into a park.

Then he leaves it with some old man in a wheelchair, and by the time she notices Aisho no longer has the plant, it's been destroyed. The old man ate all the fruit and left the pot on the ground. I dunno, this sort of littering seems kind of conspicuous in Japan. Also, the old man left his... wheelchair? Huh?

Yeah, so they get a fix on the old man and find him crawling away. He's missing a right foot, but not for long, because it grows back as he moves. Eventually he regains his mobility to such an extent that he jogs alongside a bunch of runners for a minute.

Then he goes to meet his wife in their car and they start fucking in the backseat. His eyes start to turn into rocky protrusions and they fall out of his head, but he does not care. He paid millions of yen for this fruit, and if he ever wants his sight back he'll just pay for another fruit and do this all over again. But for now, he wants to walk and run and have freaky body-horror sex with his wife. You'd think she'd be creeped out by all the eyeball pebbles falling on her face, but oh well.

So that gives us a general idea of the business here. Wherever the fruits came from originally, these Rock Humans smuggle them into Morioh and sell them to wealthy buyers who don't mind trading one ailment for another. Given Jobin's experience with agriculture, it's reasonable to assume that he grows the trees for them in some secret location.

But this little spy mission goes haywire when Aisho notices the origami frog and kicks it. This is exactly why Yasuho suggested doing it this way in the first place. Tsurugi wanted to trail Aisho in person, and that would have been a terrible idea. At least this way, Aisho doesn't know where they are or what they look like. But kicking the frog means hurting both of their Stands, which hurts them in turn.

Fortunately, Aisho is kind of an anxious guy, and he gets distracted by some birds in the trees, because birds like to poop on Rock Humans, I guess. Also, that makes him flash back to a time when he nearly died and Yotsuyu helped him. So he calls Yotsuyu, probably to let him know about this spy meddling in their operation, and he can't get a response, because the Yotsuyu's phone is at the bottom of the sea.

Aisho's worry over his partner gives Tsurugi time to use his Stand to create a diversion. He makes a bunch of leaves appear to be more origami frogs, and this allows him to slip the real origami frog away before Aisho can find it.

And this really ramps up Aisho's anxiety. If he could have killed them then and there, maybe it wouldn't bother him so much, but they got away, and he has to deal with them himself because he doesn't know what happened to Yotsuyu.

Also, Paisley Park was able to crawl inside Aisho's pants and scan his security card. Yasuho now knows exactly when he left the baseball stadium, and so they can pick up the trail later, when they've escaped and regrouped with Josuke. There's just one problem.

Aisho also has a Stand, Doobie-Wah, which can pursue a target no matter where they go. There's no limit on the range either. I think it activated when he touched the origami frog, which represented both Paper Moon King and Paisley Park, so now Doobie Wah is locked onto both Yasuho and Tsurugi. It will attack them until they die.

Oh, right, this is where the birds poop on Aisho and he has a panic attack. You'd think he'd relax, knowing that his Stand can finish off his enemies from here. It's only a matter of time, but that might be exactly what's bothering Aisho. He can't see them die, or know what's taking so long, and every minute he waits is another minute where something else could go wrong. It's the suspense that's getting him.

Speaking of suspense, most of this arc is just Yasuho and Tsurugi trying to escape Doobie-Wah. It's a great chase, mostly due to the fact that they're not actually being chased at all. Yasuho gets another message from PP asking her to choose between a ladder or a strawberry, but she takes too long to decide and that messes up her Stand's protection. They climb out of an open window to hide on the sill, but Doobie-Wah catches up to them anyway. Yasuho sees a ladder too far out of reach, and realizes Paisley Park would have set it up for them if she had just picked that option. I guess a strawberry would have also been useful, but I don't see how.

Anyway, they try to jump for the ladder anyway and it's probably a miracle they didn't die.

And it's still coming after them, so this time Yasuho doesn't fool around when the next prompt comes up on her phone. There's a bus and a magazine, and Yasuho picks the bus.

Their hope is that if they can move far enough, quickly enough, they'll move out of Doobie-Wah's effective range and escape, but it doesn't work. Doobie-Wah shows up on the bus, so this is no better than if they stood still.

At last, Tsurugi realizes that it's their breath that triggers the Stand to appear. When they breathe more heavily, it gets bigger and more aggressive, but when they hold their breath it gets smaller and disappears. But they can't just stop breathing, so it comes back as soon as they take another breath.

Yasuho does some sort of trick with a rolled up newspaper, and I think the idea is that if she breathes in, then blows through the paper and out of the bus window, Doobie Wah will return but without being on the bus long enough to bother them. But whatever her trick is, it's not much of a solution. Meanwhile, Aisho calls Jobin to tell him about the spies. He asks if Jobin knows anything, and Jobin immediately thinks of Josuke, but doesn't share his suspicions with Aisho.

Aisho doesn't trust Jobin, but he has no one else to turn to. He has a flashback to when he used to date a human woman, and he loved her so much that he revealed his true nature to her. As a Rock Human, he naturally petrifies when he loses focus, and so when he sleeps, he turns into his rock state, and Rock Humans sleep for a month at a time. At first, she seemed cool with it, but then she started cheating on him in his own house. Like, he's petrified under the bed, and she's bringing other men over to do it on top of him. Cold.

Anyway, one day he woke up to find his house being torn down, because his girlfriend stole the deed to his property, sold it, and ran off. Aisho would have slept right through this and been buried alive, if Yotsuyu hadn't shown up to wake him. So Aisho always appreciated Yotsuyu for that, and that's why he's so upset over his disappearance. That's also why he doesn't trust Jobin when he said he didn't know anything.

Meanwhile, Yasuho and Tsurugi get off the bus and run--while holding their breath-- to a nearby ambulance to use the oxygen tanks on board. Good idea, but it doesn't work. Doobie-Wah seems to emerge from their breath, as opposed to lurking around nearby and waiting to sense their breath in the atmosphere. So using a mask makes no difference. Yasuho could put on an old timey divers suit and Doobie-Wah would just appear inside the helmet.

This is also how she gets the wounds that lead to her signature band-aid look. I think cosplayers even put on a few Band-aids just because it's that recognizable.

Paisley Park appears and tries to punch Doobie-Wah inside the mask, but it doesn't work. I don't understand why PP would even do this, unless she's just completely out of helpful alternatives. I looked up the Stand on the JoJo wiki and it said her strength was 0, not even a letter grade, but if that's true, why even bother attacking at all? Oh well, I appreciate the effort, Paisley Park. You'll always be awesome in my book.

Then Aisho finally catches up to them, and so does... Jobin? Aisho saw him walking around, and followed him, which led him to Yasuho and Tsurugi. He recognizes the kid, and makes it clear to Jobin that Tsurugi has to die. He still wants Jobin to give permission, though, and he's surprised to get no response. What's going on here? Well, like I said, it's not Jobin Higashikata he's looking at. Its a bus.

So are all of these Jobins. They're all buses.

So as harrowing as Yasuho's ordeal was when we first saw Paper Moon King in action, apparently it can get even worse. At least back then, Yasuho could distinguish people from objects. But if Tsurugi wants to, he can screw up the target's perception so badly that they think buses look like Jobin. So while Aisho was busy confronting Jobin about this fiasco, he was actually standing out in the middle of a busy road. He also couldn't tell that the bus was moving, so that's pretty messed up.

Tsurugi calls this a "forbidden move", and I don't think it's just because it's deadly. I mean, you could drive someone insane with this power. Yasuho was pretty badly traumatized but at least she had some idea of her surroundings. Imagine thinking you're in an open area, and not knowing if you're surrounded by people or cars or knives or open manholes or anything. But Aisho was a Rock Human, so fuck him. I know that flashback made him seem sympathetic, but trust me, the Rock Humans all suck.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojolion #yasuho hirose #tsurugi higashikata #jobin higashikata #aisho dainenjiyama

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thetruthbehindtheemotions · 9 months

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Death

Who am I? Well, I am the most complex secret of humanity. The most feared being. The most tragic. The cause of countless unanswered questions, tears, laments, and sufferings. But also the only certainty you have in your life journey... nice to meet you, I am Death.

I keep some secrets, just as destiny keeps everything. One of my biggest secrets is also one of my greatest bitterness. Why am I not loved?

I, like every other eternal being, will stay here until everything ends. Not even Hope will escape me on some fateful day. I will be the last to finish. I am the one who will close the show of Life after applauding it standing ovation. Some see in me a way to end their own suffering and torture. Their final venture against my youngest son, Despair. But things cannot be that way. You should not hate me, curse me, and certainly not fear me, just as you should not take your own lives simply because you can no longer tolerate Despair. He was born out of a need of yours, just like me, just like Life and all other things. Life is too fragile for the burden it carries. A stake, a knife, a gun, a rope... Things created by man are capable of taking away what you hold most valuable, what allows you to be in all physical and literal forms. Taking someone's life, or even one's own life, is very simple in practice, sometimes it even brings relief.

Because that's exactly what death does, it takes away the pain, ends the problems, and puts an end to all the agony that seems to have no end. But for those who remain, death is an endless pain that can never be repaired or replaced. It is a black hole, something irreversible.

It is so sad to see how life has been trivialized. Drugs, thieves, murderers, man-made plagues, hunger, prejudices, diseases infecting the world and claiming more than I would like them to claim. It was so much easier when these evils - not as great as they are today - did not exist. It was really much easier. Don't you understand that when you die, you will fall into the river of eternal oblivion? And that river is called time, where its waters are red, murky, and impossible to swim in. They sink you and drown you, they make you nothing but memories that only I will remember one day. But you know what really annoys me? It's that Destiny knows who will die and who will live even before they are born. Isn't that unfair? Yes, it is, both for me and for Life. But there is nothing we can do, we were created specifically for this. While one generates life, the other takes it away. However, that doesn't make our task any less painful. But I'm not here to talk about my pain, much less about Life's pain. I'm here to reveal a little more of my essence, so unknown to you mere mortals. And you want to know something? Here's a piece of advice for you. Don't come into my arms looking for all the answers because I won't give you all of them, I will only show you the path you will have to follow to conquer them. Hold on to your dreams and try to fulfill them in some way. Don't let yourself be carried away by the destruction that the world has become, much less get lost in its despair, but I won't deceive you by saying that it will be easy because it won't be. This is called living, and living is difficult, especially if you do what you love. So don't stop at the first obstacle on the way, don't immerse yourself in the delirium of chaos when you can live beautifully and simply. Live each moment as if it were the last because it really can be!

It may seem surreal how time passes so quickly, how people constantly enter and leave your lives. It's all so delicate, resembling that little flower called dandelion. It only takes a random puff, in any direction, and everything falls apart. That's why you should never miss the opportunity to tell those you love how much they mean to you because in a single second everything can change, and then it's too late. Sad? Yes, but it's reality. It's what I am.

I always catch you off guard. One moment you're with someone, playing, talking, making plans for the future, and seconds, minutes, or even hours later you find yourself on top of a coffin lamenting the departure of someone who meant so much to you, and on another occasion, you are the body inside the coffin. Flowers, candles, cotton stuffed in the nose, and the body pressed against a piece of wood to turn into dust months later. Just dust buried in dust. It's torturous to think of death this way because it is always seen as the end of everything, as the great villain who is always ready to snatch away what you hold dear. But perhaps there is more to it than meets the eye.

Death, in its essence, is a natural part of the cycle of life. It is the inevitable conclusion to the journey that begins with birth. Death, in a way, gives meaning to life. It reminds us of the preciousness and fragility of our existence. It pushes us to cherish the moments we have, to love deeply, and to pursue our dreams passionately.

While death may bring grief and sorrow, it also has the power to inspire and transform. It reminds us to live fully, to appreciate the beauty around us, and to make a positive impact on the world while we can. Death teaches us the value of time and encourages us to make the most of every fleeting moment.

In the face of death, we often ponder the mysteries of life and the universe. We seek answers to profound questions about the meaning of our existence, the nature of consciousness, and what lies beyond the threshold of this reality. Death invites contemplation and introspection, urging us to explore the depths of our souls and discover our true selves.

While death may seem like an end, it can also be seen as a transition. Many cultures and belief systems hold the notion of an afterlife, where the soul continues its journey beyond the physical realm. Whether it is a heavenly paradise, reincarnation, or merging with a universal consciousness, the concept of an afterlife offers solace and hope in the face of mortality.

Ultimately, death remains a mystery that eludes our complete understanding. It is a reminder of the vastness of existence and the limits of human knowledge. It humbles us, reminding us of our place in the grand tapestry of the cosmos.

So, while death may bring fear and sorrow, it is also an integral part of the human experience. It is a teacher, urging us to live with purpose, to love fiercely, and to embrace the beauty of life. In the end, it is up to us to make our lives meaningful and leave a lasting legacy that transcends our mortal existence.

*************************

Morte

Quem sou eu? Oras, eu sou o segredo mais complexo da humanidade. O ser mais temido. O mais trágico. O causador de inúmeras perguntas sem respostas, de muitas lágrimas, lamentos e sofrimentos. Mas também a única certeza que você tem em sua jornada de vida...prazer, eu sou a Morte.

Eu guardo alguns segredos, assim como o destino guarda tudo. Um dos meus maiores segredos é também uma de minhas maiores amarguras. Porque não me amam?

Eu, assim como todo e qualquer perpétuo, vou ficar aqui até que tudo termine, nem mesmo a Esperança escapará de mim em algum fatídico dia. Eu serei a última a terminar. Sou eu quem fechará o show da Vida depois de aplaudi-la de pé. Alguns poucos veem em mim uma saida para acabar com o próprio sofrimento e tortura. Sua última empreitada contra o meu filho mais novo, o Desespero. Mas as coisas não podem ser assim. Vocês não devem me odiar, me xingar, e muito menos me temer, assim como não devem tirar suas próprias vidas somente por não tolerarem mais o Desespero. Ele nasceu por uma necessidade de vocês, assim como eu, assim como a Vida e todas as outras coisas. A vida é algo frágil demais para o peso que possui. Uma estaca, uma faca, uma arma, uma corda... Coisas criadas pelo próprio homem são capazes de tirar aquilo que vocês possuem de mais valioso, o que vos permite ser, de todas as formas físicas e literais. Tirar a vida de alguém, ou até mesmo a própria vida é algo muito simples na prática, às vezes, gera até alivio.

Porque é exatamente isso o que a morte faz, ela tira as dores, acaba com os problemas e finaliza toda a agonia que parece não ter mais fim. Mas para aqueles que ficam, a morte é uma dor inacabável, que nunca poderá ser reparada ou substituída. É um buraco negro, algo irreversivel.

É tão triste ver como a vida foi banalizada. Drogas, assaltantes, assassinos, pragas criadas pelo homem, fome, preconceitos, doenças impregnando o mundo e ceifando mais do que eu gostaria que ceifassem. Era tudo tão mais fácil quando esses males - não tão grandes quanto hoje em dia - não existiam. Era realmente muito mais fácil. Será que vocês não entendem que, quando morrerem, cairão no rio do eterno esquecimento? E esse rio se chama tempo, onde suas águas são vermelhas, turvas e impossíveis de se nadar. Elas te afundam e te afogam, te tornam apenas memórias das quais um dia somente eu me recordarei. Mas sabe o que me deixa realmente irritada? É que o Destino sabe quem morrerá e quem viverá antes mesmo de elas nascerem. Isso não é injusto? É, é sim, tanto comigo quanto com a Vida. Mas não há nada que possamos fazer, fomos criadas especificamente para isso. Enquanto uma gera a vida, a outra a tira. Entretanto, isso não faz nossa tarefa ser menos dolorosa. Mas não estou aqui para falar das minhas dores e muito menos as da Vida. Estou aqui para revelar um pouco mais da minha essência tão desconhecida por vocês meros mortais. E querem saber de uma coisa? Aqui vai um conselho a vocês. Não venham para os meus braços a procura de todas as respostas, pois eu não lhes darei todas elas, apenas lhes mostrarei o caminho que terão que seguir para conquistá-las. Agarrem-se aos seus sonhos e tentem de algum modo realizá-los. Não se deixem levar pela destruição em que o mundo acabou se tornando, muito menos se percam no desespero do mesmo, mas também não irei enganá-los dizendo que será fácil, pois não será. Isso se chama viver, e viver é difícil, principalmente se você faz aquilo que gosta. Por isso não parem perante a primeira pedra no caminho, não mergulhem no delírio do caos quando podem viver de forma bela e simples. Vivam cada momento como se fosse o último, pois ele pode realmente ser!

Pode parecer surreal a forma como o tempo passa tão rápido, em como pessoas entravam e saem constantemente de suas vidas. É tudo tão delicado, semelhando-se a aquela florzinha do mato chamada de dente-de-leão. Basta um soprinho à toa, em qualquer direção, e tudo se desmancha. Por isso vocês nunca devem perder a oportunidade de dizer para aqueles que amam o quanto significam para vocês, pois em um único segundo tudo pode mudar, e então ser tarde demais. Triste? Sim, mas é a realidade. É o que eu sou.

Estou sempre vos pegando desprevenidos. Uma hora você está com a pessoa, brincando, conversando, fazendo planos para o futuro e segundos, minutos, ou até mesmo horas depois você se encontra em cima de um caixão lamentando pela partida daquele que tanto significou para você, já em outra ocasião, você é o próprio corpo dentro do caixão. Flores, velas, algodões enfiados no nariz e o corpo sendo pressionado em um pedaço de madeira para meses depois virar pó. Apenas pó enterrado no pó. É torturante pensar na morte desse jeito, porque ela é enxergada sempre como sendo o fim de tudo, como a grande vilã que esta sempre disposta a acabar com a vida. Mas a verdade não é essa. É importante que vocês saibam que, diferente do que muitos pensam, a Vida e eu não somos opostas, quem dirá rivais, na verdade somos irmãs, amigas, quase que a mesma coisa. Andamos por aí de mãos dadas, uma completando a outra. Enquanto ela é o início de tudo, eu sou o fim, ou quase isso. Na verdade eu sou aquela que dará inicio a um novo começo, o começo da eternidade. Não a um final, não a uma linha de chegada, a apenas um caminho diferente. A Morte— no caso eu - nada mais é do que o prólogo de uma vida sem dores, sem medos, sem destruição, sem ódio, sem crueldade. Eu sou a porta para o tão sonhado paraíso. Por isso vocês devem aproveitar ao máximo cada segundo, minuto e hora de seus meros dias.

Sorriam! Vivam! Amem! Sonhem! Delirem! Desfrutem! Desesperem-se! Desejem! Destinem-se! E em um dia inevitável, mas não menos fatídico, morram com a alegria de saber que seus momentos cairão juntos a ti no rio do esquecimento. Alegrem-se ao saber que irão deixar alguém para trás que os amem; que se preocupam e que irão querer vê-los novamente algum dia. Então, quando chegar a sua imprescindível hora de partir, não tenham medo, apenas me acolham como uma velha amiga.

"A morte é apenas o ponto final da primeira frase do primeiro livro de uma enorme biblioteca."

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teamxdark · 4 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn?

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place.

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

Yet, as he opened his eyes and saw Lancelot still staring resolutely at him, as though desperate for him to understand, Sonic had to wonder if the knight had a point; Shadow had had amnesia twice, now. His memories had reset, but he had still been Shadow at his core. Sonic had never doubted that.

Did memories truly make a person who they were? And if so… were Lancelot and Shadow truly two different people?

Are you him? Sonic wanted to ask as he was burned alive by those eyes, crimson and intense, focused on him and him alone. Are you who he could have been if things had been different?

He wasn’t sure, but at least he could kind of understand where Lancelot was coming from.

Sonic heaved out an exhale, using both hands to pull Lancelot to his feet. “Okay,” he conceded. “Okay… but no more protecting me from my house or my friends. I’ll let you know when we’re in danger, okay?”

And Lancelot beamed, overjoyed, his teeth poking out through his lips and his eyes crinkling with happiness, and Sonic would be an even bigger liar if he denied that it was one of the most gorgeous sights he had ever seen.

Lancelot… I think I want to know you, too.

...

The sound of his pen scratching along the page was the only sound in the room. King Arthur sat back in his chair, stretching out his fingers, his eyes seeking out the room’s only other occupant, who was standing by with his back against the wall, looking displeased.

Shadow was silent, as always.

Arthur let out a breath, drumming a couple of fingers against his desk. “I cannot solve anything if you do not speak,” he finally remarked, much to the displeasure of the other.

“I don’t want to be out there with the others. This is the only room where no one barges in. That’s all.”

“Hm. Quite.”

It was mostly true, he supposed. Sometimes an advisor would poke their head in, but usually those weren’t the people Shadow was hiding from.

Arthur had started hearing the rumors a while ago; Sir Lancelot, his greatest and closest knight, and his longtime friend, was deeply in love with him. The rumors had followed him every day, and plagued him by night, as he wondered if they could be real, and wondered what he would do if they were real.

He had started to see and feel it, too. Lancelot’s habit of looking his way, his gaze, hidden behind his visor, lingering just a moment too long before he looked away again. The way his knight’s hand would remain on his person, his touch still warming him even after he drew his hand away. These moments had grown in number in the latest months, though their time together had remained fleeting, as the life of a king and the life of a knight were wrought with busy schedules and hardly enough time for a ‘hello’ to be exchanged.

For a while, Arthur had felt that something unsaid but reciprocated was between them, but Lancelot was gone, now, and Shadow had taken his place, and now the knights and the maids and the servants all looked at Shadow in the same way they had done to Lancelot, and the whispers and giggles followed the dark hedgehog until he ran into Arthur’s study and shut them all out behind him.

He made for some rather unsettling company, this sullen, tense man who shared his face with that of his closest friend.

Arthur missed him. Arthur missed him so much it hurt, and every day that passed he wished for the man who had stood by him from the very beginning to still be there, by his side, in a world that demanded the most he would be able to give as the bare minimum, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to take it out on Shadow. Nor was he about to dismiss the fact that Shadow was in a strange new world, and likely every bit as confused, disturbed, and frightened as he was.

“Would you like me to speak with them?” Arthur offered, figuring it was worth a try.

Yet Shadow huffed in response, the proposal seeming to offend him, and Arthur wondered why. “Don’t bother, I can handle my own problems.”

That was the other thing about Shadow: he had never, at any point, treated Arthur like he was royalty.

“It’s considered bad form to refuse the offer of a king,” Arthur pointed out, partly as a piece of advice; though he didn’t mind it himself, he knew Sir Gawain would throw a fit upon hearing that Shadow had shown such dismissal.

And the other part of him wanted to push Shadow just a little more. To get more of that strangely satisfying feeling of being treated like a man instead of a crown.

“I don’t care,” came the instant reply, and Arthur had to fight back a smile. “There are no kings where I come from, so your title means nothing to me, and even if it did, I won’t bow to you, or to anyone.”

The ‘not again’ went unsaid, but Arthur could hear it in Shadow’s voice, could read it in his body language. Arthur was always rather adept at deciphering Lancelot’s small cues and gestures, though Lancelot kept many of them hidden behind a wall of steel, but with Shadow, who bared his face and his body for the world to see, nothing could be hidden from Arthur’s discerning gaze. It was fascinating, truly, to be able to read someone new so well and so easily. Shadow was a puzzle with clear edges, but with many, many pieces that Arthur still had to search for.

All in all… a refreshing individual, despite the circumstances.

“Okay,” Arthur relented, and the sight of Shadow’s eyes narrowing in confusion only served to make fighting back his smile impossible. “In that case, I shall leave it to you.”

With that, he picked back up his pen, continuing to draft the latest ordinance on adjusting the limits of imported goods past Avalonian borders. The work was tedious, boring, dull, and even though he had just taken a break, Arthur felt his hand start to cramp with just a few words jotted down. The king sighed, rolling his wrist a few times, before getting back to work.

Just grin and bear it, he thought to himself as an involuntary noise of discomfort escaped him as his hand twinged again. You’ve done it before and you will always be able to do it. A king cannot show weakness. A king may not make excuses for poor judgement. Everyone is counting on me to do the best I can.

The thoughts only served to worsen the sense of anxiety that always seemed to cloud his mind, and Arthur grimaced, dropping his pen, holding his head in his hands and wishing for comfort for a man who was no longer with him.

His ears perked up as he heard a noise, something akin to a footstep taken in his direction, and when the king lifted his head, he noticed that Shadow no longer had his back flush against the wall. The dark hedgehog was doing his best to mask his emotions, but Arthur could still peel back every layer he put up, seeing the concern and the discomfort in the smallest things, from the slight narrowing of his eyes to the light raising of his spines. Shadow’s body language was silently screaming in empathy, something Arthur wasn’t used to receiving from others, and it intrigued him more than it should have.

“I’ll be fine,” he assured Shadow, not waiting to be prompted; he doubted the other would have asked, anyhow. “It’s simply sobering, sometimes, to remember that I have a kingdom’s worth of expectations to meet.” The king looked back down at the piles of papers on his desk; it was the same work, day in and day out, with decisions ranging from laughably easy to crushingly difficult. Yet, he had to make them all. Without thinking, he murmured aloud, “A single mistake could cost me everything I’ve done up to this moment. All the good I’ve done, all the efforts I’ve made, all the reputation that I’ve struggled to build up… it could all go up in smoke in a second, and I would be back at the beginning, needing to prove myself over and over again to people who expect everything from me.”

It was a moment of weakness, of cowardice, wherein Arthur was so tired from years of work and the loss of his most precious ally, for whom he still had almost no time to mourn. His eyes flicked back up to Shadow, and he prepared to apologize and ask that he forget all that he had just divulged 一 it was hardly fair on his guest, after all 一 but then he saw Shadow’s face, stunned and amazed, his red eyes wide and fixed on him, welling with a look that Arthur almost never saw on another person; understanding.

Shadow was looking at him with such mind-blowingly clear understanding and empathy that Arthur’s breath was taken away.

For a few more charged, heart-pounding moments, all they could do was stare, the sensation of something new connecting them becoming stronger and stronger with every passing second.

Then Shadow tore his gaze away and flung open the door, stepping outside and closing it behind him, leaving Arthur alone in his study.

As the king sat back in his chair, he stared into space as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, and what that might have meant for Shadow.

He was certain that, even though his dear friend’s face was too often hidden from view, that Lancelot had never once looked at him like that.

Shadow… what is your story, I wonder?

…

Just when Lancelot thought he couldn’t hate the odd technology of Sonic’s world any more, it came to a sudden and violent peak as the blue hero was called into action as a swarm of machines called ‘robots’ began invading Station Square. To make matters worse, they were created by some sort of mad doctor, and upon seeing an image of the man in question, Lancelot had to restrain himself from running the monitor through with his sword.

This mad doctor held a horrible resemblance to a certain ‘emperor’ that had caused Arthur far too much trouble, back at home in Avalon, and it made Lancelot desire nothing less than for this man’s complete and utter demise at his hands.

According to Sonic, these attacks weren’t anything new to him and his team, and though he knew it was a distraction or a trap, they didn’t have any options aside from stopping them quickly and efficiently, for the sake of everyone who lived in the city. He rallied his team effortlessly, leading the chase down to the battle, not bothering to bark orders because of the trust he carried in his followers…

Lancelot’s heart swam with affection. Sonic truly was Arthur, whether he believed it or not, and it showed in everything he did. He was a leader who cared not for the title, a man who cared for even the smallest life under his protection, and his bravery was unmatched, inspiring, and absolute. Someone of such immeasurable importance that needed to be protected at all costs.

So what else could Lancelot do but run to shield him when, during the battle, he saw a robot take aim at Sonic’s back?

His ears registered the sound of Sonic moving, then stumbling, but he only paid attention to the blast that came his way, soaking up the impact with his legendary strength, but he was not indestructible. Blood began dripping from a wound on his arm, and the scent of singed hair prickled in his nose in the most unpleasant way. Lancelot hissed in pain, his mind threatening to cloud with this new kind of pain, like fire but so much more unnatural, but he took pride in knowing that he had done his job. Sonic was safe. Sonic was safe and…

And he was dragging Lancelot to the side?

“What the hell was that, Lance?” Sonic demanded, panic and fury coloring his tone, and Lancelot’s feet almost froze in shock. Why was Sonic so frightened? Why did he sound so angry?

Had he done something wrong?

In a space several yards away from the battle zone, Sonic sat Lancelot down, and swore under his breath when he saw his battle wound. “Damn it Lance, I knew that robot was there! Why didn’t you just let me dodge? Oh Chaos, you’re bleeding, why did you run in like that?!”

Lancelot only gaped at him, his mind struggling to make sense of his leader’s words as Sonic inspected his arm and fretted over how it wasn’t healing.

Was he supposed to heal quicker than the average being? Lancelot supposed that maybe, with the help of his mother or Merlina, that could be possible, but the young girl who appeared to be his mother’s counterpart appeared more of a fighter than a healer, and he had not yet seen a counterpart to the royal wizard.

Lancelot wanted to ask these questions, to get some answers, but the near furious look on Sonic’s face made him hold his tongue. Such a look on someone he admired and loved so strongly… it was enough to make him feel like the scum of the earth.

The knight sat out the rest of the battle, staying in place even as Sonic left to finish the job, and the humiliating feeling of utter shame managed to overpower even his need to ensure his leader’s safety. Every time he felt the urge to stand up regardless, to charge into the battle even while wounded, and fight by his leader’s side as his sword and shield, the image of Sonic’s distraught face would flash before his eyes again, and he would remember his words, sharper and more painful than any sword, demanding why he had interfered.

Why had he failed his job as a knight?

What good was he, if he couldn’t even fulfil his one objective?

Lancelot’s head remained bowed in shame, even as he heard rapid footsteps coming his way. It remained bowed, even as he felt steady hands clean his wound and wrap a bandage around it.

It was only when Sonic lifted his chin and forced his visor up did Lancelot finally manage to look him in the eye.

“Why did you step in front of me like that?” Sonic asked, his voice calm again, though it did nothing to soothe Lancelot’s inner turmoil. The knight wanted nothing more than to no longer speak, to be swallowed by the ground and forgotten, the pathetic knight who couldn’t do his job when it mattered.

But he couldn’t refuse his leader, and so he forced himself to talk.

“It was the promise I made to you,” he said, and he struggled to keep his dismay in check as Sonic immediately looked displeased at his answer. “I am… protective by nature, and even moreso as a knight. I swore to protect Arthur, and I must protect you, too, even if that comes with my own life as a cost. That is something I must do, for I--”

“Oh stop it!” Sonic interrupted, once again looking angry and upset, and Lancelot bit back his speech, both ashamed and relieved. Had he gone even further, he might have lost control of his emotions and revealed just how deeply his affections for the blue hedgehog lied.

And then, Sonic asked something very, very strange.

“Isn’t there more to being a knight than serving a king?”

Lancelot, who up to that point had felt so certain of his standing, of his mission, of who Sonic was and what he represented, felt his heart break in two as cold reality settled over him.

“No,” he whispered in response, having never felt further away from the other than he did in that moment.

Sonic was not his king. Sonic was Arthur, but he was not his king. Sonic had no want for a knight, no desire to act as a king.

But if that were the case, what was Lancelot to do?

“Lancelot.”

Sonic’s voice was firm, and Lancelot braced himself for some hard truths.

“I’m not a king, Lance. I’m a hero, I guess. That’s what people call me, anyways. But the point is, I’m a free hedgehog. I’m not here to give orders or have people die for me, I’m just around to have a good time, to go where the wind takes me, and if I have to save a few people from some robots in the meantime, I will. I just gotta do what I gotta do… and I can’t do that if all you can do is try to protect me.”

Even with his face raised, chin still supported by his leader-- no, by Sonic’s hand, Lancelot tried his best to look away. His eyes watered treacherously, threatening to spill over. Being a knight was Lancelot’s life, his identity, the air that he breathed, the reality he lived in. It was everything he knew, but… but now it was…

The hand disappeared from his face, and then Sonic was reaching for his own hand on his uninjured arm, and Lancelot was pulled to his feet. Sonic looked him full in the eyes, their pull hypnotic, and even as Lancelot tried to choke back his tears, he felt his breath catch in his lungs.

“Hey… I need you to trust me with my own life, okay?”

Lancelot blinked, and the smallest of tears managed to escape him. Sonic didn’t think he trusted him.

In a sense, Lancelot supposed that he didn’t.

Yet when he reopened his eyes, he saw the look the other hedgehog was sending him, a look he had seen in Arthur’s eyes many times, mixed with a sense of sad resignation. Lancelot had never been able to read it perfectly, a fact which had always frustrated him to no end, for all he wanted was to be Arthur’s closest, to be the one who knew him at a level that no one else could hope to achieve.

But in Sonic’s eyes, the message was plain and clear.

He wanted to be seen as an equal, not someone above him, unattainable, on a pedestal. No, it wasn’t just that… Sonic looked determined to pull them both onto equal ground, to the same level, and the thought made Lancelot’s head spin.

“Lance… I know it’s scary, but you can choose how you want to live your life now, and trust me, it’s a good thing.”

And Lancelot, who knew nothing aside from being a knight, felt the crushing weight of the world in front of him, dark and untamed, when before he had Arthur’s light to follow. Paths were branching in front of him, too many to count and too many to walk down individually and explore. His head spun with possibility, and fright gripped at him, tempting him to deny, to refuse, to hide his face, or perhaps, to die as a knight in a world that refused to house him as he was.

Then he felt Sonic’s hand, still holding his, warm and comforting and safe, and somehow, in the midst of his existential turmoil, Lancelot felt a warm glimmer of hope.

“Okay,” he murmured in response, and Sonic’s brilliant grin soothed and delighted him more than he could properly understand.

Sonic… I shall do my best. For you… and for me, as well.

…

It hit too close to home, in this place that was about as far from home as Shadow could get.

Every day, whether he looked for him or not, Shadow saw King Arthur struggle silently. He saw him work day in and day out, endlessly trying to prove that he was worthy of being king, of being in everyone’s good graces and that he wasn’t just entitled to be there, but that he was supposed to be in his position. Even while all around him there sat obstacles and red tape and tough decisions and divides and people who were just never satisfied and…

And…

Shadow closed his eyes, recalling every debriefing he had had in G.U.N.’s headquarters. He remembered feeling as though he was on a leash, that every mission, every move he made had to be executed perfectly, otherwise he would lose his right to exist as a free being.

No… Shadow had never been free. Not since the day he was created, with the power to hurt and to heal, and every day he had to face the consequences of actions he had committed years prior. Shadow remembered the feeling of the imaginary leash shortening, tightening around his throat, reminding him that no matter what he did, it would never be enough.

Shadow would never be considered a true person by the people who saw him as a weapon.

And Arthur… Arthur seemed to be considered in the same way by the people who saw him as a king.

Shadow’s heart ached, and the dark hedgehog grit his teeth as he recalled all the times he had caught the other wincing and massaging his hand while drafting laws and messages, how he plastered a smile on his face as he met people and made addresses when he clearly would rather be anywhere else, and how he kept his voice even as he ordered his knights around, even though he obviously didn’t want to be giving orders, he just wanted to be looked at as an equal, but he was so ingrained in this life that he felt resigned, and so he stopped trying to fight where the fight could not be won. Shadow knew all these feelings, all the sensations of being worked to the bone, of putting on an act to protect himself, of accepting that there were some things that, like it or not, would simply never change…

But Arthur, unlike him, was not the Ultimate Lifeform. This man was not made of infinite power and energy, was not capable of rapid healing or boosting himself in body and mind with his own energies whenever it suited him. Arthur was a remarkable but regular hedgehog, who had been working off of nothing but his own willpower and strength of mind, and that knowledge hurt perhaps the most of all.

Arthur and himself… they both pulled a painfully similar weight, a weight that, even on his worst days, Shadow had never wished upon another person.

So what else could Shadow do but grab Arthur’s hand and run him out of there, out of the castle, yelling vague excuses at anyone who tried to stop them?

Arthur followed easily behind him, not asking a single question as Shadow ran, ran away from suffocating walls and legal obligations and the knowledge that it was never, ever enough.

Shadow was used to Sonic keeping up with him. They had always been on equal grounds, and Shadow knew it, even at the beginning stages of their rivalry when they both had asserted that they were the stronger, the faster, the more incredible hedgehog. With time, that knowledge became easier to swallow, as their rivalry held a friendlier edge to it, and especially so when their friendship and partnership had become more undeniable, and when those dumb, weird feelings started springing forward and…

And…

But with Arthur and his frightfully similar situation, Shadow’s empathy had hit him like a truck, and seeing him in so much concealed pain every day had turned into something too much to bear, and so, just for this one, Shadow decided he would be the man’s savior, even for just one evening.

They stopped in a meadow, far beyond the castle and away from the treeline where the forests began, and Shadow avoided looking at the exhausted king, unsure how to express what was in his head, in his heart, in his soul.

How was he supposed to tell him that watching him take all this weight, all this responsibility, was too much for him?

How was he supposed to say that he had similar issues, with G.U.N. and the people of the United Federation breathing down his neck and observing his every move, and that perfection was the bare minimum?

How could he express that they both deserved to live their lives without earning the right to exist without constant scrutiny, where one slip up meant everything falling apart, absolute ruin, the end of the world…

Shadow took in a deep breath, his mind spinning with thoughts and feelings he wasn’t sure he could put into words, but when he finally looked over to Arthur, the breath left him and wouldn’t return.

Arthur didn’t look angry or annoyed or anxious, even though Shadow had ripped him from his work that he couldn’t afford to fall behind on. Arthur didn’t look upset at all.

He looked grateful.

He looked serene.

Arthur looked directly into Shadow’s eyes, his own green ones reflecting the stars up above, and Shadow wanted to tell him everything, even though his body refused to breathe and his tongue refused to move.

The hand in his hold shifted, and Shadow felt Arthur squeeze his hand softly, just once.

He understood.

Chaos above, Arthur understood, and Shadow didn’t even need to say it.

Shadow swallowed, feeling overwhelmed, and Arthur seemed to understand that, too. Wordlessly, the blue hedgehog moved closer, his hand never leaving Shadow’s, and he leaned his body against Shadow’s, answering an unspoken need for comfort without smothering him, without trapping him in place with a hug or an embrace.

Shadow closed his eyes, hating how the gesture reminded him of one time Sonic had done something similar, a small shoulder check that had lingered a moment too long, and at his side, he felt Arthur breathe in deeply and hold it in, as though he were resisting the urge to sigh.

Shadow knew he was probably thinking about Lancelot.

Their hands both squeezed at the same time, and they both knew.

It was a strange feeling, as though both of them had lost a large piece of their lives, only to gain another to take its place. It was something that felt like infidelity, even though nothing warranting such a thing had been established with the other person on their minds.

Yet this closeness… this was something that Shadow had wanted for a long time, but had never been able to truly obtain. Shadow didn’t always know how to use his words, how to explain what he wanted or what he needed or what he was going through, and now here he was, with Arthur, a man who understood him without words. A man who he understood, who brought out his empathy to an almost painful degree, and Shadow wanted in that moment for nothing more than for them both to be happy.

As he felt the warmth of Arthur’s body and the beautiful comfort of being understood, even in a world that wasn’t his own, Shadow figured he might be on the right track.

Arthur… I don’t know how to thank you.

…

When Sonic first kissed Lancelot, it was after another battle, in which neither escaped without injury. Sonic could see Lancelot try his hardest to hold back his instinctive reactions, struggling to trust him and not place the blame on his shoulders, and Sonic looked out the window, knowing that life was short and uncertain and that any day might be his last.

He also did it knowing that waiting for Shadow was not going to help either of them at all.

He felt Lancelot tense up in shock, then relax, lifting his hands up to his head and burying them in his spines. Lancelot was pilant, willing, eager to receive whatever Sonic wanted to give him, and Sonic responded with his best efforts to make the kiss special, the sort of kiss that Lancelot deserved, after so many years of putting himself second. Whenever Lancelot made a noise that suggested he enjoyed what Sonic was doing, Sonic resolved himself to keep going, to deliver the indulgence that Lancelot had always been denied of.

It was completely different to how he always imagined kissing Shadow would be like. He had always imagined a competition, with both of them trying to one-up each other like they always did, but Lancelot’s sweet eagerness as their lips met again and again pushed all thoughts of Shadow from Sonic’s mind, and as they finally parted for air, it was Sonic’s name that escaped from Lancelot’s mouth.

…

When Arthur first kissed Shadow, it felt like a long time coming. The king knew he would need to take the initiative, with Shadow struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, and he felt the striped hedgehog become rigid in shock when Arthur’s hands landed lightly on his arms and he pressed their lips together.

He also did it with the knowledge that he might never see Lancelot again, and if that were the case, that Shadow was someone he couldn’t bear to let slip through his fingers as well.

When Shadow recovered from the shock, he kissed back, roughly and intensely, and Arthur found himself being pushed to keep up. It was like a battle, fueled by unspoken, deeply internalized feelings, finally being let loose until their heads swam with a lack of air and an overflow of emotion and the immeasurable feeling of connection without words.

Kissing Shadow lit a fire in Arthur’s soul, even as he felt Shadow start to calm down, finding enjoyment at being able to be vulnerable without pain for once in his life. Arthur could feel the heat flush off of the other’s face in waves, and when they finally parted, gasping for air, he was so, so glad that there was no visor or helmet to create a barrier between him and those eyes, softer than he had ever seen them, that he could read like a book.

#Smash speaks.#Avalon Series.#Stories From Avalon.#Lansoni.#Arthadow.#I wrote 80% of this today after months of barely touching it.#Hope you all enjoy!#I'm going to bed.

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ackerlert · 3 years

Text

The Restaurant

Jean x Reader (3 year time skip since end of Season 3, pretend Annie is not in a crystal LMAO)

NSFW WARNINGS: female pronouns reader, oral sex (m & f receiving), sex with jean’s horse cock, reader aroused by his blush LMFAO, slow build up

“Oi. Get back here brats,” Levi grunts, gesturing toward a door. “Time for dinner. I know the restaurant’s all you brats have been thinking of. Especially you, Sasha.”

“Yahoo!” Sasha squealed. “I wonder what Niccolo will make today…maybe even that pizza he was telling me about…” she mutters, smiling to herself and probably daydreaming about stretchy cheese and marinara sauce.

Connie grinned, sharing a look with the other smirking cadets--no. Soldiers. All of the cadets had grown into soldiers now, ranging from 17 to early 20s, plus some new recruits who had joined, including you.

Everyone knew Sasha had a thing for Niccolo-- it was something you and all the other cadets teased her about almost every day. The atmosphere buzzed with a lighthearted feel as the group joked around. You had all just recently completed a successful mission clearing Ragako of some straggler titans left from 3 years ago, and it had gone extremely well: so well that the Corps were getting rewarded with a trip to Niccolo’s restaurant.

The Corps made their way to their destination, the train: a new machine designed by Hange and other engineers she had recruited, it would be their way to the restaurant. Everyone stared at it with slack jaws and wonder-filled eyes. It would be your first time on the locomotive.

The Corps rushed forward, all clambering to get on first and sit with their friends and significant others.

You, along with your group of Mikasa, Eren, Armin, Annie, Connie, Sasha, and Jean were the last to file into the last cart.

Pair by pair, your group began filing in.

You and Jean Kirschtein were last in line to get on the train, and the uncomfortableness you felt surely was justified. After all, the others basically all knew who they would sit near and talk to--Sasha/Connie, Mikasa/Eren, Armin/Annie-- except you two. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at Jean, standing next to you in the line, tallest in your group. His dark eyes looked a bit tired but still had a hard glint of intensity -- probably just excitement to visit the restaurant. You also noted his broad shoulders and a bit of a scruff on his sharp jawline -- characteristics that had not been there before a few years ago, when you had first caught a glimpse when you joined the Corps.

He’d always been attractive. Whenever he smiled at you when you said something to your friend group, whenever he would grasp his hair when he seemed frustrated. And you couldn’t forget his blush and the way his dark eyes glanced away in embarrassment that day you complimented his hair. Although he had seemed intimidating, you had felt a spark of arousal at his blush.

“Y/n. Y/N.” Mikasa frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. C’mon, get on the train!” Connie pouted.

Your eyes snapped up in surprisement. You hadn’t noticed how your mind had drifted into that memory of Jean’s blush, and how everyone, including Jean, was already in the train cart.

“Sorry! I’m coming!” You blushed and clambered on the train.

There was a stretch of awkward silence for a few seconds as you realized the problem.

“Er...why isn’t there room for me?” You asked, frowning a bit.

“The only place you could sit is one of our laps, you could sit on my lap!” Sasha offered, smiling at you, a crumb on her lip.

“Sasha, don’t forget you have all that food stuffed in your pockets. Y/n might smush it and you would cry later,” Connie said, rolling his eyes before looking up at you apologetically. “Sorry Y/n, but I honestly don’t know where you could sit.”

Silence filled the train car for another second, before you heard Jean’s husky voice. “There’s a small bit of room next to me.”

You gratefully accepted that as your best seat, and tried to squeeze in. One of your legs was against Jean’s and the other one was almost hanging out, but you tried to brush it aside.

As the train lurched forward, you heard Jean’s voice again, this time closer to your ear and a bit softer. “You can move in closer, you might fall off like that.”

“Thanks, Jean.” you reply, inching closer. You became aware of his leg’s warmth against yours.

“Damn those thighs are strong...“ you thought to yourself.

You sat like this for a while, in discomfort, listening vaguely to Armin tell Annie about a book he had read.

All of a sudden, your shoulder was jerked to the side and your legs were thrown to the side.

The train had just bumped over a bridge, and you sighed in annoyance until you realized the position you were in: Jean’s steely thighs under your own, his warm chest on your back, and the tickle of his hair on the top of your left ear.

You immediately flushed red, and were about to scramble off his lap until his right hand gently patted your shoulder. You froze.

“Wait, uh. Y/n, I-I think you should wait a while. The road above is a bit bumpy, and the train might throw you off,” he muttered, his face turning that beautiful pink color again as he retracted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Okay. Thank you so much, Jean,” you said quietly, still aware that you were on his lap. You wondered if he could feel your legs tense up, or smell your hair that you had just washed this morning.

You could feel every breath he took against your back, and every breath you took in smelled like him.

And sure enough, the road ahead was bumpy.

You felt your arousal every time the cart hit a road bump and your sensitive parts rubbed against Jean’s. You hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he appeared to be even more awkwardly tensed up than you about it. His breathing had become a bit erratic in your ear and something under your ass was hardening.

When the train ran over a giant rock, you basically bounced up and back down on Jean’s lap.

When this happened, you couldn’t help but let out a small moan before horror filling your face.

Oh fuck.

Jean stiffened behind you, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. Neither of you said anything else until you got to the restaurant.

You slowly left his lap, not daring to look back behind you, and entered the restaurant to sit with Sasha and try to erase the sensations of sitting on Jean’s lap.

---

“I’ll have the steak, medium-rare, please,” you heard Jean’s smooth voice say to Niccolo taking the orders.

He was sitting across from you, and neither of you had mentioned what happened on the train, but it was still fresh on your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder if the slight blush that had been present on his face all meal was from that incident.

As the food came, and you dug in, you couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Jean.

But he was already looking at you with an unfathomable look in his eyes as he took a bite out of his steak.

You quickly looked away.

---

After the dinner, the Corps were getting lodging in the town of the restaurant.

You had always roomed with Hitch, but today she seemed to have other plans in mind.

“Y/nnnnnn, I am so sorry.. But could we perhaps do a switch?” she asked, lips breaking into a devious smile.

You frowned at the short-haired girl suspiciously.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well...I really want to spend the night with Annie and Armin after that dinner, I want to see something. So maybe Armin’s roommate could stay here for the night instead?” she begged.

You frowned. You really didn’t want this, but you knew that Hitch would be really sad if she couldn’t see her friends, so you gave in.

“Fine. But PLEASE make sure his roommate doesn’t stink,” you joked.

“Thank you sooo much!” Hitch grinned, squealing.

---

The door lock clicked open as whoever outside twisted the key Hitch had given him, and stepped inside.

“Jean?!”

You heard the click of his shoes as the man stepped in, eyes falling on you. The room seemed a lot smaller all of a sudden. Although you normally felt pretty tall, you felt small next to Jean.

“Hey, Y/n..” he started. “Looks like i’ll be staying here tonight. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Your bed is the one on the left ” You forced a sweet smile on your face. In your mind, however, you were shocked that Jean was the one staying with you. Memories of his strong, warm chest against your back on the train, his dark eyes on you in the restaurant, and his hard bulge ran throughout your mind again, the way they had plagued your thoughts ever since you had left the restaurant.

You heard a warm and slightly tired-sounding chuckle from Jean, and you snapped your head to his direction, eyes narrowing at him.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he smirked as he glanced up from unpacking his clothes in your direction. ”It was just kinda... cute how you were just staring into space just now, I guess. Wonder what you were thinking about”

You rolled your eyes, a blush spreading across your face. I wonder what he’d think if he knew I was thinking of him, you thought to yourself. Hell, he probably knows.

Another thought passed your mind as you watched him unpacking, the muscles around his neck and arms moving through his thin collared shirt: With the way he was looking at me earlier at that restaurant... I bet I’m not the only one with thoughts of continuing what happened on that damned train...

You smirked and walked up to him casually as a plan moved in your head. He moved his head and looked at you in confusion.

He then ducked his head down again, focusing back on unpacking his clothes. You could’ve sworn there was a hint of that blush you love on his cheeks again.

“So...say, Jean. You look awfully tired today,” you murmured as you went on your tiptoes and flicked some of his soft hair.

He turned back to you. It was clear now that he was blushing and glancing down at your chest, nipples visible through your thin training shirt.

You thought of how his complexion looked so nice in the small bits of red sunlight filtering through the window and the glow of the lamp on the small bedside table in the room. It was a shame that his shirt covered up the rest of him right now.

“Yeah...it’s been busy recently I guess.” he muttered a bit tightly, his blush growing deeper as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“We should get more time to relax,” you sighed and flopped down on the bed right next to the pile of clothes he was unpacking.

Jean looked at you sprawled on the blankets. You gave him another smile and patted the area beside yourself on the bed. He rolled his eyes at you but gave you a small smile back as he sat down beside you a bit stiffly.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you pulled him to lay down properly beside you, your thighs touching.

“I-uh-” he stammered, clearly not sure what to say now that you two were in such close proximity, and he could feel your warmth next to him.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything,” you explained to him. “I’ve just been so tired and stressed as well, I just wanted to relax tonight.”

You shifted a bit closer to him on the bed. He didn’t say anything or move in the next couple of seconds, the two of you just enjoying the moment in the bed before the stress of the next day’s training and planning would hit.

You sighed softly. How long had it been since you had felt this tired? Sure, the titans on Paradise were basically eliminated--but you were not naive enough to think that this would be the end of your journey as a soldier. Just the thought of encountering more titans across the sea that would threaten your friends and family made you almost sick.

Your pretty face crumpled into a bitter frown.

“Y/n…” he said slowly.

“What?” you replied, looking up at him through your eyelashes, eyes tired.

“I...I want you to be happier.” he muttered, turning to you and fixing his dark eyes on your face. “I know you’ve been stressed recently, pushing yourself during training and so have I, but...stay safe, okay? I’m worried about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Yeah, Hitch and Sasha and Mikasa teased you about training too hard a lot and always checked up on you, but this was the first time someone had noticed you weren’t happy doing this much training, and how you sometimes pushed yourself to limits that you knew you couldn’t keep up.

Overwhelmed with surprise and emotion, you threw your arms around Jean and put your chin on his shoulder. His muscles immediately tensed around you, and his warm hands wrapped around your waist, fitting perfectly in its dips.

You buried your face in his neck, breathing in his delicious smell of wood and wine.

Your thoughts were running at a million miles per hour, and you figured you could be more vulnerable with him now.

“Jean, I...I really liked sitting on you on the train today.” you blurted out, still hugging him.

He went stiff for a moment, and you feared you had ruined the moment between you two until he chuckled, the vibrations from his chest spreading to you.

“Yeah...I liked it too.”

You broke off the hug to look at him, only to find him already looking at you and smirking.

Before you know it, his lips were connecting to yours, and your hands were running through his soft hair and tugging the ends to get him closer to you somehow. He broke off the kiss, and you furrowed your brows, but then felt his lips on your neck, sucking it and definitely leaving marks that would last for the next couple of days.

You let out a soft moan that he responded with by marking your neck even harder. You felt his lips curl into a smirk on your neck.

“Jean...have you done this before?” you murmured.

“Uh…” he said.

Before he could finish his response, you pulled his hair and pulled him off of your neck.

“Relax…” you said, tilting your head to give him your own smirk as you trailed your hand down his chest, rapidly unbuttoning the buttons of his thin shirt and feeling the hard planes of his chest stiffen under your hand. “I want to make you feel less stressed too.”

He groaned. “Y/n...you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, looking away from you as if embarrassed.

You smiled up at him from your position in between his thighs, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants off before running your hand over his muscular thighs.

“I want to, though. I want to taste you,” you said, keeping eye contact with him.

His dick was longer than you expected, flushed a warm color and with a slight curve at the tip that you knew would hit that spot in you later that brought you the most pleasure.

He let out a choked whimper at the first time your warm tongue touched his throbbing member, his thighs tensing and veined hands clenching the bedsheets.

You continued to pepper small licks around his dick, giving him comments that made him even harder, if that were even possible, like “You look so nice like this.” and “Stay still for me, okay?”

The way the 6”3 man was now completely at your mercy, his head tilted back and muscles tensed, made you get slicker down there.

“F-fuck, Y/n....” he groaned, peering down at you and your flushed face through the messed up strands of hair that your hands had been running through earlier.

You smirked as he continued to groan.

“But I’ve only been licking your tip? Why are you so sensitive?” you teased him, a string of saliva connecting your mouth and his tip. He only let out another moan in response, his tip twitching again.

You relaxed your throat and began to take him down completely, although his length barely fit in your mouth.

Jean let out even more moans, moaning your name and “fuck” repeatedly. A sheen of sweat covered his chest, glistening in the moonlight and lamp light, and you marveled at the sight.

After a few more times of deep-throating him, he suddenly reached his hands down and yanked your head roughly off of his dick. You looked at him, confused at the sudden demeanor change, still wanting to feel him pulse beneath your tongue and see him lose all his control.

“I was about to cum, but I want to wait until I’m inside of you”, he explained. “Now, it’s my turn to taste you.”

He pulled you up from your position between his legs, and roughly pulled off your shirt so that your breasts were out, and you pulled off your shorts and underwear yourself. The cold air hit your sensitive parts, making them even more sensitive.

When you were on his bed, exposed to his dark eyes trailing over your body that you were proud of from all your days of training, you felt heat rush between your legs.

You pushed your legs together, embarrassed all of a sudden, but Jean lowered his body and bent his head down so that he was hovering above your thighs, and spread your legs for you, his grip as tight as steel.

“Don’t hide from me,” he commanded.

You let out a moan in response, loving the feel of his hands pressing into your soft thighs. You knew where this was heading, and the anticipation made your head dizzy.

Jean lowered his face so that you could feel his breath on you, and you whimpered in anticipation. At the first contact of his tongue on you, you moaned, because no other guy had done this with you. You vaguely thought of how after tonight, no other guy would ever compare to how you felt with Jean.

“Jean…” you moaned.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I thought you would,” he responded, as he sucked your clit and ran his tongue through your folds.

As he continued eating you out, his grip still preventing your thighs from closing, he let out some of his own groans that made you even wetter, and combined with your moans to make the best sounds you had heard in your life.

“Jean…” you repeated, gripping his granite-colored hair in your hands. “I want you in me now.”

Jean gave your clit one last kiss before he got up, licking his lips.

He smiled at you, loving the sight of you as a panting mess on his sheets. His dick was rock hard already, wanting to be inside of you.

You blushed when you saw the wetness on his stubble, but he seemed to not mind at all. Jean began rubbing his tip on you, and thrust his hips forward all of a sudden, even though you were still recovering from your previous orgasms.

When he slid in easily, due to how wet you were, both of you moaned at the sensation.

“Oh fuck...you fit me perfectly.”

The sight of Jean, strands from his side parted hair falling into his forehead, darkened with sweat, made you moan even more. His eyes were fixated on you, begging for more of his dick and for him to go faster.

The intensity of his stare made you look away, blushing and moaning, but his large fingers grabbed your chin and made you look back at him.

“Don’t look away.” he scolded.

“A-alright.” you moaned, looking back into his eyes.

He began to pound into your faster, eyes never leaving yours, his hand making his way to grope your breasts before settling around your throat, not pushing very hard but probably leaving marks there.

You seemed to be sucking him into you every time he pulled out again, which made his rough thrusting irresistible and his moans louder.

The intensity of the pleasure you felt every time he fucked you this good made your eyes roll back and sweat to cover both you and Jean’s bodies.

“Jean...I’m coming soon…” you moaned.

“Me too.” he gritted his teeth and slowing his thrusts so that they were precise and deep.

“Please…” you moaned, not sure what you were begging for: some sort of release, anything, as you clawed his back.

“Please what?” he groaned.

“Please...let me cum…” you whimpered.

Jean groaned at your pretty sounds, so desperate for release, and began thrusting harder.

It was as if he couldn’t control his deep thrusts. You had known that curve in his dick would hit you at the right spots, but now that you were actually experiencing it, you were sure you were in heaven.

With a cry, both of you came, Jean cumming into the condom. He gave you a few more lazy thrusts to milk out your broken cries before he pulled out and leaned down over your naked body to kiss you.

“Y/n… That was amazing.” he blushed again, seemingly shy all of a sudden after he had just fucked you into almost-a-coma.

“I could say the same to you, Jean…” you smiled.

He went into the bathroom and got something to clean you up with.

“We made a mess on the sheets,” you groaned into the pillow. “Hitch is gonna tease me so bad about this tomorrow.”

Jean laughed, his eyes crinkling at you.

“Whatever. But you look so pretty right now Y/n. How could she tease you when you look so pretty?” he joked.

“You’re too sweet, Jean…” you smiled back at him as he clambered slightly awkwardly back into the small bed with you.

Damn, I am so lucky, you marveled to yourself as he put his arm around you and pulled you closer to his chest. You buried your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. His usually meticulous hair was now messy and tickling your ear again.

“You know … Ymir was right about you having a horse cock…” you giggled.

Jean frowned, pulling you off his chest to look you in the eyes. “What the fuck?!” he snorted, but his lips were pulling up into a smile.

The rest of the night was filled with you two laughing and joking about trivial matters, distracting you from the pain and loss that would happen the next year. But that night was one out of many special nights between you and Jean only.

Hitch took one glance at your messy hair, eye bags, and goofy smile the next morning and instantly began squealing.

“I TOLD YOU SO, SASHA!” she screamed.

Connie and Sasha smirked at you, whispering something about how they had known it since they had caught Jean staring at you during training when you first joined the Corps.

“Hitch...shut up please…” you groaned, exchanging a look with Jean, who was blushing again.

#jean kirschtein #jean #jean aot #jean snk #jean x reader #jean kirschtein smut #jean smut #snk #aot #jean season 4 #jean kirschtein x reader #jean x y/n #jean kirschtein x r/n #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader

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the-darklings · 4 years

Text

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective.

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part.

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that.

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing.

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager.

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now.

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash.

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But.

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts.

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed.

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm.

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received.

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy.

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely.

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem.

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself.

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too.

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020.

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call.

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind.

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.

So I didn’t.

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest.

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back.

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either.

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that.

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited.

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly.

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you.

Love,

- Kat.

#kat speaks #blog psa #i suppose

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Sakura went to her shift a little bit giddier than usual for a variety of reasons despite the busy holiday season; it was nearing Christmas after all. The first one – having finally tied with Sasuke in their recent exams, and the second – the approval of her personal project. There was also a third reason, but she was unresolved of what to feel.

Kakashi met with her alone after their monthly council meeting. It was the usual talk, the heavy administrative concerns they do not bother other council members with, reminders about problematic behaviors among the student body or personal problems that faculty or students were plagued with that needed intervention. He said an apology just as she reached the door.

“Sakura?” Kakashi asked, turning in his chair.

She looked back at him with a neutral expression. While she knew she wasn’t overtly passive aggressive in her actions, he might have noticed a change in her cheerful disposition towards him. Her clumped fingers anxiously fidgeted with the rubber band on her wrist, his rubber band that she didn’t use anymore to tie her hair. “Yes, sensei?”

“Were you offended with what I said during the school trip?” he asked, but his expression already seemed to know the answer.

Her eyes downcast, she turned the knob of the door, knowing that she was free to leave without replying, but as the door stayed ajar, she decided to come clean. “Yes.”

“I thought as much. I’m aware that I belittled you like a child. Your money is yours to spend however you want. Please know that I only have good intentions with what I’ve done,” her sensei told her. “But isn’t it also unfair for you to shoulder that much problem? I’m a paid employee and before that, I am your adviser. I have a responsibility just as much as you do. Next time you are presented with that, learn to ask for help.”

Sakura didn’t see the expression he had on his face. She was too flustered to compose a comeback and she can only settle for a meek nod before shooting out of the room like her tail was on fire.

“Girlie!” Her coworker’s voice brought her back to reality – a reality of a long queue of customers waiting for their to-go coffees, mini-cakes, and boxes of pastries to share with loved ones in this cold night while she’ll be likely stuck in shift well past beyond midnight, tolerating the café uniform, the itch of her black weave on her scalp, and the heavy makeup she wore for tonight. She flashed an apologetic (yet charming) smile to the other person, and they gave her a thumbs up.

The queue has thinned out by eleven, to be replaced soon by stragglers hoping to catch a last dose of caffeine pump. She stretched her neck and stifled a yawn, forgetting to say Welcome to a customer that walked through their doors.

“Your sweetest drink please and a half dozen of hazelnut cookies,” the customer said. “Thanks, Sakura.”

She almost broke her already strained neck when she raised it up quickly to meet the owner of the voice. No gel blonde hair Naruto with black circles under his eyes. Rookie MVP looked shit as hell.

She barely formed an excuse in her head when he waved his hand in front of her. “You can drop the act with me. I already knew the week you got discharged from the hospital. I just passed by after dinner with the team when I saw a girl manning the cashier with the same band-aid on her nose which I gave you a day before.” Naruto grinned at her in the off chance that it would reassure her.

“Will this be to-go?” Sakura asked as she busied herself with Naruto’s order, unsettled with her carelessness. At the back of her mind, she was yet to answer herself why she was adamant to use a disguise while working.

“For here. Apartment’s kinda bare during these times.”

As what she expected, Naruto was still seated when they were about to close, and ironically, he chose the corner table with no windows, contrary to what his other friend would have chosen. Like those usual nights with Sasuke, she slid in front of him, her disguise gone.

“Let’s go see the amusement park tomorrow?” It was as if she saw sadness being lifted from his shoulders the way they transitioned from slouching to an alert stance.

She found then that Naruto was always that person that found happiness at the simplest things.

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

“A horror house!” Naruto pointed at the very moment they stepped inside the park. He somehow absorbed his captain’s fashion persona, undercut prominent with his baseball cap, loose plain black shirt, and gray cargo pants.

“All right. Treat me if we reach the other end with you clinging to my arm,” Sakura teased. She was dressed in a mauve smocked crop top with high rise flared jeans and platform white sneakers that allowed her to reach Naruto’s shoulders. She wondered if her getup was too much what with the number of heads that turned her way as she littered in the entrance earlier.

Sasuke begged off through their group chat, saying he was unavailable. He was yet to explain that group hug last time, but he was evasive every time Naruto brought it up while she simply cannot find the right timing.

She guessed she was still taken aback by how warm his hold felt like. If she was right, whatever defenses he had around them were toppled down by himself that day. But what triggered it – she’d probably never know.

Naruto placed a fist on his chest. “This is one bet I’ll never lose.”

And he lost – spectacularly. His baseball cap was long gone thanks to a zombie who panicked when he almost punched it. He was also hyperventilating and sweating out of his wits, his throat may have gone hoarse by now with all his screaming inside.

Sakura cannot get rid of the long string of laughter that bubbled. “Come on, let’s cool off for a while.”

To help calm Naruto down, they had to line up with all the other kids in the merry-go-round, then off to paddle a swan boat on a manmade lake. She went all out in the shooting range and won Naruto a frog plushie while he blitzed through the basketball hoops, sneering at the kids beside him who were waiting for their turns.

They capped off the afternoon with a ride on the ferris wheel. They sat opposite each other, and Sakura suddenly felt queasy. She remembered she was apparently acrophobic, and so she focused instead on Naruto who was still in awe of the scenery. The park had a busy crowd today – it was the holiday season after all and families, friends, and lovers were up and about. She just hoped Naruto didn’t catch on yet.

“So why are you stuck with me instead of your family, Sakura?”

Ah he caught on. “They’re busy,” she simply replied. “Besides I’ll see them later in the evening.”

Naruto smiled at her, a smile that knew she was hiding more but he chose not to prod further. Sakura silently conveyed her thanks.

“I don’t know how to thank you. I was really in a slump when we lost, but this day made me recharge my drive and gave me a newfound resolve. You, Pres, is the first to hear it!”

Sakura can only grin, urging him to go on.

“I will bring our school team to the nationals and we will win.”

Sakura clapped her hands and gave him a thumbs up. “Of course, you will. I know you’ll do it.”

“I just wish I told Captain Haru before he left town for vacation.” Naruto slid lower in his seat. “Apparently, he and Hinata broke up. You’re friends with both of them, right?”

Sakura shook her head, shock at the news. She had an inkling from her previous conversation with Haru, but she didn’t expect it would come this early. “I am, but I haven’t really heard from both parties lately.”

“Well, Hinata’s father offered an athletic scholarship to Cap, but he turned it down, saying he was undeserving, and it might just be because of Hinata’s prodding.”

If she recalled correctly, Hiashi Hyuuga was the chair of the Sports Council that spanned all districts of their state. She could see why Haru was angry and disappointed enough to break it off with Hinata. “But they were so good together. Did he ever tell you how they first met?”

Naruto rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “Do tell please!”

“There was a student exchange of some sort and Hinata ended up in our class for a month. Of course, she was the takane no hana and this immediately gathered a bandwagon group of shallow admirers. Haru, oh Haru, he found pretty people depth-less, but he was the class representative that time – “

“And you were?”

“Of course, a student council president. But wait pay attention Naruto!”

“Okay I am paying attention! But you really are an overachiever!”

“Yeah and what about it!” Sakura almost chuckled in exasperation. “So anyway, he had to escort Hinata back and forth at the school gates because of the unreasonable crowd. He would ask her random things, but most especially on archery since he was so bad at it. And they found a common ground and the topics expanded beyond the arrow and bow. The guy had the nerve to cover it up from me at first, saying they’re fake dating and it was just an arrangement to keep creeps at bay.” She sighed, suddenly saddened by the breakup. “I thought it would last forever.”

“But Hinata never introduced him to her family, did she?” Naruto asked. “Because Cap also told me that when Hiashi called him up for the offer, he didn’t know he was the boyfriend, he was simply a person her friend referred.”

Oh Haru. You must have known what family you were entering when you loved her.

“Hey? Time to get down,” the operator said. Their turn was already finished.

As they walked to the gates, Naruto asked her. “Love is too scary. You’ll never know if you’ll end up hurt or happy despite everything. Besides, can you even say it’ll be worth fighting for?”

Sakura’s fingers immediately went to the rubber band on her wrist, “It’s always a mix of everything, all the good and the bad, and somehow it’s all convoluted into one hodgepodge of memories that will be a part of you forever. It’s your decision what you want to do with it, and in between all of those, you’ll know. Like one big realization in your head that lights up like fireworks and splayed in big capital letters.”

Her eyes met Naruto’s gaze and his eyes slightly widened at her response.

“I talk vague, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” he replied.

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

January couldn’t come fast enough, and Itachi was out of the country just as quickly as he entered his apartment unannounced on Christmas Eve. A holiday break, he said, but if he wasn’t annoyingly checking up on him in the evenings, he was otherwise holed up in his hotel. The truth was, he had a conference and a simultaneous workshop with the state hospital. Sasuke was just a side trip, an obligation that his brother didn’t want to take care of.

He could have told him about Naruto and Sakura and how he now knew all the technicalities of baseball because of the former and that he can consider calling them as friends, but their brotherly bond was too frayed to bridge all of those thoughts.

It was a week before the start of the spring term, and he found himself re-reading Naruto’s texts over and over again.

Grumpy.

So how was your date?

AHHHHH SO IT WAS A DATE. I NOW FEEL SO SHY.

Idiot.

SHE LOOKED SO BEAUTIFUL IN HER GETUP.

Yeah as if you two didn’t already spam the group chat with your pictures.

HEY AT LEAST WE EDITED YOU IN.

Why are you typing in all caps? Your phone broken?

GRUMPPPPPPYYYYY. Grumpy, I have something to tell you. I think I like Sakura – not the ‘like’ like others have for her. It just came to me, like fireworks in big capital letters. I LIKE HER.

Sasuke wasn’t able to reply. He didn’t know what to reply or what to feel, really. These recent nights, his mind only brought him to the first moment he saw her in the café, and there was an unfamiliar pang he couldn’t name.

Then, suddenly he was in front of her in the café itself, ordering an iced americano and bruschetta with tomato and basil. Her eyes lit up in recognition; today she wore her black hair in low pigtails and a light dab of tint on her cheeks and lips.

She sat across him when it was her break time, cheery and still in disguise, the winter cold making the blush even more prominent. “I’m gonna bounce some ideas to you.”

Sasuke kept mum, relishing the sacred combination of tomato and basil in his mouth, but let his stare level with hers.

“The school board approved my personal project. I proposed to set up a mental health committee since our infirmary – get this – and guidance office don’t actually have a psychiatrist. The school will be asking a medical professional to come in for monthly guidance counseling and will be an official partner for outpatient concerns.” With her face on her palm, she leaned forward, seemingly surveying Sasuke’s minute expressions.

“That’s tricky,” he remarked. “How will you encourage them though?”

“I think just the mere availability and accessibility of it is enough to encourage students.”

“Hmm.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I did it?”

Sasuke knew that he already broke his resolve to remain uninvolved in the remaining years of his life here in this town. He knew that sometime ago, the walls he built up since the accident broke down in the constant presence of her and the blonde idiot. But in spite of, he knew that there was another layer of wall that withstood the recent onslaught. Unfortunately, something has started to leak from its crevices. Something that made him understand the overwhelming emotions that raged behind such walls.

He missed having her all to himself, like a little secret, a safe abode he could always retreat to – her with her black hair and makeup, her with her bouts of vulnerabilities laid out in front of him in rare moments, her with her emerald eyes and tufts of rose hair that peak from the weave, her in this table in front of him and the world outside divided by a glass window.

If he could name it, it was a feeling of loss, a loss he stole and a loss he never had the privilege of feeling in the first place.

“Because you’re a good person and you always think of others,” Sasuke started, still holding her gaze. “And I think you want it because you might need it more.”

Sakura was the first to break off. She soon excused herself and resumed her shift. By the time Sasuke finished his coffee and bread, it was almost closing time. His words may have struck a chord so he decided not to wait for her. Maybe he’ll talk it through with her next time, if she allowed him to. He was almost out of the doors when the new pair of customers passed by.

A glint of silver hair.

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

And a brunette on his arm.

Sasuke never saw color drain as quickly as the blush did from Sakura’s face.

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 8

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #narusaku #kakasaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #team 7 #lots of narusaku in this one hihi

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jonah-aesthetic · 4 years

Text

That One Pt.1 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Since high school Jonah had a thing for y/n but never thought it was time for them. Now in college after a failed dare Jonah can’t help but throw himself into her life.

Word count: 6.4K

Author’s Note: This is nowhere near to finish so I’ve decided put them into parts. It’s has a lot of best friend content. A few POC characters, links to photos, and not much Jonah as I wanted there to be.

Rating: 16+

Part 2

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

The city was bursting with life and colour outside your favourite coffee shop. Vehicles slowly worked through the downtown traffic, many people weaved through the crowed sidewalks. The smell of coffee beans and baked goods was one of your calming scents, like honey or lavender.

Turning your head. The tall barista clad in a black shirt and a green apron made hos way to you. Holding your iced coffee and cookie in his hands, it was almost like you had a six sense for the beverage. You could feel the happiness start to spread to from your veins as if you could already taste it. You easy got bored on tastes if consumes often enough, but you know you could never get bored of this beverage.

“One Iced coffee, and a gingerbread cookie.” The barista’s soft brown eyes reached yours as he set both items on the table. “Thank you,” you said clutching both forms of happiness in my grasp. “Can I get you anything?” His question towards your Hispanic best friend sitting across from you. Ivette politely shook her head. “No, one coffee was enough for me. Thank you.” At her response I started at my third coffee.

“No problem, just give me a shout if you want another one.” you didn’t dare look at him, but you knew his eyes were on you as he said those words. “Don’t worry, she will. This one is a coffee whore.” the words were a playful attack.

“Ivette!” you warned,

“Those ones are a good flavour, aren’t they?” The barista, Trey as you read from his black name tag. Says before walking away.you threw a glare at her, “You know I’m studying for the up coming finals. asshole!”

“Oh come on! It was the perfect time to tease your tense ass. You’ve had that nose of yours in that text book all week end.” She shrugs her shoulders like she did you a favour.

“I know you don’t understand with that hefty trust fund of yours. But I can’t fail this, my entire future depends on it.” your voice soft when you explained it to her.

Her dark eyes shifted from yours to the table, her features softening. Silence washed over her bright laughable personality and you could felt the guilt rise. “I-I’m-you could always ask for financial help, we’ve been friends since Kinder.” Her voice softer now, she knew your dad always struggled with his work for years now. Yet sometimes she forgot, it was easy for her.

“I don’t wan’t to feel like a burden and you to feel like I’m only friends with you because of your family name.”

“why would I? especially when you’ve only asked for iced coffee and you always paid me back. Not to mention you still wear that apple watch I got you three years ago.” Glancing down at the smart watch circling your left wrist with a clean white band. She was right, Ivette just got you the newest version on your last birthday.

“This one holds valuable memories, like a relic.”

Ivette laughs “I’m sure it does, dork.”

Before you could say something you caught her eyes flick to something behind you. With a small twinkle in her eyes and a twitched of her lips you knew it was rather a somebody. “predator coming this way.” was all she whispered.

His Cologne wafted over you as you sense a masculine presence loom over you. almost Alpha male like, straight out of a fucking wattpad book you read last night. Finally looking up, your breath caught in your throat. You knew the male who was already staring down at you, a wolfish grin set to you like you were his next prey, his next target.

“Jonah” You acknowledged him,

“Y/N? Is it?” his voice deep as he slides in next to Ivette, letting out a yelp as he pushed her with his hip aside. Folded hands setting on the table top, fingers decorated with a couple rings. A leather jacket cover his squared shoulders, silk button down underneath. one or two buttons undone, caramel chest exposed. Bright determined green eyes locked on you, light brown curls framed his face perfectly.

“We have classes together.” The comment monotone.

“Right how could I forget.” The smile sly,

“You asked Marais, now continue.” Not a change in your tone as you stared back at him. Ivette choked out a cough and Jonah sent her an un-pleased glance.

“Anyways, my boys put a bet down.” His eyes switched behind you, following his gaze you say all four of them watching intensely. Sipping coffee as if this was their only entertainment.

“Not surprised.” you murmured under your breath, taking a sipping out of your coffee. Most of the sugar and cream washed out the original bitter taste of it. It was definitely an addiction, one you weren’t getting rid of soon as it calmed your nerves in the presence of him.

“For your number. a little immature if I do say so myself.” This one knew how to play his games, you’ll give me that. But you weren’t naive, never had been.

“No, thanks for the offer.” You voice condescending towards him. His expression slightly less predatory, You were getting to him.

“Interesting.” His eyes searching for any faltered emotion,

“The only thing that’s interesting is that you think you’re worth my time.” His wolfish smirk faltered, shock showed with surprised eyebrows.

“You don’t think I am?” His voice didn’t change.

“The only reason you interrupted us was because your little boys over there, dared you to get my number. But Knowing your reputation, that’s a waste of my time. Now will you excuse us we should be heading back.” Your voice sharp as you jabbed at him with each word.

“Damn your bite is brutal.” Jonah was amazed at the dish you served him.

“Only to the ones who deserve it.”

“I’ll see you around Y/N.” He winked , watching him get up you spoke again. “Oh and tell Jack I want his number.” You didn’t want it but you knew that would get under his skin. he only answered his a vicious glare and a growl.

Your eyes flicked back to Ivette, a proud smile upon her red lips. “That’s my girl, but dang that one is hot as hell. I would’ve caved, even if it’s just a quick fuck.” You laughed, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

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

Your focus set on the lecture in front of you, taking in all the information your professor was giving you. Tapping in notes on your beloved laptop, another gift from Ivette. Another one you had tried giving back multiple times, yet she had avoid you like the damn plague. Only making you fall into current and take yet another generous gift

Advanced English was one of your top classes, you’d let yourself lack every now and again. Not for too long but a big enough break to let yourself relax and light a candle.

The creaking sound boomed through the room as someone pushed open the door. Mr. Delton was use to the average late comer, not giving his attention as he taught the lecture in depth details on the subject at hand.

focus. focus.

Yet your eye caught a glimpse of milk chocolate curls, bouncing as he half jogged up the steps, light shift inside them making them lighter. He held his jet black mac book and an English text book in his arm. Wearing a white t-shirt rolled up at the sleeves a few inches. Revealing all the ink that scattered across his skin. Black jeans and browning converse at his feet. He was perfect save the acceptation of a purple bruise blossoming on his cheek right below his eye. And a red split through his bottom lip, Both going to get worse as the week continued.

Bruises that hadn’t been before.

Staring for a little too long he felt your prying eyes, his wolfish green eyes connected with yours. a flash of a smirk, you swore you saw him tear his cut before you forced your attention back on Mr. Delton.

You heard his every step from behind you, coming closer and closer. Now right behind you, hearing him take a seat. Dread entered your blood stream and you wished your heart to stop thumbing so fucking loud. Feeling embarrassed as if the student next to you could hear it.

a small hum from your phone arouse, you debated on it. The hovering presence of Jonah lurked stronger, yet you still fished it out.

Trey:Hey! was wondering if you wanted to get coffee after class?

Trey the barista from the cafe, the image of him popped into your mind. Dark chestnut skin, a beautiful contrast against your own skin tone. Mahogany coils framed his face, chocolate brown eyes. And those god blessed features.

You remembered how abruptly he stopped you as you and Ivette started for the exit. Giggling as he walked straight into a table and shattered a coffee mug in the process. He asked for your number, with a pink blush upon his cheeks. Genuinely surprised at the offer you gave it too him while you gave Jonah a glance. Green eyes threatening.

“The barista boy?” his breath fanning against your neck, making goosebumps rises and a shiver run down your spine. You’ve forgotten about that one with the slight distraction of Trey. Your phone slipped from your finger tips as you let out a loud yelp. Mr. Delton halts his lecture and the thud of your phone echos through the entire lecture hall.

Embarrassment flows through you again, sinking into your chair as every single person glares down at you. Swallowing hard as you felt your throat began to tighten. You knew you looked like a deer in headlight.

“She’s not feeling good, I told you to stay in your dorm today, Babe.” His voice loud enough for others to pry in. Bound to talk about you and Jonah later on, torturous gossip. you could already here it. You’d bite back and decline his words if you weren’t for this unfortunate situation.

Jumping over the chairs he helps you gather your things ushering you out. Everything in his arms both your belongings and his. You were beyond grateful that lecture was the reaching the end. As soon as the heavy door clicked your spun towards him, “What. The. Fuck!” Anger rippled from you in waves.

“What no thank you Jonah for saving me from embarrassment?” His tone mocking towards you, God! you swore you could slap that dumb smirking of his fucking face. Adding to his bruising face, he deserved it.

“You are so infuriating!” You yell, feeling it vibrate harshly against your throat.

“What can I say. I like playing with my food.” Fuck those green eyes. Fuck that stupid smirk.

“Fuck you!” was all you managed to say as if you could feel the stream burning off you. whirling away from him you continued down the wide hall of the university. If you stared at his taunting expression any longer you’d hit him.

“Come on! I’m not that bad.” Fake pouting like a child. Remembering he had a hold on your notes. You sighed whirling back around, heading back for him. Glaring Jonah down as you dragged the fire behind you, not a flicker in his demeanour. You swore his smirk grew as if he found amusement in your anger.

“You are, not to mention you put a target on my back. So thanks.” You say with a humorous smile on your lips. head slightly tilting as he furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed. You rolled your eyes at him, “You called me ‘babe’ as if we’re together..” you mimicking the motion of puking your breakfast out. He shook his head and chuckles. “..And if you haven’t notice you’re Jonah Marais, girls fall at your feet. Now they’re be slicing my head off.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Yet you don’t” His eyes trailing from you head to toe trying to read your body language. The anger stopped abruptly as if his words were like a bucket of water.

“You’re hot..” His green eyes darken at the confession, his teeth biting his bottom lip. “.. but you treat girls like conquests and you just a waste of my time, Jonah.” Dark green becoming dull green, He watched as you reached from your laptop, supplies, and phone. Letting them slip from his grip as they fall into yours.

“If that’s what you think,” Were wrong about him? Or was he trying to bait you? Honesty with the genuine expression you didn’t know what you believed now.

“Bye, Jonah.” You say softly before leaving him there,

“I’ll see you around, babe.” Taunting again,

“Fuck you.” You raise your left are and flip him off,

“Only if you want too.” You roll your eyes at his response.

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

With the pass few days your mind was drowning in piles of work. Still studying for those finals, they were coming faster then you had the time for. You were comfortable with the the amount of information cramped inside. Yet you still felt the need to be confident with the facts, as if you could teach the damn course yourself. There was no time for mistakes, not now.

Jonah Marais

There you were in the quad, sitting at a table far from everyone else. textbooks and random pages with notes on them splayed over the top. Not an inch on blue table insight. Phone on air plane mode as you listened to your trusted early 2000s playlist. vaguely bopping your head to the beat of the songs, mouthing the words, your foot tapping the cement.

Jack nudged Jonah with a tatted elbow, head whipped down to him. a noticeable scowl written on his face, not too happy to have his thought wonder from you. “What do you think shes listening to?” Words catching in his throat as he coughed “Who are you talking about?”

“The girl you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes, I’m kinda shocked she hasn't felt you stalking her.” Jack’s brown eyes gleamed honey in the sunlight, a joking smirk upon his lips as he watched Jonah stutter, “I-I wasn’t.” He tried sounding convincing, but the taunting look on his best friend’s face told him otherwise.

“I’ve never seen a girl get under his skin the way Y/L/N does,” Daniel pipes in taking a seat in the grass with his beloved guitar.

“I’ve never seen him get humiliated like that. Was a treat watching you get rejected in a cafe.” Little Zach chimed in, cackling like a hyena.

“Enough!” Jonah barked out, turning a few prying eyes.

“Awe is Jonah getting mad that we’re teasing him about the girl he’s been pining after of years? Poor thing.” Corbyn’s voice is very condescending towards him. Sending All the guys into a full blown laughing fit. Jonah only glared at his band mates, of course they knew about y/n. The only girl who has never fell at his feet.

They went to high school together, never colliding groups through the years. Back then Jonah had every girl he wanted. Until one day in junior year he saw her, Actually saw her. At the time he didn’t know your name, she wasn’t one who cheered at band gigs. Wasn’t one to catch him in the halls and ask if he had any plans for the night. Jonah would remember a face like that, trust me.

He admired you through the art room’s door, open ajar. An old paint brush in your hand, chipping black paint on the handle of it, years of use wearing down on it. A palette of colours resting in your other as your focus was deeply upon the canvas. A lion roaring with immense detail laid upon it. Anyone looking at it could tell that lion wasn’t roaring out of fear or grief, but pride. The roar of the king, he was memorised by how in depth her detailing was.

Sliding through the door like a mouse, his attention went to the board. Spirit animal was written for this weeks assignment. Jonah was intrigued by you and your spirit animal. You had to think of yourself as a lion for a reason and he wanted to find it.That lion.

Glancing towards you he drank you in, from your soft hair to your wore in vans. Lost in the painting, you never felt his hovering presence. Taking a step towards you he halting, this wasn’t the time for her. he could feel himself saying deep down. She’s a lion, you’re not ready for her not yet. With that he slipped back out into the hallway.

He started noticing her more as if she was a ghost before spotting the lion. Never talking to her but watching from afar.

“Let’s rehearse, that’s what we came her for.” Jack says, Jonah felt relieved at that taking his seat in the grass. He was playing a dangerous game with his heart. Jonah knew that but he wanted her, but he didn't know how to make y/n his. A struggle he wasn’t familiar with, she was something else entirely.

“Let’s start with Lotus In.” Daniel says, starting with one of their newer songs. Attention on the guitar in his lap he began, fingers dancing with strings like they belonged there. Jack took in a breath before letting the lyrics flow from his lips.

Y/N

Jonah glanced over towards to you again, wondering when Ivette and her pack of Richies swarmed you. A ghost of a smile on your lips as you continued your conversation with her.

“Tell me you’re coming to the party this weekend.” Ivette’s voice drowning in sugar, knowing there was a high chance you were going to decline. “I just have a lot of things to do, like study and cram in some sleep.” You whined at her as if you were a injured puppy.

“Come on girl! you’ve been studying your soul away.” Julie, one of Ivette’s friends spoke up. Her voice soft as silk when talking to you like you were some seven year old. you fought the urge to roll your eyes an sigh at her, all of Ivette’s more fortunate friend treated you in this manner. You never brought it up because you knew she loved the company of them.

“There’s this dress in my closet I don’t wear anyone, it’s last season.” Julie offers, Irritating boils in your blood as you saw the pity ooze out of her like you were some charity case.

“ I was thinking about going shopping for one instead.” The words spill out of your mouth before you could think. You didn’t have the money to splurge on a dress at the moment. But you felt the need to prove yourself to her, to prove you were one of them. One who could spent a grand or two in a day without trouble. But you Weren’t one of them.

“I got you a gift, Actually.” Ivette cuts through the conversation like a knife. Placing a chunky box atop the table over your textbooks and notes. You look at her seeing a knowing glint in her eyes, she knew. She knew that you struggled in her world with her parents and her friends.

“You didn’t have to.” You say to her,

“Stop being so modest, open it.” Julie urges you, it took everything in you to not reach over the table and smack her. Engaging in a conversation with her was like talking to a chihuahua. A Beverly Hills Chihuahua.

A small reassurance from Ivette you began to remove the lid of the black box. Revealing crisp white tissue paper, spotting a vague green colour underneath. Picking various pieces out your eyes gazed upon a gorgeous forest green silk dress. Grasping it in your fingers you were mesmerised by it, lifting it up you saw it in all it’s glory.

“Wow, I think I’m in love with it.” You spoke,

“Me too, where did you get it?” Julie pipes in, gazing at the dress as if it was hers. It was a split between casual and formal, short and body-con-like. an open back with the straps criss crossing over and tying in the front.

“You wouldn’t of heard of it, it’s main stream.” Was all Ivette said watching you adore the dress in your hands,

“Are you coming to the party now?” Julie’s voice still sickly sweet,

“With a gift like this? yes absolutely.” A smirk etched onto your lips still in love with the dress. Ivette scanned Julie’s expression an noticeable sneer reaching towards you. She tried covering it with a grim smile, attempting to keep the jealousy at bay.

“Jonah is going to love that dress.” Ivette squeals, you drop it at the mention of his name. You praised to the gods you kept your emotions in check. Wanting to play along with Ivette and her game with Julie, “I’m sure he will. It’ll match his eyes perfectly.” you chime in finally, glancing over at Julie who could no longer keep her expressions at bay.

---------

Ivette began to slid the key into her door. Click. Turning the knob she opened the door revealing her generous apartment. Guiding you in, your hands holding the box that contained the dress she gifted you. A life saver against Julie and her lifestyle.

She throw her keys on the counter and they landed on the floor with a clang. “I saw the way Julie got under your skin, you had this uncomfortable look settle in your face.” Ivette says, jumping onto her couch with an exaggerated sigh. Taking it in like she hasn’t been there in five whole days.

“I’m-it’s just Julie talks to me like I’m some little kid, or your younger sister.” I say sitting on her wooden coffee to face her, connecting eyes she looks lost. Like you said your dog ran away. You don’t have a dog.

“Where’s all this coming from?” Propping herself on her elbow, concern etching her features. You shrug looking away at your feet, “Forget it, um. Where did you actually get the dress?” You ask not ready to say what you wanted to, knowing Ivette she’d run to the ends of the earth for you. God knows what she’d do to Julie and Julie was her friend.

“Okay, we’ll set it aside.Talk about it late.” Her voice soft and calming. you were grateful for her understanding, she never pushed and waited till you were ready.

Looking at her with gratitude, reaching her hand for yours she squeezed. Comforting warm pressure against your skin. Growing up with no siblings and only having Ivette as your best friend almost felt like having a sister.

“It’s thrifted fifteen dollars,” Ivette beams,

“Okay I’ll take it.” You say in return,

“I know how you hate my expensive gifts. Even though I’ve been giving them for years. I love gifting them to you because you appreciate everything I give you, you even try to give them back.” Ivette lets a giggle slip past her lips,

You hug her, arms wrapping around her neck like your life depended on it. Instantly she did the same taking you into her embrace. “I Just don’t want to feel like a burden.” You whisper into her shoulder,

“You’re not and you’ll never be, You’re my best friend.” She hugs you tighter to her body.

“I love you Ivette.” A warm smile spreads across your lips,

“I love you too, now lets get you into that dress before you make me cry.” Her voice strained knowing she felt the same, “Okay.” You say before both of you started giggling.

Letting go you hopped off the couch grasping the box in your hands. “I’m really grateful for the dress.” You say looking down at her, smiles reaching your ears.

“Stop, just stop. Go put on the dress and I’ll pick out a pair of heels.” She shushes your constant, pushing you towards her bathroom.

The dress was gorgeous by itself, but on you it was phenomenal. Silky green fabric pooling around your upper thighs, hugging your body in all the right places.The lacing in the back was complicated but you eventually got the hang of it. Tying it in the front, at least that’s how you thought it was suppose to go. If it wasn’t it still managed to look better this way.

Walking out of the bathroom you heard an intake of breath. “God that dress is a girls dream.” Ivette beamed at you with the brightest smile. Feeling a blush creep up your neck you spotted a pair of heels in her hand. As well as a gold necklace dangle between her finger tips.

“I’m in love with it.” You admit with a dreamy sigh.

“Jonah will love it as well.” She teases, handing me the shoes and a few pieces of jewellery. Grasping them you sigh, “Can you just let that go, it happened almost a week ago. Plus I asked Trey to meet me at the party.” You inform her, taking a seat on her bed and began to fasten the heels’ strap onto your ankle.

The heels were black and velvet with a chunky heel, barely having any foot coverage. Only having a thick band over your black toe nails and a strap around your ankle. You didn’t dare ask where they were from in risk of giving them back. You were working on that right now.

“The hot barista with Delicious chocolate skin?” Ivette basically melted speaking about him, letting out a giggle you nodded. “God you’re so lucky, he’s fine as fuck.”

“I know I saw him,” you said pride embedded in my tone, collecting the dainty butterfly necklace in my hands. Struggling to get in to clasp, a few tries before I got it. Matching dangle gold earrings, which were easy enough to not mess up.

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

Ivette’s car was wrapped in rose gold crome and was apparently a bitch to keep crisp and clean. Pulling open the passenger’s door you slid in, wasn't too long before the vehicle roar to life. Music pounding into your back with the windows rolled down. This was a party not a wedding so you both never bothered with intense makeup, leaving your hair like it was.

“I told Julie we weren’t going cause you came down with the chicken pox.” Ivette said turning the music down, you whipped your head towards her. “You do realised we just saw her less then five hours ago right?” A laugh vibrates in your throat.

“She fucked with my best friend, you think I’m just going to stand by? Absolutely not!”

“She’ll be there.” I stated looking at her, raven black hair tangling in her silver hoops. A devious smirk spreads on her red lips, “Oh I know,” You shake your head and roll your eyes playfully at her. She only laughs in response.

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

The stench of alcohol, nicotine and sweat has entered your nose almost making you sneeze. Party in full swing, music so loud you swore you saw the floor boards lift up. Taking a step back you thought of hailing a cab and studying for the night. Hand grabbing your arm, you look to Ivette. “It’s time you enjoy yourself, those books aren’t going anywhere.” She speaks into your ear making sure you heard every word. You sigh in defeat she was right, you let her drag you into the night you will definitely regret.

Dragging you through sweaty an intoxicated people, mustering up apologies along the way. Reaching one colossal of a kitchen, a massive house like this was mostly definitely a fraternity house. There was always this pristine a polished look of them, but this one was familiar. One you’ve been to many times before for weekend parties.

It belonged to Jonah’s band, they liked to call themselves Why Don’t We. As in why don’t we just start a band, you’ve heard the story many times. Ivette had an on and off relationship with their drummer Daniel Seavey. You had nothing against him, Daniel was a rare stallion with the heart of a golden retriever. Ivette was always the one to pull away from him scared of giving her entire self to him. He was a drummer after all.

“Babes what beverage is to your calling tonight?” Her voice soft against the shell of your ear. Glancing at the island prepared with every alcoholic drink you could think of. “Surprise me.” You respond with a soft smile on your lips, “The moment I’ve waiting for.” She teases separating from you to craft your drinks. Giving you the prefect opportunity to check if you received a text from Trey.

You hadn’t.

Anxiety starting to arise, where was he?

“Where’s your boy at?” Ivette brushed into you holding that playfulness towards you. Shrugging you shoved your phone into your dainty purse, “I don’t think he’s coming.” voice crumbling, well you didn’t know for sure if he was coming or not. But it was well over an hour when you were suppose to meet. And there was not a single message from him.

“Here mama drink up.” Ivette places a lime green cup into your hand, the colour coding for single. Tapping cups together in a cheers she counted down “1..2...10″ you rolled my eyes as Ivette skipped eight full numbers. Pulling the pink cup to her lips, taken. Which usually meant she was talking to Daniel again. She chugged the contents.

You followed, it was bitter. Burning along your throat as you gulped every last drop of it. The percentage was most likely 60 vodka and 40 coca cola. Your alcohol tolerance wasn’t weak but it definitely wasn't strong either. Taking the cup from your lips you coughed. “How was it?” Ivette asks with hopeful puppy dog eyes. You shook your head at her, “I’m never letting you pick again.”

“Perfect! now it’s time to dance.”

You barely had time to put the plastic cup down, before she was yanking you to the massive den. Into the heart of the party where the music was the loudest and most of the people had been. Cluttering together as if there wasn’t enough space for everyone.

Your mindset switched as soon you had a taste of the liquor, enjoying every moment as if you did this often. Hand in hand with Ivette as you danced together, bodies close together Feeling the music flow through you as if it was in your blood. Singing the lyrics of an older 2000s song that you knew like the back of your hand.

Jonah Marais

Music vibrated the walls almost shaking the frames off. Jonah leaned against the railing on the upper level of the house. Having full view of y/n tangled in Ivette Daniel’s girl. Sweat gleamed over her chest as red, blue, purple. yellow, and green lights flashed throughout the house. A blissful smile on her lips and hair plastering her skin. Unquestionably intoxicated by the alcohol she was given. He rarely got to see her like this and began to enjoy the sight of such a gorgeous girl.

Feeling the presence of a feminine shadow he never took his eye off her. Pressing into him he sighed looking at her, hazel eyes sizing him up. “Hey Jo.” She purred, “Jasmine.” He greeted her in a bored tone she never detected.

Jasmine was one of the many girls he got lost in through his time here. Jonah knew her body as if he saw it every day. He knew what pleased her and what didn’t, her save words and breaking points. But he didn’t know Jasmine not the way he wanted to know y/n. All Jonah knew was her body and he was getting bored of it.

“You said you’d be mine for the night.” He voice seductive and slightly pleading,

“I say a lot of things.” Tone still bored hoping to brush her off.

“Yes you do.” She hums and begins to press her body into his, feeling every curve of her. Breasts, stomach, hips, and the pulse of her core. Didn’t take too long before her kiss reached his neck. Soft and slow thinking this would release the beast within. Hold her against the wall, bodies pressed together. Instead Jonah shivered in disgust as her hands reached for his belt teasingly.

“Jasmine, this is a party not your sex chamber.” Daniel’s voice dripping in authority causing her pull away as if Jonah burned her. Relieve washed over him, eyes still on y/n as she grinds against Ivette. Her hands firmly holding her waist, acrylic nails embedded in the green dress. He began to wonder what that view would look like on him instead.

“Cock block often?” Jasmine scowled at Daniel,

“Think of it more as a rescue.” Daniel’s voice plain also bored with the girl in front of him.

“It’s okay to be jealous.” Jasmine purrs again. Can this chick take a hint? Or do I have to form words to make her leave?

“Not tonight, if you’ll excuse us we have some band issues to discuss.” It was a quick excuse to get rid of her. It worked as she said a quick bye to Jonah who ignored Jasmine. Hearing her storm down the hall in her heels that clicked behind her.

“I have no idea why you keep that one around.” Daniel sighs taking the abandoned spot beside Jonah. Elbow leaning against the banister supporting the rest of his body. “I don’t, she crawls back like a wounded deer.” Jonah replies not caring the way he talked about her.

“Yet here you are still fucking her.” Daniel bites at him not liking the way Jonah drowned himself when things got hard.

“On occasion.”

“That’s even worse,”

Jonah looked at his drummer, between the twinkle in his icy blue eyes and Ivette’s blush pink cup. He knew they were talking again, she had this effect on him that no other girl did. “I have a plan and I need your help.” I devious smirk plays onto Jonah’s lips.

Y/N

Your skin glistening with sweat, the adrenaline in your veins overlapping the pain in the core of your feet. Friction of the straps began to form open wounds, yet you didn’t notice in the bliss of the night. Smiling like an idiot as your body danced with Ivette’s, your best friend.

“We should take a break.” Her voice strained,

You nod, not wanting to sound like a dying cat with your sore throat.

“Okay good, because i’m exhausted, I don’t know how you do it!” She shouts taking your hand in hers, guiding you away from the crowed bunch.

“The alcohol seeping through my bloodstream.” Your tone in a duh manner like it was the most obvious thing in the worlds. Feeling the way the liquor took effect on your mindset, little hazy yet blissful and happy.

“Lets get some water in you. okay?” Ivette’s voice holding concern, brushing your hair back like an older sister. “Yes mom.” you sigh sarcastically, with that both of you are off to the kitchen.

Littering with a couple people not as much as the den. Talking and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. Making the memories they’ll have keep until they don’t want to.

Again Ivette hands you a lime green cup, but this time the substance in side wasn’t brown. But transparent with no wrenched stench this time, water. “Drink up, babes.” Ivette says, bringing her own pink cup to her lips. Hers contain the fizz sound of her favourite pop, Root Beer.

“What would I do without you?” You ask feeling the adrenaline fade from your body. The feeling of complete blissful ecstasy drain to a more content happiness.

“You’d most def--”

“Ivette.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a purr, like it was meant for his lips. Cutting or conversation quick she whirled around at the sound of his voice. Her breath shuttering at the sight of him.

Daniel stood in from of her in all his proud glory, his blue eyes fixed on her and only her. They smiled at one another, his cupid’s bow extending. “Daniel.” She acknowledged him. Glancing at me she widened her eyes for quick second trying to keep herself together. Blue eyes shifting he tilted his head at you, “Hope you were having a good time.”

“I was, thank you Daniel.” you say to him before finally taking a sip of your water. Cold sliding down your throat the perfect refreshment after the hour in the den.

“Always, y/n.” his voice smooth as he averts his attention back on Ivette. “Got time to spare me a dance?” Daniel extends his hand towards her, waiting for the acceptation.

“Sorry, Daniel but I’m y/n’s ride.” Both flicked to you at the excuse she put on the table. You gave he a tight lipped smile not saying a word but you knew she got the message you wanted to get across.

“I know that’s why I have Jonah, he’ll drive y/n when she’s ready.” Daniel threw a thumb behind him. Looking past Daniel you spotted him, Jonah leaned against the counter across the kitchen. Wolfish grin on his lips as he was sipping out of a lime green cup. It couldn’t of been Corbyn could it? No, cause that would be to much to ask for.

Connecting eyes with Ivette, you saw pleased in the browns of her eyes. Not for you to let Daniel take her but to say you didn’t feel comfortable with Jonah. You remembered the times she was completely and utterly happy with him. Saying that he was it, he was home. He was this amazing person for her but she was fucking scared.

You mentally apologised to her before saying anything, “She’s yours, I’ll be fine. Daniel trusts him, I trust him.” You forced the words to sound normal for his sake. Deep down you wanted to puke for saying those words, but it was for Ivette. “He’s a good person, he’ll get you home in one piece.” Daniel says before whisking your best friend from sight.

“I’ll get you back of this.” You swore you heard Ivette seethe, nonetheless you smiled after them. Wasn’t too long before you felt his presence loom behind you. Great here we go, it was a risk worth taking at least that’s what you told yourself.

“Hey, Babe.”

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Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this piece.

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tuanhood · 4 years

Text

the property manager

pairing: landlord’s son!mark tuan x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, kinda everything, strangers(?) to lovers

warnings: 18+, language, power imbalance (kinda yes?), oral sex (male receiving), face f*cking, thigh riding, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

word count: 7,400+

summary: when you get a letter from your landlord about a rent increase, you decide your only option is to try to talk to his property manager and son, Mark.

a/n: um i have nothing to say. actually yes i do. this is kinda of ALL over the place so i’m sorry about that and if it doesn’t make much seNSE but i just had a craving to wrITE THIS! leave me alone. thx bye.

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It had been a stressful day at work. You wanted nothing more than to go upstairs to your apartment and climb into bed.

You had been all over the city looking for a specific kind of cake that your boss had consumed almost a year ago and couldn’t remember where it had been. More often than not, you found yourself doing ridiculous chores as a personal assistant and after the first year you had told yourself it would get better, but it hadn’t. You thought you could prove yourself and get more recognition, possibly working your way to a bigger role at the entertainment company you worked for, but as time passed it seemed more like a dead-end.

Which is why you were considering quitting and looking for something else. You had connections through friends and old contacts, but you weren’t sure if it was worth it to see if they would ultimately pan out or not.

Checking your mail, you flipped through the letters finding mostly bills, until your eyes settled on a letter addressed to you from your landlord and his son, the property manager.

NOTICE OF RENT INCREASE

Dear Tenant,

Due to general cost increases, we are required to increase your rent. This letter is to advise you formally that your rent is being increased to $1,250 per month as of next month.

This increase does not affect any of our mutual obligations under your lease. For example, your rent due date will remain the first of the month or before.

Thank you for your understanding of the cost pressures on us as we do those upon yourself. We appreciate your tenancy and hope you will remain for a long time.

Best regards,

Raymond Tuan | Landlord

Mark Tuan | Property Manager

You read the letter three times. How could they increase your monthly rent by almost three hundred dollars? You had just enough each month to pay for your already overpriced apartment. But perhaps what annoyed you the most was the short notice and their attitude in the letter. They thank you for your understanding and appreciate you, and yet gave you barely any notice for a $250 increase in rent.

It took you a moment to collect yourself, especially after such an exhausting day, but somehow you found yourself marching upstairs to the second floor and angrily knocking on the door of Mark, the landlord’s son and property manager.

There’s no response at first, and you swear you hear noises coming from the apartment, but soon all that’s heard is silence. All of a sudden you hear a “Just one sec!” being yelled through the door along with shuffling.

Before today you hadn’t really paid much attention to Mark. Being the property manager, you of course had met him when you first moved into your apartment over a year ago and often saw him in the building. You would exchange pleasantries when you passed him in the hallway or ran into him when he was getting his mail. But you had never really known much about him besides the fact that his father was the owner of the building and he was there to make sure things ran smoothly in case tenants needed anything.

There was supposedly one interaction you had with him that you found yourself barely remembering. It had been a late night after drinking and your friends had decided to dump you in the hallway of your building, leaving you to fend for yourself and make your own way upstairs to your apartment. The memories you had were hazy, but you could picture yourself sitting on the floor inside of the building’s entry way, drunkenly sobbing about how you were never going to make it home.

The only reason you thought you had interacted with Mark was because the next thing you knew you woke up in bed with a note resting on your bedside table.

Y/N,

Remember to take an ibuprofen or two when you wake up, along with A LOT – and I repeat – A LOT of water. Thanks again for the… uh compliments and I hope you feel better.

- Mark

That was months ago and you had no clue what “compliments” you’d said to him or he fact that Mark was even the one who helped you up to your apartment and into bed. After that you were very adamant about avoiding conversation with him.

When the door finally swung open you were met with Mark’s sweaty face, some of his hair sticking to his forehead and his breath a little shallow. You wondered if he had been working out based on his appearance. Craning your head, you attempted to look past him into his apartment to locate any evidence that could confirm or deny this suspicion, but he followed your motions, blocking the view inside.

“Um what’s up?” He asked.

“It’s about this letter,” you began, but Mark soon stuck his finger out and began shaking it as if remembering something. “Apartment 8A right?”

You nodded simply, “yeah… that’s me. Anyways-”

“You have that cute doormat out front with the kittens on it,” he stated more as a fact rather than a question. You found yourself nodding again and his interruptions led you to believe that he may never let you speak.

“Listen Mark… I got the letter from you and your dad-”

“The landlord,” he corrected and you felt your teeth clench at another intrusion of your sentence. He waved his hand as if to say “go on,” which inherently caused you to crack your knuckles in frustration.

“I got the letter from you and the landlord,” you repeated, this time correcting yourself which Mark smiled at, “and I don’t see how you can increase rent starting next month.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms, leaning against his open doorway, “what do you mean you can’t see it? We wrote it in the letter.”

You looked at him blankly, and couldn’t understand if he was teasing you or if he was actually dumb. Judging by the way he had a slight frown on his face, head tilted to the side and lines forming between his eyebrows, you had your answer.

“No yes, I see that. I just don’t understand how you would even decide to increase the rent $300.”

“We didn’t. It’s only a $250 increase.”

Only?

That made you angry.

“Do you understand that to some people that’s a lot of money? It’s not easy for everyone to just find an extra $250 a month. I already overpay for my shoebox; I don’t see how I’m going to be able to give you an extra $250 this month at such a short notice or really… every month for that matter.”

Mark clicked his tongue as if thinking of some sort of solution for you until he simply shrugged, “then find a new place to live I guess?”

The tone of his voice didn’t come off as rude or with an attitude. More or less, he said it as if he was just thinking of an “easy” solution to your problem. It almost seemed like Mark had no perception of actual issues that people are often plagued with.

“Mark how the fuck am I supposed to find a new place to live by the end of the month?” He doesn’t flinch at your tone or language, but simply countered back, “okay then… so stay.”

You groaned in frustration. You couldn’t imagine how the other people in your building dealt with broken appliances or faulty plumbing if this was who they had to come talk to.

“Can’t you talk to him about it? Or at least give more of a notice?” You found yourself willing to even be okay with just an extension of the increase. Maybe you’d finally get a promotion or recognition at work, or maybe you could look into getting another job as an assistant.

“Sorry… My hands are tied,” Mark murmured, uncrossing his folded arms as if he thought the visual of seeing his hands would make the statement more believable.

“He’s your dad! He owns the whole goddamn building. What do you mean your hands are tied?” You jabbed.

His face shifted, and it almost seemed like he felt sorry for you, “that stuff isn’t really up to me… It’s up to him.”

You found yourself tapping your foot in irritation and as you found perhaps a new way to reason with him, “I mean you don’t really want to pay that much more a month, do you?” Mark just looks at you confused, once again, “I live here for free… I’m the property manager.”

“Okay yeah or do you live here for free because he’s your dad?”

He shook his head in protest, “No I definitely live here for free because I’m the property manager.”

“Listen let’s just talk about this more. Can I come in? I’m sure I can convince you that it doesn’t make sense to raise the-” Just as you were about to push yourself past him, he positioned himself forward to stop you.

“Is there some kind of problem?” You asked.

“I- You can’t come in,” he frowned.

“I just want to talk!” You explained, throwing your hands up in desperation. What was this guy not understanding? Wasn’t he supposed to be here to answer to the tenants needs and make sure things were running smoothly? Even if it meant you having a nice sit down in his apartment to chat about how you were going to murder him if he kept acting so clueless about the rent raise?

“We can talk out here.”

“Well I have a lot to say.”

“Oh, I know that,” Mark pressed, rolling his eyes a bit. He thinks back to when he found you drunk in the hallway crying. He panicked because he thought you had been hurt or something bad had happened, but you were just completely wasted. As he had hoisted you up off the ground and into his arms, carrying you – not completely willing – to your apartment, you had begun to talk his ear off.

Most of what you had blabbed on about was how miserable you were at your job and how much you just wanted to quit, but soon as he reached the second flight of stairs, he heard you change subjects. Instead, the topic of conversation became about him and his dating life.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” You had asked. Mark remained silent, using that as his answer, “because I never see you with one. Which is crazy since you have such a well-defined jawline.”

“Um thank you?” Was the only response he had found to be acceptable.

You continued, “If you were my boyfriend – but you’re not don’t worry – I would tell you how good your jaw was all the time. Aren’t I nice? Wouldn’t I make a nice girlfriend? I think so, but some people don’t think so…” You drifted off; the sadness evident in your voice.

Mark had found the conversation you were having – pretty much with yourself – funny and by the time you reached the front door of your place, he realized he didn’t want it to stop. You had begun to search your bag for your keys, which you would stop doing ever so often to begin talking about something else, getting distracted and ultimately forgetting about the task at hand.

By the time you had both made it inside, it felt like hours had passed and you wandered to the kitchen, Mark following behind closely, wanting to make sure you were okay. “Do you want something to eat? It’s around that time, huh? Like for a late-night snack?”

He shook his head at you, “Y/N, I think you should head to bed,” Mark was concerned to say the least for your body as you had told him somewhere between the first flight of stairs and the second that you had work in the morning. You had ignored him, “what kind of animal do you think you are in a relationship? For me I think I’m… a cat. No, no actually I’m more like a kitten, because I can be playful and energetic, but I still have that “leave me alone” energy, ya know? I bet you’re something cute like a puppy or I don’t know gopher?”

He hadn’t even argued with you about what being a gopher in a relationship meant or how it was a cute thing to be. Somehow, he had convinced you amidst your next rant that heading to bed was indeed a good idea. As soon as your body had hit the mattress, you were fast asleep and he managed to find a piece of paper to leave you a note for the next morning.

After that, Mark thought maybe the two of you would become friends. Which looking back at, Mark suddenly thought it was a lame thing to think. He didn’t have many friends or people he truly knew in the building as most tenants just saw him as an extension of the landlord – his father – and didn’t really treat him like an individual. More like a spoiled brat.

However, as months went by and you avoided his gaze in the hallway, he could tell that your drunk escapade had been forgotten altogether. Now looking at you frustrated, a raise in rent being the only reason for you to come and talk to him, he felt sick to his stomach, because he thought you were different somehow.

“It’ll only take a second I swear,” you muttered, and somewhere lost in his thoughts, Mark didn’t have a moment to react at your swiftness to push pass him into his apartment. “Wait stop, don’t!” He protested, turning around quickly to see you looking around his place.

You took it in and you were surprised. For some reason you had pictured it to be much bigger since he was the landlord’s son, but it was probably only a few square feet bigger than your own apartment. The next thing that left you bewildered was how clean and organized it was. Every apartment that you had been that belonged to a male, often looked ransacked as if a thief had been through. However, when you turned your head towards his living space, a simple couch and coffee table positioned in front of a TV, that was when you felt your eyes widen the most.

Up on the screen of the TV was a paused video of a woman on her kneeling in front of a man, mid blowjob. Okay so he wasn’t working out when I knocked on the door, you conclude. Seeing the image on the screen and Mark’s bright red, panicked face looking for the remote on the couch, surprisingly doesn’t make you feel disgusted or awkward. It makes you feel… intrigued?

“I- uh, fuck- I- I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what to say,” Mark stuttered after he finally finds the remote and switched off the television.

“I’m guessing that’s why you didn’t want me to come in?”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous, “yeah…”

You suddenly felt bad for barging into Mark’s place uninvited when he had clearly been in the middle of a personal moment, so you figured it would be best to make the situation as uncomfortable as possible. You wanted to show him that you didn’t care about what he had been doing before you knocked on the door, and there was no reason to feel weird about it. It was natural after all. So somehow you found yourself flopping down on the armchair perpendicular to the couch, making yourself comfortable, attempting to “lighten the mood.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, “but don’t worry, I don’t care. What you do on your own time is your own personal business, not mine.” Mark brought one of his hands to the back of his neck and massaged it as if the new found situation causes him enormous amounts of stress. Which he certainly believed it did.

You didn’t want to come across as rude or nosey, but for some reason that original impression of being intrigued finds its way back into your mind, “aren’t you supposed to be available 24/7? Shouldn’t you be prepared for something like this? I don’t know shouldn’t you always be expecting someone to knock on your door?”

For the first time since entering the apartment, Mark gave you attitude, “It’s not like I’m expecting them to barge their way into my place.”

“Still you should at least turn off your TV! Or I don’t know watch it on your laptop or phone? I honestly don’t know anyone who watches porn on their TV anymore,” your back and forth diffuses the situation somehow as Mark finally moved closer to where you’re sitting and he leaned against the side of the couch.

“Well why else would I use the TV?”

“I don’t know to watch literally anything else?” You yelled out to him. He moved around the couch to sit down, “that was a joke,” he explained.

You laughed and he joins you, grateful that this isn’t as terrible as he expected it to be. It’s when the laughing finally subsides that you feel your eyes drift down to the crotch of the grey sweats he’s wearing. You know it should be the last thing you’re thinking about in this moment, but as he shifts his weight on the couch to get comfortable, you swear you can just make out the outline of his cock. It causes you to squirm in your seat and you instinctively pressed your legs together not wanting to think about it.

After a moment, “Um… back to the rent… Like I said there’s really nothing I can do Y/N.”

As he brings the discussion back to the original topic at hand, he runs his hands through his hair once again, and it’s then you take notice of the veins that are clearly on display on his forearm. The sight of them makes you press your legs together even more, your mind soon drifting to how breathless Mark was when he first opened the door. You wonder how close he had been before you had interrupted him, how his hair had probably stuck to his forehead and how hard his hand must have been working to pump himself at the sight of the porn actress blowing the guy she was in the scene with.

What was Mark into? What kind of porn was it? How did the woman in the scene find herself in that position? So willing and compliant? Had she needed something from him? Like you needed something from Mark?

You feel yourself grow wet at the thought of what situation you and Mark would be in if this was porn. He would be your only option to getting what you want and being able to stay, so you’d put him in your mouth and let him fuck your face to convince him.

“Hello? Are you there?” Mark asked suddenly, waving his hand in front of your face from the couch.

Getting lost in your erotic haze, you feel as though you should think twice for what you’re about to do, but you feel so turned on by the idea and sitting here knowing what Mark had been doing right before you entered couldn’t make you stop yourself.

Mark watched you get off the chair you had been sitting on and slipping yourself in between the couch and coffee table. He looks at you with his head tilted to the sight and eyebrows furrowed, unsure of what you were doing. As you sink down to your knees in front of him, he feels his cock twitch in his sweats. He thinks he surely must be mistaken.

“W-What are you doing?” He asked, his breath hitched.

You looked at him innocently, placing your hands on his thighs, “what does it look like I’m doing? Let me convince you that you shouldn’t raise the rent.”

He feels like his heart has stopped beating and that maybe this is all a dream, an erotic fantasy and his mind is just drifting off. That he’s actually still fixated in front of the video he was watching earlier with his hand rubbing up and down his length.

Mark had to be honest with himself, he had never been a situation like this before and his mind was running a thousand miles a minute trying to figure out what the right way of going about this was. Not that there is a right way, he thought to himself.

He knows that he shouldn’t even be in this situation and that it’s his own damn fault for somehow not stopping you from entering his apartment, but he can’t help but look at you so willing for him and wonder what if?

Immediately he shook his head and decided to put a stop to this. He didn’t want this to take advantage of you.

“Y/N, I-I don’t think we should do this. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you or taking advantage of you because of-” you cut him off, sharp as a knife. “If you don’t think we should do this, then why are you hard?”

At your words, Mark finally acknowledges how hard he’s become at the sight of you being so obedient for him and he feels his cheeks grow red, “I-I-” he began to stammer, perplexed by the uncertainty he felt.

He wanted this, oh god how he wanted this, but he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this.

As if you read his mind, you interrupted his daze, “Mark I’m doing this because I want this, trust me,” you found yourself rolling your eyes at him, “just let me play the role of desperate tenant who’s willing to do anything to stay, okay?”

Mark nodded wordlessly, and realizes all he can do is take your word for what it was and trust you. Allowing himself to do so, he felt freed from his thought filled head and finally be in the moment. The moment where all you wanted was to suck him off.

At this allowance, you drifted your hands up Mark’s thighs to the elastic waistband of his sweatpants to finally expose his hard cock. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips instinctively, feeling a pulse in your core at the sight. He positioned himself closer to the edge of the couch as you moved forward enough on your knees to breathe on the head of his cock, “fuck,” he hummed.

Licking your lips one last time, you parted them to suck lightly at the tip. Your tongue slipped out from your lips to lick around the head, moving in slow strides and glancing up to find Mark staring down at you. At his gaze, you felt yourself involuntarily whimper at how innocent he looked as if he couldn’t believe that this was happening which to a certain degree you couldn’t either.

Never had you imagined in all the times you passed by him in the building that you’d be in this position, your tongue dragging up and down his length slowly. Now, you would let him fuck your face however much and however hard he wants.

You take more than just the head into your mouth, coating his length with saliva and letting your lips glide against the sensitive skin. “So good,” you heard Mark softly murmur and the quiet praise made you want to take even more of him into your mouth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed to Mark at how you move a little faster or take more of his length in every time he words how good you are. He wonders what else you would want to hear. You continued your rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, forgetting about everything else. All that mattered to you was hearing Mark’s moans and his praise he hoarsely whispered. You were pulled out of your trance as Mark gripped a handful of hair to pull you off of him. You whined, but liked his sudden force.

He chuckled and you noticed how different his eyes now looked. Before, his hesitancy to the situation shined through them, but now they were glossy and much darker. It was almost as though Mark had been replaced while you had him in your mouth.

“Just look at you, so fucking eager. So ready to get down on your knees for me to get what you want… so greedy to have as much of me as you can. As much as it takes.”

This new Mark was certainly doing things for you.

“Mark fuck my face,” you practically groaned. For a moment you see a glimpse back to the Mark who had been looking down at you innocently just a little while ago, but soon you’re once again met with this new Mark who was so sure of himself and seemed like he enjoyed being in control.

He smirked, “what did I do to deserve such a good girl?”

Without hesitation, Mark stands up in front of you and shoves himself back into your mouth, slowly wanting you to feel him in every part of your mouth the same way you would feel him later.

“How bad do you want to stay?” He asked, pushing himself in further until all of him was in your mouth, feeling him at the back of your throat “I know you can take it all kitten.”

At the pet name, you moaned around him, not being able to hold it back. Your reaction caused him to begin thrusting himself into your mouth, his hand going to grasp the back of your head, setting a harsh pace and thrusting quickly, he groaned at the sound of you choking on him. As tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, Mark wondered if he should ease up and began to slow down. You noticed this and simply reached your hand up to rub his leg gently as a sign for him to continue.

He soon returned to his original pace and kept his eyes fixated on himself going in and out of your mouth. He felt himself grow closer and closer to release, especially when he thought about how compliant you were being for him, how you had been the one to initiate this and how if your mouth felt this good, your pussy would feel even better.

The thought brings him to cum in your mouth, and he becomes embarrassed at how sudden his climax was. Part of Mark thinks you’ll be mad, but part of him also thinks that maybe that’s what you wanted all along.

The latter thought proved to be correct as you took all of his release in your mouth with ease and swallow, showing him your tongue as proof of a job well done.

Mark’s heart skipped a beat.

You smiled at the bewildered look on Mark’s face and used the back of your hand to wipe the saliva and cum that had dripped onto your chin and lips during Mark’s brutal plunge into your mouth.

Mark felt overwhelmed with exhaustion as a result from his orgasm and collapsed onto the couch behind him, spreading his legs and shutting his eyes after pulling his sweats back on. At his actions, you stood up from your space on the floor in front of him and watched him for a moment.

Fuck, he really is beautiful, you found yourself thinking. How peaceful and pristine he looked post-climax made you want to take care of him and just run your fingers through his hair until he was fast asleep.

The sudden want caused you to feel like that maybe it was your cue to leave Mark’s apartment. However, just as you turned to go, you feel Mark grabbing your wrist from his spot on the couch. “Hold on just give me a minute,” he mumbled with his eyes still closed.

You scanned your eyes back and forth around the room, and noticed the “best uncle ever!” drawing sitting against one of the bookshelves in the corner. You took this as your second sign to leave this man’s apartment.

“Fine if you can’t wait one minute while I put myself together, just have at it I guess,” Mark stammered, gesturing to his lap as he felt your attempt to leave once again.

His eyes are still closed, therefore you’re not sure if he’s even aware of his words and movements, “uh… what?” In that moment, Mark shot his eyes open quickly, “My thigh. Ride it,” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Being honest with yourself, you hadn’t expected this little rendezvous or whatever it was with Mark to include more than him fucking your face. When you had seen the length and size of him through his sweatpants along with what he had been watching before you angrily knocked on his door, all you could think about was getting him in your mouth. You hadn’t considered your own needs for even a second. The sudden realization of this made you think you were going insane.

Mark pats his lap and set you into a blur of removing your pants, hesitantly setting yourself down on his thigh. It’s almost as though he could sense your uncertainty and he positioned you down onto him, grasping your hips to move them back and forth slowly. He does this for a moment and you let out a groan at the friction you feel against your core. “Can I kiss you?” Mark asked you with his head leaning against the back of the couch, hands still grasped on your sides.

Your practically snorted at his request, “asks the guy who’s already had me swallow his cum.” He brings his head up instantly as if shocked and ready to defend himself to you, “I’m sorry okay!? I couldn’t help myself,” he paused and quietly, “you were too good.”

You feel yourself smile at his praise once again and you nodded your head, “of course you can kiss me Mark.”

“Okay I just had to make sure!”

“You know I’m not a prostitute, right?”

“I-I know! That’s not what I meant! I meant-” You cut him off laughing, stopping your movement on him completely to collect yourself, “Mark I’m fucking with you. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not very nice,” Mark huffed.

You placed your hands at the back of his neck and pull him closer to you, “now kiss me you idiot.” You could have sworn you heard him mutter something like “that’s still not very nice,” but as soon as his lips reached yours for the first time of the night all other thoughts left your head. The contact was enough to leave you lightheaded, and with every lick and bite of your lips you felt yourself instinctively begin to move your hips again.

Mark’s kisses trailed from your lips to you jaw to your neck, and his soft sucking, along with the feeling of your clit rubbing against him through your panties caused you to forcefully grip onto Mark’s broad shoulders. The feeling overcoming you from the way grinding on just Mark’s thigh felt and the way he was sucking that spot on your neck, caused you to what nothing more than to reach your high fast and hard. You wanted to completely fall apart from riding this gorgeous man’s thigh and let him know how good it felt.

Mark unattached himself from your skin and simply laid his head and arms back down on the couch as he had done when he was exhausted. He became so transfixed in your grinding on him and all he wanted to do in the moment was enjoy the show.

Arms still on his shoulders, “Mark,” you moaned, suddenly wishing you had even less than just your panties between and his sweats between the two of you.

“Show me how much you want it. Show me how much you want to stay so you can ride my thigh every single day,” at his words, Mark tensed his thigh and your eyes immediately shoot open at the new feeling that overwhelms you further. Mark is already hard again at the sight of you getting yourself off by using him and he realizes that he would be okay with you using him as much as you want, whenever you want.

Mark’s hands wander forward from the couch and begin to trail themselves up and down your body, playing with your breasts through your shirt and palming them softly. It’s when he reaches around to the back of your panties and pulls them tighter against you body that you feel the high you had been chasing begin to hit you. The material riding up, gives your clit the final bit of friction you need to send you spiraling into an orgasm.

You let out a final “Fuck!” as exclamation as your fingernails dig into Mark’s shoulders, your head falling backwards and causing your breath to catch in your throat. Mark’s hands returned to your hips, grinding you down onto him to make you ride out the aftershocks that course through you.

“Fuck,” you heard Mark say as you fell forward into his arms, “that was so fucking hot.”

He rubbed your back soothingly and you smiled into his shoulder at his response to you just having an orgasm from his thigh. “Hotter than the porno you were watching?”

He playfully hits your back, “Way hotter, trust me.”

When you finally regain strength, you lifted yourself off of Mark’s chest and looked down to notice the dark patch on his grey sweats where you had been pressing yourself against him. You looked away from him, face growing hot from embarrassment. Mark tilted your chin towards him, “aw did my kitten leave behind a mess?” he asked you cooing in a soft voice.

Despite reaching orgasm only moments ago, you feel the space between your legs begin to drip with arousal once again and judging on Mark’s demeanor, he can sense it.

He pressed himself further against you until you can feel his hardness against the side of your own thigh, “does she want more?” Once again in a Mark Tuan induced trance, you nod your head mindlessly.

In a haze of motions and movement, Mark pulled you off of his lap to remove his sweats, his cock springing free and looking painfully hard and ready to be inside of you. You lick your lips at the thought and it’s not until Mark pats his lap for you to get back on that you realize he wants you to ride him.

Any other situation you would jump at the opportunity, loving the control, but you whined at him still feeling a bit spent from working yourself against him before, “can we do more of a ‘you put most of the work in’ kind of position?”

He puts his hands up jokingly as if surrendering, “okay, okay, okay.”

You lay down with your back against the couch, removing your shirt and bra as Mark goes to the bathroom to retrieve a condom, but to your dismay he comes back holding an empty box, flipping it upside down to show you the issue.

“Wow are you that busy?” You asked Mark, then suddenly it occurs to you that maybe you should have asked if he as a girlfriend. Mark didn’t really seem to be the kind of guy that would do that to someone.

He shakes his head, “no, it’s just… It’s been a long time okay? And there used to be more than half a box left, but I’m pretty sure all of my friends have secretly been taking them when they’re here, because how else could they disappear if I haven’t had sex with anyone in forever?”

It’s clear that Mark’s worked up by the situation and isn’t sure what to do, so you try your best to calm him down, giggling at his demeanor, “Mark it’s fine. I have an IUD, don’t worry.”

“What?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes at him, what was up with this kid? “An IUD… an Intrauterine d-”

“I know what an IUD is! I just meant… you still want to have sex with me even though I’m dumb and all my friends apparently take my condoms?”

You swear your heart swells at innocent Mark appearing in front of you once again and you laugh again, “well I have to show you how much I want to stay, right?” You wiggled your hips at him from down on the couch and sighed contently, “plus I just really need you inside of me or else I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Mark laughed at you and throws the empty condom box to the side of the couch, which he climbs back on positioning himself in between your legs, “yes ma’am.”

He gently ran his index finger up and down, over your clothed entrance, the feeling causing you to shiver. Mark smirked at your reaction and pushes underneath your underwear until he rubs his finger directly over your slit, letting it collect your wetness. When he removes it, you whimper at the feeling and he places his digit into his mouth to taste you.

He let out a lustful sound at your taste, “my kitten tastes just like candy. I could spend all day with my head in between your legs and I will, but I need to be inside you. Now.” At his emphasis on wanting to sink into you, Mark for some reason decided that it would make more sense to use his hands to rip apart your underwear to grant him entrance rather than simply taking them off of you. You made a mental note to give him shit for it later. $250 and new underwear? No thanks.

Delicately, Mark lifts both of your legs up until they’re situated on each of his shoulders. You feel yourself exposed to him in a new way, his cock brushing against you slit, making you feel the need to beg for him to enter you. At his pause, you tried to slide yourself down towards him impatiently, but he holds in you in place, “I thought you were tired?” Mark smirked right before he enters you slightly. Only part of him is in, but you groaned at the stretch.

“Fuck kitten, are you even going to be able to take me?” Mark wondered out loud.

He continued to push into you, and your body adjusted itself to get used to the way he was stretching you and the way he was filling you so deliciously. You barely ever went without a condom despite your IUD, but with a lack of barrier separating you and Mark and the sensation it brought, you found yourself wanting him to enter you like this as many times as he wanted.

He pushed himself forward until he bottoms out, fully inside of you and groaned. He starts off slow and you whimpered, just wanting to feel him pound into you already. You think you’re going to cry at how you can feel him practically everywhere and in every single part of your body, when he has barely even moved. Mark feels himself go dizzy at how tight you are around him. It’s bordering on painful, the squeeze of your walls around his cock, but he doesn’t really care as he listens to the sounds leaving your mouth asking him to move faster.

Mark’s pace picked up and as he thrusts into you at a faster and faster rate, your lifted legs move with him and your knees practically begin to hit your chest every time he pulls back to delve into you again. With the angle his plummeting into you at, it’s not long before he hits your sweet spot and as you shutting your eyes tightly, unable to focus on anything except how good it feels. It’s when Mark’s hands leave your hips and wander to your breasts, cupping them, swirling your nipples in between his thumb and index finger that you feel yourself clench dangerously hard around Mark. He moaned, feeling like he could cum again at any minute, but he held himself off wanting to make sure he had taken care of you first.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me?” Mark asked in his gruff, low voice, his probing into you giving no sign of stopping, “Are you sure you just didn’t want to feel me inside you this whole time? You don’t care about staying or going, you just wanted to feel yourself wrapped around me. Be honest.” At his words you let out more lustful sounds, unable to form any real response due to how fucked out you felt. Mark, however, wouldn’t take your silence at an answer as he thrusts in even harder, “Be. Honest.”

It’s then when he pushes you over the edge, and you feel your second orgasm of the night course through you. “Mark… F-fuck Mark, oh god I- fuck,” you pant at the same time your walls squeezed around Mark one final time, your lower body arching off of the couch. For Mark, that’s all it takes for him to reach the peak of his own orgasm, the sight of you falling apart in front of him. You feel him release himself inside of you, feeling him make you so full with his warm cum coating your walls.

As you caught your breath from your own climax, you watch Mark come down from his, making note of the final noise he lets out before he almost collapses himself on top of you. He pulls himself out of you and lowers your legs from his shoulder, a soreness that wasn’t present during the fucking starting to make itself known in your body.

You feel more exhausted than you had after your first orgasm and you don’t even realize you closed your eyes until you feel Mark nudging your shoulder gently with his hand, “huh?” you mumbled, half-aware.

“I’m going to clean you up, is that okay?” Mark asked tentatively.

For probably the hundredth time of the night you wanted to laugh at the boy. He had already fucked you, but he still felt the need to ask if it was okay to do things like clean you up.

Okay he was cute.

Nodding at him, you feel Mark wiping up the mess he made inside of you that was beginning to seep out. When he’s finished, he lifts your legs and sits down on the couch beside your laying body, dropping your legs over his lap. He caresses them.

There’s a peaceful moment between the two of you and it’s nice, it soothes you and you feel yourself drifting off once again, but Mark interrupts your fall into slumber, “you know I probably could talk to my dad about everything.” At this point you didn’t care about the money anymore, and you hoped Mark truly knew that the rent wasn’t the reason why you fucked him.

Using your legs, you playfully kick Mark, “I really don’t care about that anymore. This was worth way more than $250.”

He chuckled, “Like how much? $500?”

You hummed in thought, “I honestly couldn’t even put a price on it if you held a gun to my head.”

“Dark… but I get it.”

There’s another moment of silence and you take this as your chance to fall asleep, but suddenly you feel yourself being lifted off of the couch and into Mark’s arms, “where are you taking me?”

“My room, so you don’t have to fall asleep on an uncomfortable and overpriced couch.”

Your eyes shoot open, “so you think it’s overpriced too!” He shakes head at you playfully in protest and lays you down on his bed when he enters his room. You can’t help but inhale the scent around you. It smells like him.

He sits down beside you and places a kiss on your forehead, “I’m still going to talk to my dad regardless. It’s kind of ridiculous.” A smile slowly starts to creep up on your face just as you agree with him, “Okay, okay. Fine!”

“Now get some rest.” You felt the weight shift up on the bed, signaling Mark’s departure, but instantly with your eyes still closed, you reached out to grab his wrist, “wake me up in twenty minutes for another round, okay?”

He clicked his tongue at you, “It’s going to cost you.” You opened your eyes and smiled up at him, thumb gently stroking his wrist.

“I’m not worried, you’re priceless after all.”

#got7 fanfic #got7 smut #mark tuan fanfic #mark tuan smut #mark tuan

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oneweekoneband · 4 years

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In the first cold hours of a new December morning, Taylor Swift once again revealed herself to be the primary antagonist in my hero’s journey. Weary and woebegone as I am, I will not waste strength on any attempt to deny that this latest attack has knocked me off balance, but I believe it is important that I—we, really, the lot of us who have been bloodied pitiably beneath this most brutal show of force—rebound immediately into a defensive posture so that there might be any hope at all for survival. Taylor’s second pandemic album will be released at midnight tonight, so I guess Shakespeare and his little “play” about elder abuse can get fucked after all. The album is called evermore. It was hubris, I can see in retrospect, which led me to tempt my enemy by writing all these words about her on this, the week of her birthday, knowing as I do that Taylor is one of those especially dangerous adults who make a big deal about both birthdays and lucky numbers. Icarus is my name now, covered in melted wax and tumbling to the sea. So as to steel ourselves for these horrors yet to come, I offer now, with not arrogance but the faith of the foolhardy, my best conjecture as to the content of each detestable track.

willow - Could be about a tree. Could be about a girl. More likely it is both somehow, which is extremely pervy, and not just because that’s part of the plot of the unspeakably cursed The Raven Cycle novels, which I, a full blown adult with, generally speaking, normal brain function, voluntarily read for the first time this summer because some of us, ma’am, used the pandemic for activities that hurt only ourselves, not others. Well, happy holidays, tree fuckers.

champagne problems - Whatever this is, know that I will be considering it a work after Fall Out Boy’s “Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends” and I’ll be right to do so and many people will say as much admiringly and they’ll smile at me with pride and doff their caps as I go.

gold rush - If this song is anything but a loving, comprehensive summation of the children’s novel DEAR AMERICA Seeds of Hope: The Gold Rush Diary of Susanna Fairchild then I’m going to walk directly out of my home and, deadly virus be damned, keep walking until I’ve entered Taylor Swift’s instead, at which point I will begin to scream out a litany of complaints at the very top of my voice, ceasing only when her security team kills me or we fall in love.

tis the damn season - Worst case scenario this is a sad Christmas song (the best kind of Christmas song) and it devastates me in the most degrading way possible. Best case scenario it’s really bad and dumb and I can live without pain.

tolerate it - Many possibilities here. Could be about white-knuckling it through a period of depression, or a breakup. Most obviously, it could be about COVID-19 lockdowns keeping us trapped in our homes, disconnected from loved ones, going slow-brained and strange, bowls piling up, and suddenly so desperate for human interaction that even memories of having drinks with somebody from Hinge who quoted Friends twice in an hour are tantalizing in comparison to the touch-starved dreamstate of staying indoors... But I kinda feel like this is Taylor replying “COPE” from on high to my tweets about how I would rather be boiled alive than have to face the existence of this record.

no body, no crime (feat. Haim) - What would be very good is if this is a homosexual romp about Taylor Swift and the one hot Haim guitar girl with the really gay energy doing a murder together a la “Somethin’ Bad” by Miranda Lambert with Carrie Underwood, but honestly, it is probably another song about Gone Girl.

happiness - Impossible to speak on this since, thanks to Taylor Swift, happiness is something with which I have no familiarity.

dorothea - Have seen chirping on the odious bird application about how perhaps this song title suggests that Taylor has written a song about Middlemarch, titling it for Dorothea Brooke, but I reject this because it implies that Taylor has read Middlemarch, which is a premise I cannot accept. Whether this refusal is out of self-preservation, being unwilling and in fact unable to face a world where Taylor Swift read and was moved to creation by the novel which was my most essential friend the summer I got dumped by a guy who I still had to work feet away from in a candle factory for another month, and about which Emily Dickinson (Emily Dickinson whose birthday it happens to be today, which isn’t to say that this means anything about anything. I am simply trying to batten down all hatches literally and spiritually in light of having been had once again by this numerology obsessed demon) once wrote "What do I think of Middlemarch? What do I think of glory.” or because I just at my core do not believe that Taylor has read a single book since Gone Girl I couldn’t possibly say.

coney island (feat. The National) : Some ungodly americana ass bullshit that is going to ruin my life. The thought of holy terror shaped like a horse girl Taylor Swift and trickster nymph in the body of a tax accountant Matt Berninger, two individuals I have allowed, separately, to cause me grievous psychic harm, having even the barest amount of one to one contact, even digitally, has made me want to peel all my skin off and put it back on flipped inside out so that I might, when I look in the mirror, see a version of myself which approximates how I feel.

ivy - Another song for the plant lesbians. That’s fine, and I’m happy for that community, but what I want to know, looking at this growing pile of songs named after women, is where, Taylor, is the song about loudmouth queen Inez, legendary gossip and, for my money, the star of folklore?

cowboy like me - Putting it as mildly as humanly possible, to slit my throat would be less cruel. I am drawing a straight line from me writing illegible sequels to perfect film An American Tail: Fievel Goes West (itself a sequel) in crayon as a toddler, to Paula Cole’s “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” on the radio in my mom’s two door Honda, to me everyday after school in third grade changing into the cowboy costume my godmother bought, to me at fourteen internalizing a sense of righteous indignation that would take years to even begin to outgrow when Crash beat Brokeback Mountain for Best Picture, to the winter I dropped half my classes out of fear and sickness and read paperback westerns on the twenty third floor of the college library for tens of hours at a go, to the profoundly gay episode of Supernatural called “Tombstone” which is, yes, named for the profoundly gay cowboy film Tombstone, to the inspired and revitalizing pause in “Space Cowboy” by Kacey Musgraves where she’s like, “You can have your space........ cowboy”, to Mitski’s Be the Cowboy, to the perfect boygenius cover of certified classic “Cowboy Take Me Away”, to whatever the hell this is going to be.That line is not to make a point at all. It’s just that there is a line and beside it there is me, incapacitated.

long story short - Just like all the other times anyone has ever invoked this phrase in the entire history of human beings expressing themselves with language, it is going to be a huge lie, because this woman never shuts up.

marjorie - After all that Taylor has put me through over the years, she should have at least named one of these wretched things “ellen” after my dead Sagittarian grandmother, whose birthday is tomorrow, December 11th, which is again, the release date of Taylor Swift’s second album in sixth months, but it’s probably for the best that she didn’t because you simpletons would immediately think it was an homage to George Bush’s friend Dory the fish, and therefore gay, regardless of the actual text of the song, and it’d be the “betty” massacre all over again. That being said, this is almost assuredly another horny song about some mid-century white lady. Only days ago Taylor was telling Entertainment Weekly that she’s been watching a lot of movies in quarantine, and while she didn’t name 1958’s Marjorie Morningstar starring Natalie Wood, I wouldn’t put it past her.

closure - God, I hope this one is another Kaylor classic so we can all act like complete raving lunatics online from the confines of our own plague quarters for a few days. It’s been a hard year.

evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - I’ll be catatonic by this point. Who cares?

right where you left me - Yes, in hell.

it’s time to go - Yes, TO HELL.

#taylor swift #folklore

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euaxel · 4 years

Text

heyyy, eonia. i’m reid, i’m twenty-three, still can’t read, and all i know about pjo is that it fucking rocks and the protag has the same learning disabilities that i do! also, i picked hypnos for this punk mainly to be mean to him and because in the hades game hypnos bullies me every time i die and i’m kiiiinda into it. hmu on discord one on one for the best plotting experience, but i’ll be around plenty to bug y’all in the gc too. you can read about bastard boy number one right here and under the cut we’ll get down to business.

⟨ ELLIOT FLETCHER. TRANS MALE. HE/HIM. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, AXEL EVERETT is actually a descendent of H Y P N O S. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-TWO year old VIDEO GAME DEVELOPMENT & COMBAT TACTICS MAJOR from BROOKLYN, USA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite WITTY & SELF-DEPRICATING.

be advised, axel’s a pretty heavy character. i’m gonna keep it brief for the bio & need-to-knows, tag around the parts with bold applicable triggers so you can skip around as needed, and tag this post accordingly, but just let me know if i miss anything and i’ll fix it & be safe reading. godspeed and i apologize in advance for bringing you all my personal punching bag as my first muse.

the main triggers that are gonna come up are: parental abuse, alcoholism * major, mentions of bullying, drowning * major, religious trauma, and drug abuse with some harder drugs ( particularly, weed, pills and cocaine / nothing with needles. )

general stats.

— full name , axel harley everett. — nicknames/alias , axe, ax, wolverine jr, tyler durden jr, trouble, Who? - every professor he’s ever had. — house, hypnos and mad about it. — age, 22, as of today. also mad about it. — gender, trans male. — pronouns, he/him. — sexual orientation, bisexual with a somewhat heavy masc lean. — d.o.b, january 1st, 1999. ( generally unknown to anyone but maybe siblings, he will probably lie and say Nobody Knows... I Just Am unless he really fucks with you. ) — hometown,

phys.

— height, 5′0ft even. furious about it. — eyes, brown. — hair, brown. — face claim, elliot fletcher.

misc.

— zodiac, capricorn. — alignment, chaotic good. — character inspo, lip gallagher, steve rogers ( young ), ellie from tlou1, logan howlett, stiles stilinski ( if anyone says shit i will scream ), probably someone from euphoria but i’m too scared to watch that, peter parker ( andrew garfield ), shinsou hitoshi, finn mertens, marceline the vampire queen, dipper pines, this is all over the place but it’s there. — most played spotify songs, passion for publication by anarbor, sober haha jk unless by hospital bracelet, nobody by mitski, class of 2013 by mitski, king princess’ cover of monster from adventure time, way too much phoebe bridgers, in love or whatever by future teens, and the entire front bottoms discography but especially in sickness & in flames with the hard way & bus beat well at the top of his loop. — aesthetics, bloody knuckles, left open and tipped over prescription bottles, walking on the carpet with socks to get that tingly feeling, skateboarding inside, dozing off at the bar, tangled legs in messy sheets, ten pillows on a twin sized mattress, laying down in the shower, brian sella’s cracky singing voice.

bio.

— axel was born and raised in brooklyn, new york, and he was claimed at thirteen, on his thirteenth birthday, by hypnos. — the day he was claimed, axel ceased contact with his human mother and his step-dad, and he attended a camp for half-bloods that wasn’t far from home. he spent his adolescence there year round for safety from monsters at home and abroad, then moved on to eonia. — ( parental abuse tw, drowning tw begin ) i don’t want to be too graphic here so i’m going to plainly say that axel’s mother was a very, very bad person, and the man she married was absent at his best, physically abusive at worst. axel’s powers ( hypnokinesis, namely ) were potent and difficult to control at a young age, and as a deeply religious catholic woman, this scared his mother and influenced most of the animosity in their relationship. she was convinced that the defensive visions he created and his ability to put her to sleep ( an attempt to help her, on his end; insomnia plagued her and later, it would him, too ) were of demonic origin, and tried to drown him more than once; cleansing, she claimed. the worst instance was the day he was claimed, actually — new years day, 2012; his life was saved by hypnos, and that was the last he saw of her. ( parental abuse tw, drowning tw end. ) — that said, he’s a little ( very ) hydrophobic. poseidon kids do NOT fucking interact ( i’m kidding. kind of. he Will avoid a little though ) — anyway! moving on. all of this aside, axel did his best to put his past behind him, and he was actually super stoked to learn that his powers came from somewhere good and that there was places out there for kids like him; to learn he wasn’t any kind of monster. ( still working on believing that, though.. marcelines monster.mp3 right here ) — he’s less stoked when he starts having trouble falling asleep, and really, it feels like a more cruel twist than any other fate has thrown at him ( his upbringing was chock full of mean twists, so that’s saying something ); and really, it’s more like insomnia just full on kicks in, but he can put other people to sleep. great, right? whatever, though — combat classes are kickass and he’s surrounded by babes that think he’s hilarious so things could be totally, way worse. — ( bullying tw (brief) ) for the most part, axel was pretty well liked among his peers. he was bullied as a young kid (pre-claim), but he bit back and he bit back hard, and sure, some of that followed him into his teen years but he’s more confident by then; less fun to poke at, and absolutely unhinged when provoked, so people learn better of it. the only real lasting effect was one instant that hit him a little too deep in the inferiority, when he was seventeen — he fell in love with a girl, told her that, and found himself at the end of a very mean spirited prank. he shook it off like he did anything else, or at least — he told himself he did, even if the hurt hit him somewhere a little too deep rooted ( ie. being god’s most unlovable son would naturally land him here, right? ) love’s kinda stupid anyways, so what the hell, right? (bullying tw end.)

— ( alcoholism tw, drug use tw begin ) this is already obscenely long so i’m just going to keep it to the point here and say he began drinking when he was sneaking booze in to camp at fifteen, and it just never stopped there. he’s also a massive stoner, which is all well, harmless and good for the most part; he’s always grinning, half-lidded, and has a room full of smoke at any given time. it’s the pills that do him in, and he did them at first just so he could get some shut eye, and... well. after that, because he’s dependent on them. but he keeps this part under wraps for the most part; it doesn’t have to be anyone’s problem but his, and it’s not a problem until it is one. partying’s fun, so is coke; so is taking a few too many xan’s, mdma. ( alcoholism tw, drug use tw end )

FUN FACTS!!!

— i swear he is not as doom and gloom as he sounds from the bio, and yeah, writing that made me so sad i feel like we absolutely must hone in on the fun and cute things about him!?! — he loves dnd. he can talk about it for HOURS and if you let him, he absolutely will. — adventure time makes him cry. he’s a baby don’t let him fool you. — very into cryptids, aliens, horror stories, conspiracy theories, in love with ryan from watcher, wanna be shane medej. — he loves to draw! the one thing he loves about his power is what it’s done for his imagination, and sure, he mostly draws horror things, but it’s why he went into video game development. he wants to be a concept artist. — his double major is in combat tactics because he loves fighting. he thinks it’s so fun. he’s a little nuts, actually — i mean, get hit in the face and come up grinning. all he’s ever wanted is to run a fight club and be the shortest, baddest little bitch on the planet. — he tends to nod off in weird places because he doesn’t sleep enough at night, which is sad, but; he can seriously fall asleep anywhere. standing up, in a tree, you name it. — he’s a hobby musician! he loves singing and playing guitar. — he’s a huge flirt. — loves to scare people. he’s harmless, though. like, honestly. he might make you think you’re seeing a walking toadstool but he’ll probably apologize later. — he’s very much a singing in the shower type? — clothes thief. friends and significant others beware. — actually, just kind of a thief? but of weird, little things. like, just the left shoe. puts them in a little corner in his room that he has set up like an exhibit. “things you thought you lost lol” is written on the whiteboard on the wall above it. he likes collecting rocks too. he’s a little freak!! — he’s better at the memory retrieval part of his power than the rest. naturally, as this mostly applies for other people.

WANTED CONNECTIONS. im literally so tired of hearing myself talk...

friends/squad. self explanatory!!! he’s friendly, a class clown, and a loyal friend through and through; he’s also adaptable, and his demeanor is very relaxed and inviting. he’s probably gonna have 2-3 people that he’s really close with, and he’d do quite literally anything for them. seriously, don’t tempt him. a best friend. so this is kind of vague but. i’d really love for him to have one person that is just a tier above the rest? they’d know things about him that are like pulling teeth to find out ( aka, anything deeper than his most recommended podcasts and loudmouth opinions on non important things ), someone who will call him on his shit, and maybe take care of his stupid little self when he gets too fucked up, because they’d be someone he trusts enough to let them. enemies? he probably gets along with most people until given a reason not to? but he is a loud mouth and if one of his friends gets into drama, he will stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and he will throw hands, so it could happen.

harmless rivalries. maybe even steamy ones. he’s a little shit and he likes banter so, so, so much? if given the opportunity and if someone rubs him a certain type of way, he’s so not above being a menace, although never super maliciously. just, you know, annoying the shit out of them on purpose, for fun. he’s also not above blowing a few kisses their way.

current hookups. self explanatory too. he’s a little harlot. HFBHVFNJ. it’s gonna be kinda hard to go beyond sex with him because he’s very deep in his own insecurity but he does catch feelings, he’s just mad about it when he does. i’m mostly gonna go off chem for that though! an ex. could be on friendly terms? but, it should be noted that he could’ve ghosted someone too; or pulled from the relationship when things got serious and he couldn’t choke out that ‘i love you’, even if he felt it. worse, if he did choke it out, but they didn’t feel the same way. siblings. hypnos kids he is gonna be so protective of all of u... family is hard for axel, i’m ngl, but he really wants one is the tragedy of it all, i guess? so he just really wants to be a good brother. he thinks hypnos is kind of a dick for making him but he tries not to fault him for his existence. fuck u dad i dont wanna be alive feels a little unfair. HDBHFDSJ. anyways he’s a good brother even if he is absolutely so reckless and terrifying in regards to himself but his siblings. his siblings he will do anything for. ALSO!!! FOUND FAMILY!!!! it would be kinda nice if he bonded with someone a little older maybe, could be outside of the hypnos house even, someone he’s kind of a bratty-little-brother type with.... or bratty older brother that takes your things and makes you laugh, y’know.

PERSONALITY. just tacking this part of the app on at the end too to highlight parts that i think are important for understanding who he is, and just so it’s all in one place!

toothy grins, half-lidded eyes, and keepin’ them laughing is what it’s all about, baby. axel walks with more confidence in his posture than he’s earned ( or claimed, for that matter ), and it’s the backbone of what gets him by. he’s a glowing example of the fake it ‘til you make it mentality, and he knows what he wants, usually how to get it, and doesn’t mind letting you know that. there’s an ever present mischievous glint in his eyes that says more about what to expect from him than he does, and that’s still not much? he likes to have fun, and there isn’t a whole lot of regard for righteousness or responsibility on his end, but hey! it’s usually only ever at his own expense, so what’s the damage? he’s an absolute clown and he knows it.

axel loves people. he does — you might not guess that with how elusive he is, but it’s true. there’s nothing he likes more than a good conversation with someone interesting, or maybe not even then; if there’s a sparkle in you, he’ll see it. ( might even draw it, not that you’d ever know. ) he’s warm, loyal, compassionate, relaxed, and understanding; and none of that is at the cost of being passive, or lacking passion.

as long as the vibes are right, he’s happy to just be; though, he’s known to have a fuse for certain provocations, and will jump readily at chance to fight in someone else’s honor. also, it’s not unlike him to spar for the sake of sparring; but that’s all in good fun, no worries.

there’s no way to sugarcoat it — axel has an inferiority complex. where that stems from is something he’s more self-aware of than he’s willing to admit, but he doesn’t have the patience or the will to dissect it; much less do anything about it, and he’s as bull-headed as they come — especially regarding anything related to the psyche. how much this impacts his demeanor and relationships with others varies on the situation, but one constant is that he’s going to retreat before things get bad; even if ‘things are getting bad’ exists only as his own paranoia-born hypothetical.

things can’t go bad if you don’t let them, and he’s content to keep it that way; even if it means being stuck in the stasis of missed opportunities. it’s when he’s retreating into himself that he can get irritable, anxious, jumpy; secretive, defensive, even. he’s personable until he isn’t, essentially.

#euintro #ik elliots like 5'7 but i've never let this kid be taller than me and i will not start now #parental abuse tw #bullying tw #drug use tw #alcoholism tw #drowning tw #religious trauma tw #jesus christ whats wrong with me #anyway who wants him #Because I Dont #anyway im not fucking proofreading it JBFGHBFJFBDJSKNMA im so sorry this is a monster in length

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wizardofrozz · 3 years

Text

Put to the Test

Summary: A mission that should be quick and easy leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of Bucky’s stomach.

Warnings: swearing, violence, past trauma, angst

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Chapter 7: In and Out

A few weeks had passed since Bucky, and I started to remember our time in Hydra. We still had bad days, thinking about how old our baby would be today, but it started to get easier; we were beginning to heal. We were getting better, but nightmares still plagued us both at times, especially when we were apart.

***

I woke with a start when I heard yelling from the cell next to me; I pushed off the frigid concrete floor to scoot closer to the front of the cell. I listened to the familiar Brooklyn accent coming from the cell next to me, yelling at a guard.

“Leave him alone!” Bucky yelled, rattling the bars of his cell. “Take it out on me, you punk!” he screamed. My heart sank when I heard boots bounding towards his cell; he lost an arm and was still weak from how much he bled, and I knew a beating from the guards would only make him worse. I spent most of the day talking with Bucky, enjoying the sound of his Brooklyn accent, getting to know the man I had never even seen.

“Step back,” the guard, in a heavy Russian accent, barked at him.

“You’ll leave him be?” Bucky pushed. I heard the cell door rattle as the guard ripped it open. The sound of fists hitting flesh could bring on nightmares alone. His pained cries and screams from the cell next to me would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I curled into a ball on my cell floor, squeezing my eyes shut as I listened to Bucky screaming in pain.

I shot up in bed, looking around, seeing Nat sleeping soundly next to me. What the hell? Memories of girl’s night came back to me, and I realized why she was here and not Bucky. Then I heard it, Bucky screaming, painfully loud; it wasn’t just in my dream. I jumped out of Nat’s bed and ran down the hall, throwing our door open to see him thrashing and screaming.

“Bucky, Bucky!” I yelled over him, holding his shoulders. His eyes shot open, bloodshot and ice blue, but seconds later, his metal hand was around my throat, squeezing, yelling at me in Russian. Nat must have woken up when I got out of bed and followed me down here because now, she was trying to pry his fingers off my throat.

“Damnit, Bucky, let go!” Nat screamed at him. He blinked a few times before looking into my eyes and instantly opening his fingers, horror in his eyes.

“Roz, what the hell happened?” he said, standing next to our bed now, trying to decide if he should reach for me or not.

“It’s okay, honey, you were having a nightmare,” I croaked. Nat handed me a glass of water from the bathroom, eyeing Bucky, making sure he had really snapped out of it.

“Buck, I thought you weren’t having nightmares anymore,” Nat asked, rubbing my back.

“I wish,” he rubbed the back of his neck, never taking his eyes off me.

“Nat, I’m okay. It caught me off guard, is all. You probably don’t want to hear this but, I’m kind of used to it,” I blushed, my voice back to normal.

“Oh ew, I hate you,” she pulled her hand back, giving me a dirty look. “I’m going back to bed. Please don’t try and kill her again, actually, please do after that comment,” she said to Bucky.

“Asshole,” he chuckled as he closed his door. “You sure you’re okay?” Bucky doubled checked.

“Yeah, like I said, I’m used to it,” I winked as I climbed into bed.

“Naughty girl,” he growled. He jumped into bed, attacking me with kisses all over my face and neck before finally kissing my lips. “I really am sorry. Let me show you how sorry I am,” Bucky mumbled against my jaw before kissing me again. The kiss was slow and full of love; I slid my tongue into his mouth, caressing his. Bucky’s hand moved under the huge shirt I had on, his fingers tracing patterns along my skin. We relished in the feeling of each other, taking our time shedding our clothes, touching, licking, biting until neither of us could take it anymore. With Bucky buried deep inside me, I screamed for him over and over until the sun peaked through the windows.

***

After a few more weeks had passed, Fury finally told Bucky and me we could go out on mission again. I was itching to get out of the compound again, but I’m glad we had time to deal with everything we learned. I woke up to find Bucky gone already, so I decided I needed some coffee before searching for him. I checked my phone, seeing a text from Bruce telling me he was running some blood work. He wanted to keep tabs on Bucky and me just to make sure we were healthy after our DNA present from Hydra. I sighed, pulling Bucky’s hoodie off his office chair and stole a pair of sweatpants before going into the hallway, where I heard yelling from the kitchen. I hurried towards the yelling where I found Sam, Steve, Bucky, and Nat all screaming at the same.

“What the fuck are you morons doing?” I yelled. They all stopped screaming and turned to look at me standing in the doorway.

“We have a mission. Barnes over here is throwing a fit about it,” Sam scoffs but moves further into the kitchen away from Bucky.

“What’s the problem, honey?” I reached for Bucky, lacing my fingers with his vibranium hand.

“It’s supposed to be me, you, Sam, Nat, Steve, and Clint going to an abandoned Hydra base. I have a bad feeling about us going anywhere near something involving them. Sam’s pissed because I don’t want us going,” Bucky ran his free hand through his freshly cut hair.

“I know, honey, but we can’t pick and choose. We won’t be alone; it’ll be okay baby,” I rubbed his arm, attempting to soothe him. “When do we leave?” I leaned around Bucky, asking Steve.

“Soon, so we need to get moving,” Steve sighed, looking back and forth between Sam and Bucky.

“Let’s go get ready, honey,” I sighed, pulling Bucky along with me.

“I don’t like this,” Bucky growled through his teeth.

“I know, I don’t either. We don’t have a choice, so let’s get dressed and get it over with. It’ll be okay,” I tried to soothe him, but I could feel the tension in his muscles. Bucky and I quickly changed and met Nat, Steve, Clint, and Sam in the hanger half an hour later; Sam still giving Bucky dirty looks periodically.

“Secretary Ross wants us to find some information on where Hydra troops have disappeared too. The first stop is the castle in England; Ross hopes that they went back recently, leaving clues of some kind. Stealth is imperative,” Steve flipped the file shut, looking at all of us.

“I thought that place was destroyed?” I raised an eyebrow at Steve.

“Apparently not; we don’t know what we are going to find, so keep your eyes open. We haven’t had any information about activity there, but we haven’t been able to get any intel. Last time the plane was shot down,” Steve sighed, nervously flipping through papers again.

“So we’re going in blind!” Bucky yelled, making everyone jump.

“I’m sorry, Buck, we don’t have a choice. I left out the threat Ross made sure to pass on if we don’t go through with this. We’ll all have permanent homes on The Raft,” Steve clenched his jaw as he spoke, anger rippling across his shoulders.

“I’m starting to think Ross just wants us dead. This is a suicide mission,” Nat growled, clenching her fists.

“Let’s get moving,” Steve said, ignoring any protests from us. Anxiety prickled all over my body; the quinjet ride was quiet, everyone consumed by their thoughts.

“Steve, come in,” Tony’s voice crackled through my earpiece.

“Tony, we can’t talk right now; radios are going silent in about 30 seconds. I’ll reach out when we leave,” Steve stated from the front of the jet.

“No, you have to tur…” Tony’s voice disappeared into statics before he could finish his sentence.

“Hopefully, it wasn’t important,” Clint grumbled, getting to his feet.

“Everyone ready?” Steve asked over his shoulder as he brought the quinjet closer to the ground, maneuvering through the trees. We all nodded, checking that we had everything we needed; Steve came from the piolet chair to grab his shield. “Nat and I will take the West wing, Roz and Bucky take the East wing, and Sam and Clint, go through the main two floors. We’ll climb through the windows on the ends of the building, working towards where Sam and Clint are. Coms are open, keep your eyes peeled and watch each other’s backs. The sooner we sweep through, the sooner we can go home,” Steve finished with a deep breath before hitting the button to open the door. Bucky followed close behind as we silently moved through the woods surrounding the “castle”; it was barely a castle. It was so quiet I could hear the soft caws of the birds high up in the trees above and the faint whining of Bucky’s arm. We approached the East wing quickly; I spotted an already broken window within easy reach. Bucky squatted down to get me closer to the windowsill; my fingers found the smooth, moss-covered stone, digging in to hoist myself up. I pulled myself up until I could just see into the room; I watched for any movement or sign of life until the muscle in my biceps started to burn. I crawled in the window, looking around one more time before giving Bucky a thumbs up out the window. I kneeled a few feet from the window, raising my gun at the doorway, covering Bucky; I heard the soft thud of his boot hitting the stone outside. Bucky’s huge frame dropped into the room with an amazingly faint thud. An odd feeling came over me, feeling like I’d done this before as, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Bucky sifting through papers and opening drawers. I tried to push the odd feeling away, focusing on the door to the room; I glanced at Bucky and was almost knocked off my feet. The haunting image of the Winter Soldier was moving around the room instead; the red star visible on his silver arm and his wild hair moving around his face. The dreadful mask clinging to his face, leaving only his eyes and forehead visible. He turned to look at me, the dead stare of the Winter Soldier staring back at me before I felt like I was sucked into a wind tunnel, blinking rapidly to find myself squatting in front of Bucky. The mask gone, the gold in his arm catching any available light, his short hair stuck up in a few places, and his striking blue eyes boring into me, worry swimming through them.

“What?” Bucky whispered, looking around frantically.

“N-nothing. I, uh, just remembered a mission, I guess,” I blinked a few more times, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling.

“What was it?” Bucky continued to search for information but glanced at me, waiting for an answer.

“I guess we were doing something like this on a mission. But before,” I fumbled for words, turning back to the doorway, searching for movement.

“You had a flashback,” Bucky stated, folding a few pieces of paper to put in his pocket.

“Yeah, it was so real. I could almost hear to wiring working in your old arm,” I whispered, a chill running down my spine.

“Next room, I want out of here as soon as possible. Are you okay, doll?” he asked, briefly caressing my face.

“Yeah, next room,” I nodded, leaning through the doorway to check the hall. The vast hallway had four more doors, two on each side, before reaching the main corridor to meet with everyone else. Bucky and I moved through the four rooms, finding a few papers that could possibly be useful but nothing major. “Let’s go meet the others,” I sighed, trying to roll the tension out of my shoulders.

“Let’s go, doll,” Bucky smiled, trudging towards the double doors that lead to the rendezvous point. As I turned to leave the room, I felt something bite the back of my arm; I sighed, assuming I’d have an irritating spider bite swelling in a few minutes. Bucky pushed the door open, checking the room in front of him; I took a step out of the room but didn’t make it far before dropping to one knee. My head spun, my breath coming in short gasps as black spots speckled my vision; I tried to call for Bucky, but my tongue felt thick, and no noise came out. I tried to fight the darkness overtaking me, but I was unconscious before my body hit the floor.

***

(Steve POV)

The control panel on the arm of my suit started to flash, throwing a red light against the wall to my right.

“Nat, we have incoming. I can’t see what it is or make a connection,” I hissed. Her eyes snapped up to meet mine before we took off towards the main corridor; Nat burst through the door first. Sam and Clint ran down the steps next to us when Bucky stepped through the door opposite Nat and me.

“Cap, we have incoming,” Sam yelled as he got to the bottom of the steps.

“I know I can’t tell what it is, and with the radio silence, I can’t call out,” I looked back at the alert on my arm. I tapped a few more times on the control panel, trying to override the communication blocker; a few seconds later, a familiar voice crackled in my ear.

“Cap? Natasha? Roz? Barton? Wilson? Barnes? Does anyone hear me? I’m dropping in,” I looked around the room at everyone; Bucky’s eyes darted around the room, searching for something.

“Tony, what the hell are you doing here?” I sighed, relaxing some.

“Get eyes on Roz, now!” he frantically yelled. Everyone’s head snapped up, looking for Roz’s figure somewhere in the room but with no luck; Bucky was the first through the double doors, running into the room at the end of the hall. We checked all five rooms but found no trace of her anywhere; Bucky was getting more panicked by the second.

“Incoming,” I heard Tony’s voice faintly before he flew into the hallway, landing next to me. “Where is she?” his mask flipping up, showing his worried expression.

“We can’t find her,” I stated, keeping an eye on Bucky as he moved through the rooms again.

“Fuck! Everyone search the parameter, meet at the quinjet in 10 minutes. Go!” Tony’s mask slid back down as he took off through the giant broken window that Bucky and Roz crawled in through. Bucky, Nat, Sam, Clint, and I ran for the front door, taking off in different directions, looking for any sign of her. After 10 minutes of searching, I trudged back towards the quinjet; Sam, Clint, and Tony were standing next to it as I approached. I could see Bucky walking from the opposite direction and Nat coming from the direction of the front door.

“Anything?” Bucky asked, panic seeping out of every pore.

“Nothing,” Sam huffed; Clint nodded too.

“I couldn’t even find footprints near the building,” Nat croaked, fear etched on her face.

“Everyone on the quinjet. We need to get back to the compound so we can try and find her,” Tony sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“No! You expect me just to sit around!” Bucky was spiraling, losing any self-control he had left.

“Buck, come on,” I tentatively walked over, reaching for him. “You know we can’t do anything standing around here. Please bud,” I pleaded with him. As my hands landed on his shoulders, he broke, tears rolling down his cheeks; he finally nodded, letting me pull him onto the quinjet with everyone else. Bucky locked eyes with Sam as soon as the door closed, and I watched his demeanor change drastically; the pain got replaced with pure rage.

“YOU!” Bucky roared, starting for Sam.

“Cap!” panic laced Tony’s voice.

“Bucky no!” I yelled, jumping on his back, wrapping my arm around his neck. Bucky started yelling; animalistic noises were leaving his mouth as he clawed at my arm; Sam moved as far away from Bucky as he could get.

“I told you I didn’t want her going on this mission! Now, look what happened! It’s your fault!” Bucky screamed at Sam; his face was bright red as he fought against me. “She’s gone because of you,” Bucky yelled before dropping to his knees, a sob tearing through him. Sam stood, looking lost at what he should do next; he took a step towards Bucky.

“Sam,” Tony warned, putting his hand up to stop him.

“How did you know?” Bucky’s head shot up, looking right at Tony. Tony didn’t answer right away; the shock of how destroyed Bucky looked threw him off, causing him to take a step back. I tentatively took my arm from around his neck; he slumped forward some but stayed on his knees.

“I tried to reach out to you before you hit the dead zone we set up because Bruce found something in Roz’s bloodwork. I was trying to at least tell you not to let her off the jet, but it cut out before I could tell you. I figured it would be fine since this was supposed to be an in and out mission. I started thinking about the mission in general; why was this mission so important? Why was it so urgent? I looked into the information; Ross steamrolled it because he got intel that this place had specific information we needed about operating hideouts. He refused to wait for us to verify the information and threatened to throw us all in jail. It didn’t make sense that an abandoned base would hold information about current hideouts, especially when I checked and there hasn’t been activity here in years. I tried to get here as fast as I could; I had a feeling it was a setup,” Tony was fuming by the time he finished, dropping heavily into the pilot seat.

“Why her?” I whispered, rubbing Bucky’s back. He was still sobbing, his shoulders shaking under the waves of sobs hitting him.

“Hydra hacked S.H.I.E.L.D and found out that they could finally get what they wanted,” Tony whispered, his head falling into his hands.

“Don’t tell me it’s what I think it is,” Nat’s voice broke, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky whispered. I kneeled in front of him, placing my hands on his shoulders. His head lolled to the side some, giving me a full view of his face; the dead look swirling in his eyes was crimpling.

“No, Bucky, no. Please,” I shook him violently, but it didn’t matter; he was gone.

Series Masterlist | Chapter 8

Taglist:

@criminalyetminimal @kendallthesimp @marvelfansworld

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes x ofc #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sergeant james barnes #sergeant barnes #hydra #hydra experiment #red room project #black widow project #hail hydra #super soldier

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whitewolfmoving · 4 years

Text

Going For Gold || Bucky Barnes Mixed Martial Arts AU

Summary: Bucky made his choices long ago, now he has to live with the fallout. Can he return to the life he once knew? Can he mend the heart of the girl he left behind? Can he be a better man than he used to be? [Modern au] [Mixed Martial Arts au]

Trigger Warnings: lots of swearing, Bucky Barnes being a whole ass idiot, mentions of character death, mild detail of injuries, arguing, flashbacks, PTSD, alcohol and prescription drug use (non-addictive)

Word Count: 2126

Chapter Warnings: blackmail (should that be a warning?)

——————————

Chapter Three: The Best Laid Plans

Bucky had tossed and turned all night.

He couldn’t get what Steve had said to him about Serenity out of his head… Just the mere thought of Serenity begging and pleading with every ounce of strength she had left to let her die, to let her be with her best friend, to let her see Mikey again– How truly broken she must’ve been, and Bucky was nowhere to be found when she’d needed him most.

Guilt was eating Bucky from the inside and had kept him up most of the night, any sleep he’d gotten had been restless and plagued with thoughts of living in a world where Serenity wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine coming home to find the woman he’d give up everything for, not being alive when he got back. He couldn’t imagine never being able to see her face or hear her voice again. Steve was right, Bucky has screwed up. He’d let himself behave utterly childishly when it came time to face the music, and because of that, he’d almost lost the most important person in his life. Not that he’d known it at the time, but knowing it now didn’t make it better.

Around 4 AM, Bucky decided it was time to get to work. He rolled out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee. First, he’d make a game plan. Then, he’d put that plan into action. Bucky had decided he couldn’t waste any more time, he needed to get Serenity back before she had her heart broken all over again the audacity of Steve Rogers to be seeing two girls at once, the audacity of Steve Rogers to try and tell Bucky that he had no idea what he was seeing. Bucky knew one thing for sure, Steve was going to be in a world of pain if he hurt Serenity. Whether she accepted Bucky back into her life or not, she was too important to let anyone take advantage of her in any capacity. Especially Steve.

By the time 6:00 rolled around, Bucky knew exactly what he wanted to do and how he wanted it to look. Sure, he still had a long way to go but if everything played out how he hoped it would, he’d be back in the cage within the next six months. It was a very concrete timeline, but it’s one Bucky knew he could follow. Six months, and he’d be back in fighting shape. Of course, there was still the matter of his shoulder to figure out—could he really get back in the cage with such a severe injury?—Paul would never let him return to fighting if he wasn’t in prime condition. So he’d just have to make sure that he was in prime condition.

Bucky showered and dressed with enough time to run through his plan once more. Satisfied with his goals, he grabbed his jacket, keys, and helmet from where he’d dropped them in a pile by the front door last night—too exhausted to care about putting them away properly—and ventured into the cold early morning air. It smelled like home, it smelled like all of the things Bucky had missed over the last six years. It reminded him of happiness, of togetherness, of family; it brought back memories of him and Mikey and Steve and Serenity, it brought back feelings of safety and warmth. He’d been so wrapped up in his own shit, that he hadn’t once thought of what losing Mikey had done to Serenity. He’d made mistakes before, but none as big as abandoning her when she needed him the most.

He donned his jacket and helmet, and swung his right leg over the seat of his bike. He had one task for today, just one, and he planned on executing it perfectly—Bucky was going to convince Serenity to let him stay and return to training at Mikey’s. As he rode down the winding streets from his apartment just outside of town, he wondered if he truly could convince Serenity to let him come back. No, to let him come home.

Bucky pulled into the back gate half an hour later, after stopping at their favorite small cafe; since it was abundantly clear he couldn’t win her over just on merit alone, he figured he’d have to bribe her a little. What better way to do so than with her favorite drink on chilly autumn mornings? Well, here goes. He thought to himself, grabbing the thermos from his saddlebag and pocketing the Harley’s keys just as he had the morning before.

The gym wasn’t open to the public at 6:30. Paul had always left it close for Serenity, Mikey, Steve and Bucky to use privately in the mornings. Regular members wouldn’t be permitted to start showing up until 9:00, no one ever seemed to have a problem with it. And Bucky had been lucky enough to overhear Serenity and Natasha tell Paul they’d be back bright and early, “...we’ll be here at 6:30 sharp,” they’d said on their way out the day before.

The overwhelming sense of dread Bucky had felt the previous morning, had been replaced by stubbornness and pride. Now, he left the Harley next to Steve’s truck, and marched himself up to the back door with brand new confidence. Just as he’d expected, he found Serenity and Natasha sparring together on the mats, with Paul and Steve standing off to the side.

Bucky was in awe of the sight before him.

Serenity Corbyn still moved just as quickly and gracefully as she had when they’d started training at 15. When it came to fighting, she possessed the speed of a cheetah and the deadly accuracy of a scorpion. Serenity had always been light on her feet and heavy with her punches. She was good, too good. It’d taken each of the boys years to be able to best Serenity when they sparred together, Bucky had almost forgotten just how good she was. But it seemed she’d finally met her match.

From what Bucky could tell, Natasha might not be as fast as Serenity was, but she was a lot more calculated. What she lacked against Serenity’s speed, she made up for in well thought out steps. Natasha seemed to be one or two steps ahead of Serenity at every turn, even Bucky had to admit the redhead was good at what she did.

“Hands up, keep your hands up!” Steve coached from the sidelines. Serenity brought her hands back up before her face at his urging, keeping her focus locked on Natasha. Steve’s smile widened as he watched Serenity gain control again. “That’s it, there you go. Keep her moving. Nice, Ren. That’s what I like to see.”

Serenity’s movements ebbed and flowed like the changing tide. She lured Natasha in and pushed her back out, had her guessing at Serenity’s next move before she made it. It was nearing the end of the session and both women looked exhausted. However, this was where the young woman excelled the most, this was Serenity’s strongest point. The three men watched as Natasha brought Serenity down to the mat. Before she could stand and regain her bearings, Serenity wrapped her legs around Natasha's hips and locked them behind her. With the other woman now secured in a closed guard, Serenity extended her own hips and pulled Natasha down with her legs. She wrapped her right arm around her neck, clasped her hands together around her trachea, and applied pressure to Natasha’s carotid artery by pushing the blade of her arm and wrist upwards.

“There you go, hold it! Keep her down. Good, Serenity! Nice and tight!” Steve praised her, his voice dripped with pride.

Natasha finally tapped out and Serenity let her go. The two women stood, bracing against each other for support and walked off the mat. They sat on the bench behind Paul and Steve, and celebrated the success of their sparring match.

“I’ve never seen anyone best Serenity as quickly as you do, Nat,” Steve commented, handing both women a towel and bottle of water.

“I’ll admit, she’s tough. Your girl certainly knows what she’s doing, Rogers,” Natasha huffed, gulping down a generous amount of water. “I didn’t account for that last move, though. Guillotine choke hold from a closed guard. Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Bucky took that as his cue to make himself known. He pushed himself off of the wall by the stairs and moved to stand next to Paul. “Me and Mikey taught that to her when we were 17. Nice to see you’re still dipping into my bag of tricks, Moo.”

Serenity stared daggers at the dark-haired man standing above her. “Don’t call me that. What are you doing here, Barnes? You know the gym’s closed for private training until 9.”

“I know, I’m here to train.”

“Like hell you are.”

“I’m just looking to train, that’s all.”

“Then you can pay for a gym membership like everyone else. Private training is closed, for employees only. Last I checked, you don’t work here anymore.”

Bucky sighed. “Come on, Moo, don’t be like that.”

Serenity stood, took a few steps toward Bucky, and stopped directly in front of him. Her brown eyes flashed with anger. “I said, don’t call me that. Pay for a gym membership or get out. You’re not welcome here anymore, James.”

The sound of his name rolling off of Serenity’s tongue was music to his ears; even if she was only saying it because she was angry with him, it was a feeling he’d never been able to forget. His name sounded different coming from Serenity, and he’d missed hearing her say it all those years while he was deployed. It sounded just as sweet coming from her now, as it had before the last time he saw her.

“I know I screwed up, I know I hurt you. But hear me out, that’s all I’m asking.” Bucky held his thermos out for her to take, hoping she’d accept his olive branch. But she didn’t.

“Now, Serenity, he’s family. Family is always welcome here,” Paul said, attempting to placate his daughter’s rage with gentle urging.

“He’s no family of mine. My family didn’t abandon me in my time of need.” She turned to Steve and he could see the pain in her eyes, hidden behind the thick walls of anger she’d constructed to keep all thoughts of Bucky out of her mind. “I don’t want him here. You brought him back here? You make sure he’s gone. Today.”

Natasha grabbed Serenity’s hand, she and Paul led her away from the two men, leaving Bucky staring after them in disbelief. Step one of his plan had failed, he hadn’t even considered the possibility of Serenity rejecting him twice in two days. The woman he was faced with now, was vastly different from the woman he’d left behind. Her heart was cold, closed off, locked away from him. She was just beyond his reach, and he’d failed to grab hold of her. He’d just have to try harder.

Bucky turned to face Steve, his eyebrows knitted together as he analyzed his next request carefully. “The annual local fight is coming up in six months. I want to be ready for it. Let me train here after the gym is closed down for the day.”

Steve scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know, Buck. She made it explicitly clear that she doesn’t want you here.”

“She doesn’t have to know. You owe me this one thing, Steve.”

“Bucky, are you really blackmailing me over that conversation from last night?”

“Listen, Rogers, the solution is simple. After you and Serenity close down the gym for the day, you’ll let me back in to train on my own. I still have my keys, I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

“What makes you think she won’t find out if I do this for you?” Steve asked, curious to hear Bucky’s answer.

“I realized she doesn’t know your little secret. If you want it to remain that way, you’ll help me get ready for the local comp in six months. And if you don’t, I’ll tell her about Natasha myself.” Bucky stood, challenging his best friend to disagree. If being away had taught him anything in the last six years, it was that sometimes you had to fight dirty in order to achieve your goals. And to Bucky, Serenity was worth fighting dirty for. He saw the moment Steve realized he wasn’t making empty threats, and he smirked.

Steve’s jaw tensed. “I’ll do it. Just keep your mouth shut about me and Nat.”

——————————

A/N: I AM NOT SORRY.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. Remember to like, comment, and reblog if you loved it!

This is just the beginning, my friends.

-Auri <3

#bucky barnes fanfiction #going for gold #mma fighter!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic

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