#and it just feels like my body is staging a revolt against me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barzzal · 4 years ago

Text

between halls and thin walls → part three

summary: friends who fool around almost never work. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: fingering, fem and male receiving, mentions of pornography, sexual/suggestive themes, swearing, mat not knowing how to eat pussy, anddd too much sneaking around i’m hating myself for it

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three (8.6k), part four, part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: god is fair, sexy nasty, cinderella, planet god damn by mac miller

note: so sorry for the wait! have been a lot busier with uni :(( took weeks for me to finally sit down and write on my laptop to finish this aaaah anw here’s the update and i’m making it up to yall i hope you like!! happy reading babies <3

“Wait–” you break off, your fingers already weaving through his ever so gorgeous hair.

“What about Tito?” you fret.

You’re sure there was at least a hint of annoyance in his voice. Possibly irked that you had to ruin the one thing you both have been craving for for weeks.

“He won’t come home, trust me.” he says, lips already making its way back to touch your skin, nestling on your jawline, before trailing down to the intricate line of your neck, his movement hasty with a sense of hunger and urgency.

You didn’t mind. It felt good.

“Okay– no. Let’s stop this for a sec.” you try to snap out of it, pushing him away but just enough to keep him within arms reach. You rest both your hands on his broad shoulders whilst he rests his on your hips, just a few inches above your ass.

“We need to clear things out.” you start, eyes lingering on his irises, making you wet your lips at the sight.

“Didn’t we clear things out thrice now?” he quirks his brows, “And it kinda looks like we’re about to clear the same thing for the fourth time. What’s not clear about it?” Mat kids, half laughing as he lets you punch him playfully, “I’m not kidding, Barz.” you say, clearing your throat.

You didn’t mind for any of his double entendres but you did mind the fact that whatever’s about to happen tonight is bound to tip the scales of whatever it was that you were having with Mathew.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” he agrees. He walks towards the bed just as he began pulling his shirt off over his head to undress himself.

“Mathew!” you call him yet again, earning yourself a defensive shrug from him, “What? We’re gonna have sex either way might as well talk while we’re at it, right?” he counters, “Now, take your clothes off.”

Regardless of being annoyed at him for acting like an unreasonable child engaging in too much banter, you let out a laugh in disbelief, letting Mathew’s quirks have a hold on you. You roll your eyes out but do as you’re told and begin taking your shirt off which you then throw his way.

Mat whistles, a smirk sprouting off his lips, evidently in awe of how good you looked half-naked, “Wow.”

You cock up a smirk and shrug to play it off, “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.” you turn the compliment back which Mat only reciprocated with a taunting wink, brushing his shoulder briefly like an idiot.

“So. How do you want to play this?” you inquire.

“Naked, I hope.” he laughs, putting his sweats off revealing nothing but his boxers on. When he sees you roll your eyes, yet again, almost wondering if you’re going to bawl it out at any moment, Mat clears his throat and decides to dial down his terrible jokes.

“Fine. Let’s just say we’re doing ‘Friends with Benefits’ or, you know, what was that movie again?” he thinks for a second, snapping his fingers as he gathers a few romantic comedies he’s seen in the past. “No Strings Attached! The one with Natalie Portman! Yeah, that’s the one.” he marvels.

You look at him quite stunned that he’s familiar with these movies. “Wow. I thought you guys are just into full-on pornography and sports.”

“Hey!” he retorts, defending himself at once, “I’m speaking your language, dumbass. And for the record, I don’t like porn.” with that, you let out a loud laugh accompanied by a scoff, obviously not buying any of his lies. To which Mat jumps to defend himself the moment he sees the mocking look in your eyes, “What?? Not all men likes pornography, y/n.”

With both hands on your hips, you arch your brow at him and reply with a revolting grin, “First rule, no lying. I wasn’t born last night, Barzal.”

“Fine. I don’t like it like it.” he points out just as he averts your gaze, “But I’m certainly not against it. Those girls need to make a living, y/n.”

You meet his cocky remark with an exasperated sigh, “You’re such a pig.”

Mat answers with a shrug, letting your judgmental glares slide, “Call me names, I don’t care. You’re the one sleeping with a pig.”

And as if it had been expected all along, it didn’t take long for the both of you to end up in bed, wearing nothing but your skin, breathing in each other’s breaths, gasping as you let yourselves let loose with the company of a friend.

Mathew marvels at the sight of your heaving chest whilst his head was wedged in between your thighs, going on endless circles as he nibbles on your clit, perhaps trying a little too hard to make you meet your high.

What the fuck is he doing? is probably what every girl has asked herself when a man goes down on her thinking that he already got her all figured out.

Mathew knew what he was doing to be fair. He was there. For the most part. His fingers were nothing but magic but his mouth was a different subject. It was almost as if he was overachieving something. Kind of like the way he does during plays that would eventually cause them the game.

He’s in his head a little too much. That’s for sure. You didn’t want to ruin the moment so you decide to let it slide and put on your best suit. After all, it wasn’t the first time you had to fake your sexual orgasms. You weren’t entirely surprised though. Half of the men you’ve gone out with didn’t know shit about eating pussy. And Mat was pretty, at least he had that going on for him.

You bit your lower lip, trying to suppress the fact that you weren’t enjoying it. Mat was doing all sorts of things at once and it was all too much. Too much that you’d rather finish the job yourself than have someone licking your region like a fucking chew toy.

As much as you didn’t want to, you arch your back and let out a fake moan, curling your fingers on the sheets, the other tugging on Mat’s hair, staging the perfect scene Mat had wanted to see. He emerges from below and hovers on top of you with a proud grin on his face, oblivious of the dramatic pin you’ve successfully put into the night.

“And that, my friend,” he smirks, “is how you do it.”

Oh, believe me, it is not. You try to smile, “Hm. It’s that easy, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Think of it like a scrimmage.” he says as he starts to pepper kisses on your cheeks, his hands roaming around your body, compensating for what his mouth missed. “Or a shootout even.”

“I’m thinking no.” you deny, “Rule two, if talking hockey is your definition of dirty talk, you better zip it.” you stress out as you prop your leg around his waist in order for you to move on top of him.

Mat chuckles, trying to mask how much he longed to feel your mouth envelop his member. There hasn’t been a day where the image of you sucking his length didn’t enter his mind. It didn’t matter where he was. Whether he was in the shower, on the road with the boys, leaving for practice, or just tying his skates. He wanted nothing more than to look down at you as your little tears revolt to escape your doe eyes whilst you take him whole. Indeed, it was a sight for Mathew. And god knows how much he’s willing to give just to see it again.

You spit just as you kiss the tip of his shaft, stroking his length in a circular motion to spread your saliva on his cock before you proceed on pressing gentle kisses on his head; edging him for not letting you cum— unconsciously wanting him to know how to give a goddamn head the right way.

You patiently went your way as you began taking him in your mouth, inching down his thickness without breaking off of his dark and lustful gaze. Mat rests his head on the headboard, his breathing growing heavy and hoarse whilst he watches his dick be consumed by your hollowing cheeks, sucking the life out of him.

“Fuck. You’re so good.” he groans, pulling your hair with his free hand before guiding you further down his dick. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Flattered by his praises which you find undeniably hot, you pop him out of your mouth, letting all your spit drip onto it just before gathering it back once you start licking him underneath, sucking on his balls as your tongue goes on little circles, playing with it for a while before letting it go with a loud pop.

You watch Mat lose his mind with every movement you make but you know full well not to let him come in your mouth. It’s bad enough you didn’t get to come the first time he tried tonight. You won’t have yourself seeing the light of day high and dry while Mat gets to doze off the second you leave for his door.

You climb on top of him. Mat was rather quick to let his hands find its way to your hips, your pussy sitting on his flat stomach just enough to let him know how wet you still are for him in spite of not getting the fun you’ve wanted for your own.

“Where’s the rubber?” you ask him. Mat props himself quickly and carefully shifts towards his bedside table. You feel him on your back, poking on your skin whilst he pulls out one of the drawers. He fishes a wrapped condom straight from the box which he then swiftly opens with his teeth, motioning for you to get off of him first so he could get settled.

“Ready?” you ask him, “Ready.”

Mat rolls over and secures you in between his hands resting on both sides of your head. You feel his head poking against your abdomen as he finally takes his shaft to rub it in between you far too moistened slit just before he takes the plunge and dive deep.

“So,” you struggle to find the words as Mat finally starts making up for his loss a while ago. Your fingers envelop his nape, digging on his skin as you let himself adjust inside you. Stretching you whole with barely half his dick pushing through you. Thank god this was one of the many things Mat definitely did not suck at.

“Wanna walk me through this whole set up?”

Mathew groans, his chest hard against yours as he pumps inside you at a steady pace; one that was pleasurably slow. One that had you closing your eyes whilst you let your head sink into his pillows.

Despite working his way on tending to too many things at once, with his thumb brushing on one of your nipples, his lips attached to your earlobes, and his free hand secured on your hips, Mat whispers in your ear. “It’s like what we’ve agreed on that night.” he breathes heavily, his mind trailing off to that night momentarily before he speaks again, “We’re friends.”

“And?” you whine as you feel his wet lips brush briefly on your sensitive skin just enough to send chills up your spine, making you crave more of his touch; a grave wanting kindling inside your gut like fire.

“Friends…” he repeats in between kisses, “who likes to do this.” his lips travel from the corner of your lips and onto your jaw line. He then lets himself pull away just so he could look you in the eye, all whilst maintaining both your bodies moving in sync as you follow his lead.

“You do know that things like this almost never work, right?” you honestly say, telling him the very same thing you’ve told him when you first crossed the line and threw everything you’ve progressively built with him throughout the years of being Anthony’s best friends.

“Almost is good enough for me.” he counters with a husky voice, feeling constrained by how tight your pussy was around him. It had been a while and Mat was going insane just by thinking about how your cunt was made exactly for him. It was absurd for him to think such a thing but he would not deny the sensation coursing through his veins as if sex had become something entirely new to him. That you have miraculously been able to paint something far better than what he’s already gotten used to for who knows how long; luring him into the worst kind of addiction he could get himself into. And although Mathew wanted to hate himself that it had to happen with you, he knew he couldn’t.

“Let’s not have secrets,” he suggests. You raise both your brows, quite intrigued that he requested such a thing. “We’re not that close to have secrets, Barzal.” you remind him.

“Exactly!” he cheers, voice briefly rising as you let out a moan escape when he pushes himself deeper through your heated walls. Mat hurriedly locks your mouth with his, swallowing all your moans before continuing with his case.

“That’s the point. We’re not that close so we shouldn’t be keeping anything from each other. You tell me everything. Good or bad, and I’ll do the same.”

You shoot him a questioning look, pushing him briefly so you could position yourself on top of him. Your action was very much well-received on Mathew’s end and it’s amazing how he’s able to lift you close to his torso before the two of you roll over the switch-game without letting his dick slip out of you.

“Are you saying we’re going to be in a relationship? You’re way over your head, mister.” you laugh because it was exactly what it sounded. At least for you.

Mat rolls his eyes as he takes a pillow to support his back. His hands then roamed from your thighs before settling to cage your hips to lock it with his, “First of all, bold of you to assume that’s ever gonna happen.”

You scoff.

“Second, it’s more of a mutual agreement and definitely less than a relationship.” he points out to reiterate that having said ‘relationship’ with you was the last thing he wanted.

Your hands take rest atop his chest as you start working on rocking your hips at a gentle pace; the kind that had Mathew at a loss for words for a moment, his body taking over his mind as your physique towers all over him. Mathew meets you halfway while you do most of the work. He angles himself forward so as to reach for your tits, his mouth latching on one of your buds, thirsty like a newborn child. Your fingers find their way to his tousled hair, its disheveled state unbelievably making him much more difficult to resist.

The two of you worked each of your own highs whilst you rock each other’s bodies. Exchanging moans and groans thrown carelessly throughout the room. You were all over Mathew as much as he was with you. His strong and capable hands that moved so well on your body, made you crave for more. Mathew took control of the pace now, his arms embracing your waist closer to his body that no amount of spatial space could ever be perceived by either of you.

“Come for me.” Mat orders, voice almost inaudible as he was chasing his own, the moment he feels you throb rapidly around him, fluttering like butterflies while he watches you shut your eyes. Just like that, you finally reach the ecstasy you’ve been longing for the whole night; one that was specifically shut down by Mathew’s stale mouth.

You let Mat take over. He orders you to turn your back against him before he pulls you rapidly close to his front, your ass perked up close to his skin. His mouth leaves fashioned bites on your neck whilst he held you firmly by your forearm. Mathew begins pounding on you hard from behind, his sharp and abrupt movements painting bruises you know will show up the next morning.

You were all over the place and you didn’t care. It was messy, it was loud. The sound Mathew’s lips leave on your skin, his balls banging against your pussy, your moans— his groans. Everything was off the record book but neither of you wanted to stop.

With one final thrust, you feel his body grow all the more rigid behind you. Mathew’s hand was wrapped firmly around your neck whilst he caught his breath.

“You good back there, bud?” you ask, chuckling.

“Oh, shut up.” he says, finally letting you go.

The two of you gather yourselves. Mat discards the wrapper and offers to clean up after the mess he’d made but you profusely decline.

“I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t have to take care of me.” you tell him with a strong suit as you begin picking up your clothes.

“I know–” he cuts himself off when he sees you getting into your pants, “Where are you going?” he questions.

“Rule four. No staying the night.” you point out, grabbing your sweatshirt from the floor. “You come to my room, I come to yours, but that’s that. No more, no less.” you add.

Mathew looks stunned. Obviously on board with how well you were taking things so easily.

“Alright then, buddy.” he strides his way towards his bed still naked.

“We don’t speak about any of this in the morning.” you warn him for you know how the three of you tend to leave the house almost at the same exact time as each other. Meaning that this new setup of yours is bound to be much difficult if you let anything slip off your hold.

Mathew runs his fingers on his lips as if to zip it before he jumps on the bed, already reaching for his phone that was on his bedside table so he could check the gram.

You were just on your way out of his door when he called you one last time, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, “What’s rule five?”

“No funny business.” you say at once. You look at him one last time with your own teasing smile to mock him from across the room, “No strings attached.” you say, repeating how he used the movie as a reference from a while back before finally disappearing into the hall.

𖥸

Who would have known agreeing to such a set up would mean getting laid almost every chance you get?

It had been a few weeks since you and Mat committed to your foolish escapades after sorting out your mutual agreement. Said escapades involve a handful of times of you driving over to the Coli to pick him up right after his morning skate and get off the back of your car. It wasn’t that big of a deal being that Mathew usually rides with Anthony for work. Of course, there were also times where you would call him into your office just to grab a quick lunch. On those times you always make sure to leave out at least half an hour or so before going home to avoid unnecessary suspicions from Tito and you and Mathew have been mindful so as not to let him notice anything.

Mat had mentioned how he was already looking for a place nearer to yours and Tito’s but farther than his previous complex. The place was half an hour less than the travelling time Tito had to drive to from when they used to ride together going home. And now that you were officially friends and more than just acquaintances, Mat has asked you to come and see the place with him.

You took a lift on your way to Mat’s and let’s just say, that for a man with a whopping 21M at his disposal, the building was grand but it wasn’t as boujee as you’ve expected. It might’ve been your lack of a better judgement but Mathew just didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who would be smart when it comes to his finances. You’ve always thought that he was the kind to splurge on things whenever he gets the chance. Although much to your surprise, just like everyone else, he was a simple man.

You knock on the door a few times before you hear the familiar footsteps nearing the front door.

“Hey,” a signature grin welcomes you. He opens the door wider and invites you in. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, I had better things to do, Barzal.” you retort as you start to scan the vicinity.

The flat had floor to ceiling windows so the surroundings were well lit. You were making your way further when you noticed a few sealed boxes laying around what you assumed to be where the living space was going to be.

“I thought you were just looking?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion whilst you look back at him, pointing on the storages with your thumb.

As expected, the entire apartment was painted in white and beige tones. Pretty much like every Islander’s home you’ve been to. It was quite spacious just like his former home. That being said, spacious doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good’ sometimes. For one thing, it didn’t feel home to you. It felt like a cage with huge-ass windows overlooking a scenery you can’t even lay your hand on. You keep your thoughts to yourself, not wanting to ruin Mat’s excitement for the place. Sure enough, it’ll all come together once he gets settled.

Mat walks towards you, taking a deep breath. “I was. But the offer was really good so I figured signing the lease right away would be a smart move.” he explains. When he sees your gaze trail off onto the boxes again, Mat feels the need to reassure you that he wasn’t going to move out of your apartment just yet.

“I won’t be moving in for another month or two, just to be clear. Those are just some stuff I didn’t want hogging all the space at home.” he says candidly pertaining to your apartment as his home, not even realizing the weight he had tied to his words.

You were quick to dismiss your own unsolicited thoughts and carried on with the semi-tour Mat was starting to indulge you with. “Are you sure you’re gonna live here alone? Feels like a whole penthouse up here.” you honestly say, half-laughing as you make way towards the hallway.

“Yeah. I mean, it would be great for when the team comes over.” he says as he follows your tracks. “The penthouse is actually two floors above mine though.”

You roll your eyes at his subtle remark, “Why’d you made me come here anyway?”

And as if Mat had remembered the task he originally had in mind, he walks right past you to lead the way. “I want your opinion on something.”

“Really? What is it?” you inquire, following after his footsteps. Mat stops and opens a door leading to what you assume is the master bedroom. Situated at the center of the fairly spacious room is a california king sized bed, waiting patiently to be slept on.

Mat looks back at you and says, “D’you think it’s any good?”

He lets you roam around the place, setting yourself down on the foot of the bed. “Bed’s nice actually.” you tell him and you stand at once to look more of his semi-furnished room.

“How nice is it exactly? Like, nice to sleep on or nice to not get any at all?” you turn around, rolling your eyes at his sleazy innuendos. “You’re such a tool. You really made me come all the way here to get me tied down this bed?”

Mat only answers with a shrug. An adorable one to be exact. “What? That’s what friends are for, y/n. Now, come on. Test the bed with me.” he says, taking your hand at once before you could even answer. He lets himself fall onto the bed as he caught your weight in his arms, your bodies dangerously close to each other, feeling your own body temperatures.

His hands roam around your clothed physique just as he starts to cage you in a well heated kiss. Your lips dance with his, letting his tongue slip whenever he gets the chance, nibbling on your tongue as the two of you enjoy exchanging your own take on what house warming gifts are supposed to look like.

Mat’s hands were already gripping on the curve of your ass when the sound of your and Mathew’s kisses were stopped by a sudden knock on the door. Your hand immediately trailed down from Mat’s nape to his chest, “Are you expecting someone?”, he thinks for a second, both of his hands still secured on your bottoms.

“Oh!” he gasps upon remembering who could it possibly be, “It’s probably my realtor. He’s picking some stuff up, I’ll go get it.” he says, propping himself up as a cue for you to get off of him.

“Would you mind getting the door? I’ll be quick, I promise.” he adds, looking back at you as he steps out of the room, heading for the other side of the hallway. He speaks in an apologetic tone, feeling sorry for having to cut off the purpose of your visit. So, in an effort to let him know he had nothing to worry about, you shake your head as you finish straightening the wrinkles off your work clothes.

“No, it’s all right, I got it.” you give him a reassuring smile.

You gladly make your way towards the door, not even bothering to look through the hole. You hand enveloped the cold metal, swinging the door wide open, leaving yourself not a chance at escape as soon as your eyes landed on those all too familiar big blue ones you’ve known all your life.

“Y/N?” a puzzled expression was all you could make out of Tito’s face. You tried stumbling for a few words in the hopes of calming your already racing heart impending to escape your chest at any moment.

“What are you doing here?” he asks in utmost bewilderment. You were still in shock being that you’ve never lied to Anthony before since he’s the only one you’ve told everything to most of the time. Having him here, clearly unexpected, has evidently thrown you off guard.

You maintain your gaze at him and throw the same question back, “What are you doing here?”

“Mat and I are going out with Mikey and Noah for drinks.” he answers quickly so he could throw the ball your way, “You didn’t answer me. I didn’t know you knew about this place already?” he furrows his brows, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of his best mate.

“Uhm. Mat called me to discuss a few things. Showed me some stuff too.” you nervously say, tip toeing on the fact that what you just told him wasn’t entirely a lie. You open the door all the way and finally let him in. Your knuckles were wrapped hard around the cold metal knob, wishing that Mat would come out to the room to save your ass.

You must have gotten on a wrong foot and told Tito a lie that’s bound to invite more suspecting queries.

“Really? What stuff?”

His bed, where he was just about to defile me on.

Thankfully, Mat walks out the open room holding an envelope in his hand, immediately halting his tracks the moment he sees Anthony looking straight at him.

“Beau! What–” he tries to remain composed, but you know Tito would definitely pick up on something just by how pale Mat’s face was. Dead and cold like someone who had seen a ghost for the first time.

“What— am I doing here?” Anthony finishes Mat’s question just as he turns his gaze back at you. You try to avert his gaze but you figured it’s best not to. You need to go before him strong and level headed. The last thing you and Mathew want is to get caught in the act by no other than the last person you want to know about it.

“What?” He laughs, brushing Tito’s biting tone off. “I know why you’re here, silly.” he tries to search in his head momentarily, but when he takes long enough, Tito answers it for him. “Drinks, man. You texted me for drinks.”

“Oh– yeah, no. I knew that.” he breathes out an uneasy laugh.

“Why is Y/N here? I didn’t know you guys hung out? The last time I checked you can’t even last in the same room without slashing each other’s throats.” he smirks.

Surprisingly, Mat was fast enough to come up with quite a clever way to sway Anthony from his inkling suspicions. One that made sense, but not necessarily helpful in your end. “Psh. That?” Mat throws a hand towards your way, dismissing your presence in his unfurnished apartment, “She told me she needs money so I hired her to move my boxes for me. She even insisted on listing all the stuff I’ll eventually get rid of online.”

Anthony looks back at you, surprised that you didn’t go and asked for his help instead. “How much do you pay her?” he asks Mat again.

“Uh, five… ten bucks?” Mat scratches the back of his head and your face immediately falls to your palm.

“Ten?” he questions, glancing at you. “Don’t you have your own office and a secretary? What do you need the ten bucks for?” Tito’s tone was now getting more curious and Mat, just like he always was, was dumb enough to forget you were earning more than just ten bucks for a living.

“Did I say ten? I meant fifty— per hour.” Mathew takes it back instantly, following it with a lie that involves you asking him for a job because your publisher ordered you to for a book she wants you to sign for. Not that any of it made sense but at least Anthony seemed to have bought it. When you agree, Mat immediately takes Anthony in his arms as he guides him out to the door, snatching his coat resting atop his kitchen island.

Mat looks over to you once more, both of their bodies already at the other side of the door, “You did great today, y/n. I’ll write you a check in the morning!” he says pushing Tito, who was still asking questions, farther from the door.

Before Mathew disappears, he looks at you with his big doe eyes already thanking you for going along such a stupid make-up excuse. You roll your eyes as you watch him mouth a quiet ‘Sorry’, flashing his ever so gorgeous smile before him and Tito finally went on their way.

𖥸

You’ve gotten used to how lazy Mat and Tito are during their off days. They would rather stay at home and play endless video games with each other than spending it with something less dumb than their stupid Xbox. Luckily, today wasn’t like those days because you happened to have your free day as well. You all agreed to spend the evening binging the entire Fast and Furious franchise.

The three of you were cramped on the cloud couch. To put it in simply, you were sandwiched between two huge hockey players. Your back was leaning on Tito’s strong shoulders as it was laying just above your head. The huge bowl of half-eaten popcorn safely sits in between your middle, hugged by your stomach and your curled up legs, your sock-covered feet brushing against Mat’s thighs innocently. Almost as innocent as how you ignore Mathew’s hands creeping underneath the thick wool covering your body.

Alarmed at how dangerously close Mat’s creeping palm was to your inner thigh, you shot him a warning look which was, as expected, answered by a defensive, and seemingly harmless “What?” look on his face. You roll your eyes, cautious as to not make any sharp movements for the benefit of Tito. You shift your position, angling your body away from Mathew and towards the direction of the screen instead. You let your body sink in your best friend’s shoulder, clueless that your movement had just given Mat the exact opening he was hoping for.

With wide eyes, you give Mat’s thigh a firm nudge as carefully as you can, “Are you being serious right now?” you mouthed. Mat stifles a smirk and moves his hand away, keeping it to himself. You try turning your attention back to the television but somehow, Mathew’s actions left your mind wondering what he was about to do next.

Gently, you stir back to your original position, propping yourself from leaning against Tito.

“Hey, could you please fill this up for me?” you ask him nicely. Thankfully, Anthony reaches out for the bowl without letting his eyes break off the screen. “Thanks, Beau.” you add the moment he starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Why’d you stop?” you cautiously whisper, asking Mathew who was surprised by your sudden inquiry.

“I thought you didn’t want me to.” he answers on the same level of your tone, putting his hand back on your shin. The warmth of his palm sends a familiar sensation down your region.

Looking back at the archway leading to the kitchen, you quietly tell him, “I asked if you’re being serious. I never said no.”

Your candidness was met by Mathew’s widening smile, incapable of stopping himself from biting his lower lip, finding your bluntness quite adorable. “Be quiet.” he mutters as he clears his throat, eyeing Tito who was just returning from the kitchen holding a bowl full of popcorn fresh from the microwave.

“Thank you.” you say the moment Anthony hands you the bowl. You scootch over, making you a lot closer to Mat. Tito places his arm back over the couch, allowing extra space for you. Once you got yourself in a position comfortable enough to last for the remaining half of the movie, your mind flies away, briefly forgetting the exchange you and Mathew just had.

It was not even a full minute when you feel Mat’s very much capable hand start creeping underneath the thick cloth again. You swallow a giant lump in your throat, your senses already heightened just by the mere contact of his rough and calloused hand on your skin.

You were wearing a pair of sweat shorts, the kind that were loose enough to let Mat maneuver his way deeper down your thighs so effortlessly. You steal quick glances towards his way but to no avail, Mat’s eyes were nowhere else other than the screen. His fingers, however, told quite a different story.

You did the exact thing as him and put your sole focus on the movie. The sound of Anthony’s breathing was a good reminder to not let anything slip off of you unconsciously, especially now that Mat’s long fingers were inching its way to the thin fabric covered by your night wear.

Mat begins to brush his middle finger over your delicates. You bury a part of your face underneath the thick cloth whilst your eyes are still pinned on the screen. The scene where Dom goes rogue plays and the light of the television flashes before your eyes.

You tried to listen to Tito when he tells you about that time you went to the movies to see the film, trying to space out from Mat’s finger drawing idle circles on the thin fabric of your underwear, easing you just right, evidently taking his time fondling in between your clothed lips.

When he feels your moistness on his skin, Mat sophisticatedly slides a finger in your underwear just so he could feel the wetness of your folds.

You on the one hand, keep your face hidden under the only light flashing from the screen. You manage to choke down your whimpers and instead lean your force towards the bowl you’re holding. However, you fail to stifle a gasp when Mat slides a finger inside you, making you stir just enough to stop your sudden movement from being unnoticed by Beauvillier.

“You okay?” he asks, a concerned tone embracing his voice. You meekly nod, saying that you were just too caught up watching the film. He then takes his attention back, pretty much like the grinning Mathew sitting on the other end.

You shoot a knowing look when you meet Mat’s irises. He casually plays it off just as he remains busy on his own, his fingers curling inside you with ease, pumping in and out at a slow pace, not wanting to let any of his movements show on the surface of your blanket. As Mat continues pleasuring you, you gather all your strength to stay still and calm your breathing. To no prevail however, knowing how good of a fucker Mat was, you knew you won’t be able to hold it in longer than you’re supposed to.

Your heart almost beats right out your chest when Anthony’s phone starts to ring. You prop yourself up, causing Mat’s finger to do just the same inside you. You shut your eyes at the feeling and chose to clear your throat.

Anthony takes his phone and looks at the two of you, “I need to take this. Just watch the movie without me.” he says, already standing to head for the balcony at the other side of the room. You sigh in relief, letting yourself fall back on where Tito used to sit, allowing more space for Mat’s miraculous fingers.

He adjusts his seat, cautiously looking back after Tito’s track just to make sure he was no longer near the two of you. He looks at you, attention faltering from the screen as he slides another finger inside you.

“Don’t make a sound. Stay still.” he orders, pumping his way in just as he glides his thumb to massage your clit. Your hand takes rest on your forehead, your eyes closed at every pleasure thrown your way, almost forgetting that you were holding a bowl full of finger food on your stomach. Mat must’ve caught on and ensured no unnecessary noises would make Anthony come back just yet when he takes the bowl off your middle to set it down the coffee table.

“Fucking hell, Mat.” you can’t help but moan, arching your back once you feel your arousal come close.

“Do it, y/n. Come on my fingers.” he growls in a low register, moving his way into hitting the spot at just the right speed, not wanting to prolong your misery any longer.

You reach for his hands, your grip on him tighter than ever. Mat feels you come around his finger, eyes pinned on your spent up state harder than it was when the two of you were still watching the movie. When he feels your pulsating core starts to die down, he slips his fingers out your slit, eventually taking it in his mouth to suck your far too addicting juices.

You fix yourself up, eyeing Tito who had just ended his call. Mat looks at you, quite proud of himself.

“At least your fingers make up for what that pretty mouth can’t.” you say with a taunting smirk before standing up to get yourself a glass of water just as Beau finally comes back from the balcony, leaving Mathew with his mouth slightly agape and without a doubt dumbfounded.

𖥸

It was an hour before midnight but the house was already asleep. The boys had to call the night early because of the morning practice they have first thing tomorrow. But you still had some energy left so you figured drawing yourself a calming bath would help soothe your mind and maybe even up the chances of having yourself a well-deserved good night’s sleep.

Now that you’re feeling better and getting ready for bed, your bathrobe hugs your body whilst you finish off your night routine so you could finally dip into the comfort of your sheets, the cream white duvet calling onto you as you picture yourself dozing off for the night.

The strides you were just making out of your bathroom were put into a stop by how your door sprung open wildly, revealing one troubled Mathew Barzal entering your room almost a little too carelessly.

“What the hell did you mean my mouth can’t?!” he questions at once, hissing. When he realizes the sudden rise in his voice, (which has also startled you in the process), Mathew immediately looks back just to make sure that Anthony was in his room, or far enough to hear. He shuts the door behind him before he finally turns his attention back to you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask him, putting both your hands on your hips, your body covered by nothing else but a bathrobe.

“The thing you said back in the living room, my mouth can’t what? What the hell did that suppose to mean??” Mat roars like a child’s impending tantrum was about to come. You avert his gaze for a moment, scratching your temple. You couldn’t believe something you’ve said stuck to him. Not that he’d ever do anything about it. Something you most absolutely doubt.

“If you had to come here to ask me that, I’m pretty sure you already got what I meant.” you say, walking towards your bed as you get the bottle of your vanilla scented lotion from your bedside table.

“But all those times it looked like you were having a good time?” he speaks, voice in a lower register as if he was talking to himself all along.

“I was faking it Mat.” you finish off applying lotion on your legs, spreading the remaining on your hands. You met Mat’s gaze and saw that you might’ve tipped him off a little for there was a faint hurt in his eyes.

“You were faking it?” he repeats in a quiet voice.

“You’re still good in bed, buddy.” you assure him with a smile yet to no prevail, Mat didn’t seem to buy any of what you said thinking that it was just a decent effort to save his ego already plummeting to the pit of his own embarrassment.

“How many times have you been faking it?” he asks the moment he gathers his thoughts, his mind circling on the fact that all throughout this time he wasn’t able to get you off.

“You’ve only had the chance to do it twice. So… just those two.” you answer honestly.

Mathew, who was utterly clueless to what was going on didn’t know how to react to such bluntness. He tried to mutter a few words but he was speechless. All this time, he thought he was good at something he obviously wasn’t. And being told something as morally immobilizing as that shocks him to his very core. The horror of all the girls he’s slept with, walking out of his apartment unsatisfied befalls on him.

“You should’ve told me, otherwise this whole setup won’t make any sense, y/n. I thought you said we shouldn’t lie?” he questions, evidently disappointed in himself.

“Look,” you stop, tapping on the side of the bed to have a proper conversation. When Mat finally sits beside you, you continue, “I didn’t think it mattered. And no offense but we both know you’re such a sore loser. I didn’t know how you would react. And I definitely didn’t want to deal with any of the messy stuff just to feed your ego.”

“For your information, I’m a thick faced motherfucker, you should’ve known that by now. This thing between us is going to be complicated if you’ll tiptoe your way around it just to spare my feelings.” he says with certainty, a definitive tone accentuated by how intense he was now looking at your face, still glowing from your night care routine.

“Is there something I don’t do?” he adds, “Or is it something that I should stop doing?”

“Fine. If you really wanna talk about this I’ll tell you.” you angle yourself facing him and Mat does the same, “You’re not entirely bad. You do know your way around. It’s just that— you’re trying a little too hard and it gets really overwhelming at times. And mind you, it isn’t even the good kind,”

“Show me.” Mat cuts you before you could grab the chance to continue, stopping you mid sentence, causing you to stumble on a few words. “What?”

“I won’t leave this room knowing I can’t get you off.” he says, and just like that, Mathew meets your lips with an all too hungry mouth eager to make you come for him even if it takes having to have endless runs at it.

Your body achingly responds to every bit of Mathew’s kisses whilst you let him run the course. His touches are tantalizing, urging you to come near him. He takes you in his arms, one fondling on your robe to pull it free from your body, the other tugging lightly on your hair just as he begins to move his weight on top of you.

“Tell me what you want.” Mat breathes the moment he breaks away, his mouth now travelling down the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, leaving faint bites, nibbling on it just before he makes his way down to fondle on your breasts.

You answer him with a muffled moan when he takes your lips yet again. Mat’s irises unwaveringly gazes on your buck nakedness, your scent just enough to take over his senses. You feel the roughness of his hands graze all over your skin. Pinching on one of your buds just before it travels down your thighs, staying out of the place where he knew you needed him most. You feel him in every inch of your skin but there.

But just as you want him more, Mat purposely leaves it out of his hold. You begin to realize how much you must’ve underestimated what this forward could do. His hands were everything and you couldn’t even put into words how much you need him down there.

“Mat…” you call out his name, groaning. His featherlight touches flowed smoothly on your inner thigh, grazing just your lips but even that was more than enough to tell him how wet you already were for him.

He begins to leave wet kisses in between your breasts down to your stomach. Kisses that eventually made their way to your thighs as he inched his way to your core, the sloppy noise he makes sounds so beautiful in your ears. You look down on Mat trying to compose yourself under all the breathing he’s subtly passing your middle.

“What do you want?” Mat asks again, this time his doe eyes meeting yours, clouded with lust and desire. You buck your hips upward in an effort to meet his mouth but Mat was rather quick to put you back in your place when he cages your hips with his capable arm.

“Use your words, y/n.” he orders, one that has effortlessly made you oblige. You wanted to feel him more than anything else and if that meant submitting to Mat this time, you know full well you’d gladly break before him.

“I want you to get me off.” you surrender, signaling him to take the plunge. Once he did, you let out a whimper at his touch, almost forgetting that Mathew was probably doing this so he could eat out his future girl right.

“Don’t rush.” you breathed as you guided him, “Stay slow and steady.”

Mathew’s eyes never left yours even when you had to look away when you let your head fall back on your sheets with how well he was moving with everything you say.

“Mathew…” you moan, reaching for his hair to take him closer to your throbbing core, “Go on circles, please.”

Mat was obedient and followed your every command. Unlike the times he’s spent trying to pleasure you with his mouth, tonight was a time where he actually listened and gave you exactly what you wanted, exactly how you want it.

Mat didn’t have to do anything else for when he started to slip into your cunt and fuck you with his tongue, you going insane was more than enough to let him know that he was doing it right. He watched you fall before him, your chest heaving, your breathing rapid as if there wasn’t enough air for you to breathe. He entwines both his fingers atop your abdomen, the sound of you calling his name like a prayer doing all kinds of wonders on his end.

You meet his eyes yet again just to see that it never left. Mat looked at you darker than ever before and for once, you feel a firm tug in your stomach you just weren’t ready to acknowledge and care for. As he takes time with his final strokes, knowing that you were close, Mat pulls away, thinking about the one thing he knows will redeem himself.

“Turn around.” he orders with a grim voice. You were in dire need of an orgasm to even care about how he’s the one ordering you. You gladly oblige to his every whim and turned to your belly, your ass perked up so perfectly for him.

He lets your robe fall just above your back, revealing more of your skin for him to enjoy. He takes no second to waste and kneels before your already swollen pussy. Needy and very much heated for him.

Mat’s hands spread your cheeks before he takes you in his mouth once again, letting himself drown in your juices glinting under his all too heavy gaze.

“Oh, god.” you whine, feeling Mat’s grin behind you as you dig into your sheets while your legs begin to shake at your incoming orgasm. “Mat, please.” you call out in a whimper, pushing your ass back further his face.

Mat gladly takes the challenge but maintains at the pace you wanted. As he feels your pussy flutter in his mouth, he deepens it into yours to finally pour you with nothing else but ecstasy and ecstasy alone.

His face was filled with nothing but your juices once he pulled away, leaving you breathless and still caught up on meeting your high. He stands, a hand gripping on one of your cheeks whilst he admires the art that is: your all too spent pussy.

“Next time you lie, you won’t get to fake it at all.” he warns with a firm yet definitive voice masked as a taunting remark.

Mat looks at your still throbbing pussy, eyes lustful and dark. As much as he craved for the inkling fire resting in his loins, it was already past midnight and he had self-discipline stronger than anyone else’s. He couldn’t afford any more scolding from Anders the next morning.

So, even when he wanted nothing but to fuck you right then and there, he lets his hand send a message he certainly wants you to remember instead. One that has left a faint yet stinging mark on your skin. Your legs were practically still wobbling when he finally leaves for the door, this time fueled with the purpose of being the one leaving you dumbfounded in your own post-orgasm shame.

Perhaps, even wanting and more.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fic #mat barzal smut #nhl smut #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #hockey smut #letters to barzy #barzzal imagines

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may-day-voice · 3 years ago

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please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/zBq6DB8NS3I

• Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1063634894-villain-au-122532019-the-rook-keigo-hawks-takami

The Rook

Part of Villain AU Phase One | 122532019

Your heart fluttered in your chest, breathing slowly and silently in a cramped small space, tucking your legs close to your chest in an attempt to shrink into a ball.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," cooed the smooth voice, his boots slowly trekking through the commercial kitchen. You dared not peek from your hiding spot, eyeing the warped reflection of his body against the silver surfaces of the cabinetry. Not much has changed, except for those gnarled, tattered wings that draped along the floor behind him.

"Oh come on Pidge. This game is getting old," he purred, his wings fluttering violently against the tables, shuddering the cutlery with a brutish clang. Your shoulders hitched from the sound, clasping your hands around your mouth to keep your breath still. As long as you breathed quietly, he may not find you.

Your eyes peered towards the roof of the kitchen, visualizing yourself still in your hiding spot while the map of the kitchen laid before you in a shadowy reflection. There amongst the map, stood Hawks, his eyes still scanning the kitchen while you began to visualize all probabilities available to him and you. Many revealed failed escape attempts, a few highlighted failure staying where you were; with each probable outcome, the hope of escape was extremely slim.

His boots scuffed before you, still hiding in that tiny hole between the tables. He stopped where he stood, turning every once in a while to survey the empty commercial kitchen, twirling a bright rouge feather in his fingers. He stared at the tiny down, smirking at its colour and vibrancy.

"Smart of you to leave this behind Pidge. You've caught on real quick," he mused while the feather floated in his palm, still attached to its necklace. "But a promise is a promise, and I'm here to return it back to you."

You stared back at the ceiling, ignoring his legs to find that your chances were slipping away with each passing breath. Would he walk by? Or would he find you? You knew he knew better. It all came down to tactical strategy and advantage. He would play his Bishop, which left you with-

"Found you Pidge!"

You kicked into his face as hard as your legs could spring from your hiding spot, catching him off guard briefly before you leapt out and ran for the exit. Your Knight had to take the place of a pawn, leaving you some breathing space to escape. You slammed into the swinging double doors, running down the hall towards the lobby where you had three choices. Exit the building, find your way to the underground garage, or call for help from the reception. You had to keep yourself six steps ahead and find your pawns to halt his advance. The numbers ran through your head, the percentages of success depending on Hawks' recovery and his speed. Getting out would mean a great advantage to the Flying Hero, calling for help was an outlying choice dependent on who would receive your call and for how long. Out of all of your choices, the quickest to give you some time was the underground garage.

Your feet echoed in the dark and empty lobby, only lit by the moonlight through the large windows that revealed the illuminated street lights of the city. Your eyes darted between the elevator or the stairs. Which one would give you more time?

A slam of the doors echoed from behind, revealing Hawks soaring through the hall before he emerged into the lobby, floating above the expanse of the room with his eyes darting everywhere. His blind left eye was of no use, relying so much on his only functioning eye to spot the lights of the elevator illuminate, sending the box to the lobby floor. He floated towards the ground until a sliver of light caught his eye, catching the fire emergency door slowly and hauntingly close. A smirk crawled on his lips before his feet landed on the floor, fluttering his wings from the strain. He stared at the door, contemplating his own choices before he entered through it, taking the flight of stairs down.

The lobby fell silent again, except for the ding of the elevator's door opening absently on the floor. You slowly peeked your head from the reception desk, having hidden under it for the time Hawks had witnessed his available choices. He had an advantage on you in the long run if you had continued to run, exerting all your energy into escaping with the likelihood of Hawks catching up to you. Bluffing was your only option to give you some time.

With Hawks having taken the bait, you carefully collected the phone from the desk, taking the machine under with you. You didn't want to take any chances of Hawks realizing any movement from above now at this stage of the game.

Dialing a set of numbers, you were met with a familiar dial tone, shrinking yourself into a ball with the reception phone in your lap. Your breath was still again, inhaling slowly and exhaling quietly.

"If I show you, then I know you won't tell what I said," spoke a young voice on the line, the gruffness lining his irritation.

"Cause two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead," you answered in a low whisper, still with a quiet breath.

"Hey, where are you?" Asked the voice laced with worry and surprise despite that gruff undertone.

"The old Commission building," you whispered.

"This whole time?"

"Hawks is here too," you continued, eyeing the ceiling once more. "Look, I don't know how long I have left hiding here until he realizes my bluff. What's the status over there?"

"We're on standby. Things are out of control. We've lost our lead investigator for... Deku." The voice strained when it uttered the name, hearing the disdain and the hurt.

"I'm sorry Izumi," you spoke, eyeing your probable outcomes along the tall ceiling of the lobby, eyeing your chances of escape growing slimingly thin.

"Anyway, our insider is still on the case about Todoroki, and we've informed them to advise others out in the field," continued Kota.

"How is Eri?"

"Fine."

You still controlled your breathing, forcing your reaction to his abrupt reply down into the pit of your stomach. He had always been protective of Eri. Not at first, but when the world flipped on its head, it became his purpose. You smiled inwardly at the thought, lucky to find upcoming Heroes in the making in these darker times.

"We can get to you-"

"No," you interrupted. "This is Riot Territory. I don't want you to run in head first while Red Riot is roaming about."

"Then, what do you want us to do?"

Your eyes darted with every outcome that played out on the ceiling above, the shadowy reflection revealing all possibilities with varying levels of failure. In the end, your heart sank. You've reached the endgame phase with only two options left - both zugzwang.

"Hey, are you listening?" spoke Izumi, his voice anxious. "We can't let them have you!"

"I'm sorry Izumi," you whispered, halting the quiet breaths you forced yourself to breathe. "You need to look after Eri. She's going to have to make a big decision soon."

"No, no, no, don't you dare make that decision," he retorted. "It's not yours to make!"

"Make sure the Shimanos are present as well. Eri trusts Katsuma just as much she does with you," you suggested while you slowly stood to your feet from under the desk.

"Stop talking like we're going ahead with that decision. I hated the fact that dumbass even thought of the plan. We are not going ahead with that plan."

You smiled at his irate response, while you placed the phone on the reception desk, now out of hiding. The lobby was silent except for the echo of your voice filling the room, breathing freely from your practiced silent breaths earlier during the night.

"Izumi-"

"We need you back here! We've lost too much now, we can't lose anymore!" His voice echoed through the earpiece, adding an echo in the lobby while you smiled at his reply.

"Then win," you replied calmly. "Win the fight where we couldn't."

You immediately ended the call, slamming the phone into the desk before the rush of air slammed through the emergency doors. Feathers circled around you, grabbing hold of your clothes and carrying you inches from the floor. Hawks entered the lobby, his now featherless wings bearing the scarred tissue left behind from his injuries years ago. His eyes stared into yours, grabbing hold of your chin to force your gaze into his.

"Thought you could outsmart me Pidge?" He queried with a teasing grin. "You almost had me."

"Almost," you emphasized. "I still had you going."

"Yes, but you can't rely on your bluffs forever. Like I said, your games are getting old." His lips closed in on yours, feeling his breath wash over the skin. He was teasing now. You couldn't tell what your body felt - disgusted, revolted, or was that old flame being ignited again, even if it were a glimpse into what he used to be before his mind went mad.

"So, are you going to tell me who you were talking to?" He asked, catching you off guard. "I could be jealous if you gave me the reason why."

You swallowed, raking through your mind on your response. You didn't account for him eavesdropping the breath of your last words on the phone call. Thankfully, he wouldn't have been able to discern the words you spoke, but lying about the phone call wasn't an option.

Hawks was only met with a silent tongue.

"Aw Pidge, we shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other. Trust goes both ways, am I right?" He cooed with a grin. "How about this? You don't have to tell me anything, but I'm going to have to take you with me to a friend of ours for a while. Seems you're not fond of going down memory lane with me here."

His statement was laughable, but to an extent, he was reaching. After he had captured you yesterday, he had brought you to this decrepit building only to relive memories of what once was. It was a day of cat and mouse, one that went astray after your original game plan had shifted drastically. You opened with a King's Gambit by feeding into his plot, offering yourself for capture to make it seem that he had succeeded. However, throughout the day. He had thwarted most of your available moves and outcomes. You read him like a book, but so did he.

With a tug of his feathers, you were pulled towards the front doors, followed by Hawks who kept his steely gaze on you. Perhaps there was a way out from this, you thought, eyeing the outside street lights from your peripherals. You contemplated the notion of what very little options you had left, until you spotted Hawks pull a small bottle from his person, dowsing a cloth in what substance it contained.

Immediately, he shoved the cloth into your face, covering your nose and mouth that filled with a sweet and nutty scent. You struggled recognizing that smell, pulling at the small tugs of Hawks' feathers before your limbs felt limp.

"Now, relax Pidge," reassured Hawks through your drowsiness. "I'll make sure you're comfortable when you wake up."

That sweet scent was the last you recalled before your eyes fluttered shut, your head feeling light from the dizziness. Of course, it was chloroform.

Knocked out and comatose, you dangled from Hawks' feathers before they gently released you into his arms, each one returning to his back while he hissed in pain. His Quirk felt like a nuisance now, each use of it always a burden on his body. His painful cries echoed in the lobby, leaving his wings limp while they dragged along the floor.

"You'll be in safe-keeping Pidge," he remarked, straining his back to lift his wings, spreading them ready for take-off. With a push, his wings lifted himself from the ground with you in his arms, flying into the night sky while he made his way across Musatafu. He aimed towards the salty breeze, finding his way to Endor Docks for another well-deserved appointment.

#hawks x reader #hawks #keigo takami #villain au #villain hawks #bnha #bnha au #bnha fanfiction

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cher-writes · 4 years ago

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Silver Screen / Silver Pole | Robert Sheehan x Reader (18+)

Summary: A night of celebration in a LA strip club takes an interesting and unexpected turn when a contrarian actor winds up offending the wrong stripper. But night is long and the possibilities are endless, where will it take them?

Word Count: 7.3k

CW: Mention of sexual harassment, Consensual slapping, NSFW smut

A/N: This one is surprisingly not bloody at all and the smut isn't wild either so like most everyone can read it. Although it's emotionally very heavy. So, get ready to feel some shit. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Special thanks to @crisis-of-joy for being there for me the whole month I took to complete this emotionally taxing fic and also for being my kind beta reader & editor.

Burning on it’s way down, the third glass of whiskey finally gave her some life she desperately needed. Deafening music throbbed throughout her veins, drowning the club in the background. She wanted to drown with it too but she couldn’t, she was there to work and rent for the month was already due. The fourth glass was on the verge of meeting with her bitter mouth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

��Don’t drink so much, you’ll trip on the stage,” Coco practically shouted in her ear. Coco was the only friend she had in that goddamn place and It wasn’t a very rare occurrence that Coco had to drag her blackout drunk body out of the club. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she had a problem. Considering that she was already on her third strike of the month and the third drink of the night, Coco knew better than to let her get drunk this early.

“I can’t stay here and be sober at the same time,” she shouted back at Coco, “especially after...nevermind,” but decided against talking about it and instead focused her energy on finishing the fourth glass, which was gone just as quickly as the words stopped coming out of her mouth.

She could read the concern on Coco's face and sense the questions brewing behind it as Coco spoke up, “I want to know what the fuck is up with you but I have to go now, Caleb came home from school hours ago, it’s pretty late and I have to cook him dinner.”

“What happened to Larry? Can’t he take care of the kid? He’s fucking jobless anyway.”

“He got in a bad fight again. I can barely afford Caleb’s school fees and now the medical bills.”

“If only you had divorced him, you wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

“And if only you had been less violent towards customers, you wouldn’t be on the verge of getting fired. But, here we are.”

She furrowed her brows at this sudden sharp stab of truth by Coco and dealt with it the only way she knew how to, by ordering another drink. Coco crossed her arms letting out a deep sigh and said, “Look, I'm only trying to help you, (y/n). Sam wanted me to go up. You see that group seating in the fifth VIP booth? Up there. They are celebs and celebrating something so, ya know, good money. I said no cause, as I said I gotta go home, but I convinced him to let you go up there. It was hard given your recent less-than-favorable behavior, but I managed to.” Coco snatched the already empty glass from her hand and continued, “So stop drinking, go up there and get that money. And for the love of God, behave yourself or this might be your last night here.”

Giving her hand a quick but tight squeeze, Coco got up then soon after disappeared into the crowd. She thought to herself about how a last night there wouldn’t be so bad if she could afford it, and wanted another drink immediately to kill that thought, but Coco's words haunted her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see three men sitting in the booth, laughing.

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

Her head was in a violent swirl, vision blurry. She was way too drunk to be spinning around the pole, but she had an audience to entertain and had no one but herself to blame.

When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, the song was thudding against her skull. Pulling herself together, she counted every second, waiting for the song to end. She could feel the eyes on her, sticking to every bit of her, just as invasive as it was the very first day yet, she couldn’t care less. She had to live through it if she wanted the money and she needed the money if she wanted to live. The room was dancing circles around her as the tips came flying in, she kept counting the seconds, sliding down the pole, and your knee socks.

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

She was swaying dangerously on her way down from the stage. If the song didn’t end when it did, she would have thrown up without a shadow of a doubt. At that point, she didn’t even know how or what she danced, only the awful sickness in her stomach let her know that it was more than she could take.

She needed to chat up the men, try and convince them to buy a champagne room before the next song came on, which she feared was way too soon for her liking. Nevertheless she tried to steady herself but the big glass platforms messed with her earnest efforts, nausea kicking her in the stomach once again, letting her know of her limits.

She didn’t ever really look at the men who sat in front of her, leering at her, they all looked the same, smelt the same and talked the same. So she followed the same old routine, bending down just enough to give them a view up her tits. Pressing her arms closer, she slurred, “What are we celebrating, gentlemen?”

She absolutely hated how she sounded pandering to men, two pitches higher. “My friend over here landed a role in a Spielberg film!” the middle one spoke up and pointed to the one sitting on the right side. The one in question grinned in response and repulsion licked the back of her neck at the sight of that. Yet she needed to please him, “That’s amazing! I’m sure I’ll be seeing your face on the billboards everyday now while driving,” she said and fantasized about having enough money to burn down all the billboards in LA and maybe LA with it too.

“Hell yeah you will!” the one in the middle spoke up and broke her reverie so she pretended he was supporting her fantasy instead. “Oh please! Speak for yourself!” the one on the right perked up in his seat and continued, “He’s literally working with Fincher AND he got engaged!”. The one in the middle gave a revolting smirk at the very humble revelation of his accomplishment and it was enough to turn her stomach or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t really decipher.

“Oh really?” she looked at the man, tilted her head and said, “And you came to a stripclub to celebrate your engagement?”, her face deadpan. Notes of contempt stuck out like thorns from her voice, making her sound way more intense than she intended to.

He tensed up visibly at her sudden razor-edged tone and, even though she didn't want to, she had to ease the situation. I can’t piss off these bastards again, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. “Boys will be boys!” she said, not being able to think of something better that wasn’t inherently insulting, and laughed the most disgusting laugh of her life. If she could she would pour gasoline down her throat just for uttering those words.

She couldn’t bear to linger at that conversation point anymore so she turned her attention to the man sitting on the far left. He looked distant and foreign, staring but not really looking at her. There was a peculiar absence behind his distinct green eyes, which she would even call beautiful under different circumstances. And that, something about that absence, made her want to zero in on him.

“And what about you? Did you win an Oscar or something?” mockery ringed clear in her voice, which brought his attention back to the presence. Startled slightly, he straightened his posture while saying, “No, not really... not yet at least,” he smiled sheepishly and continued, “I’m just here with them”.

“Come to think about it, I’ve never really seen you anywhere,” she said without thinking too much. In fact, she didn’t really pay enough attention to how he looked to recognize him even if she did.

Something intense flashed his eyes for a brief second. She couldn’t quite put her fingers on what it was but she could feel the energy shift very quickly between them.

“Oh I’ve been in things but I’d be surprised if you did see any of them,” his voice now stripped of the delicacy it previously held. She could feel the air between them getting unusually heavy, his words penetrating through her skin a bit too effortlessly, a bit too swiftly that it was unsettling.

“And why exactly would you be surprised?”

“You know...cause people like you don’t usually watch the kind of films I do.”

“What do you mean by ‘people like me?’”

“You know...people of your...stature,” he trailed off. Blood rushed the back of her neck as soon as the words hit her ears. She could feel her vision burning, a hot wave washed the crown of her skull, something unruly building at the base of her being. Clenching her jaw so as not to let it take over her, she said, “Stature huh? Fancy! I reckon from your accent that, wherever the hell you’re from, people get a kick out of looking down on others with such wispy language.”

She could sense the same unruly substance dancing behind his chest, but he was far better at keeping it on a leash.

“I wasn’t looking down upon you. What I was merely getting at is that some people aren’t cut for apprehending particular types of films,” he sounded snarky but calm, the type of calm that’s tainted with scorn, which only sent ripples of rage down her ribs.

“Oh so you think just because I’m a stripper by profession that I wouldn’t understand your low-budget dumb indie movies?” she was getting visibly worked up now. Traces of her seductive posture vanished long ago but there was a new hostile energy flowing through her stance.

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, of course you didn’t say that, you only meant that. You meant what you think and every one of you think that we aren’t people with brains and emotions. No, no, we’re just sacks of meat to ogle at in exchange of money, and then grope when you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“I think you're trying to put words in my mouth, this is -”

“God! you think you’re fucking better than me, don’t you? You contrarian little shit!” she could feel it in her bones. She knew what was coming. There were people behind, or maybe beside, her, trying to talk to her, probably. She could hear no one, not even the previously unbearable blaring music. She had tunnel vision and it was fixed on him. The air she breathed chafed her nose. Her nerves thumped as her heart leapt at irregular rapid intervals.

“Excuse me! but i neve -” he said as his body went alert. Posture anticipating something violent, flight or fight.

“You think you're better than me because I'm a stripper and you got enough money to buy me?” her voice was icy as she spoke, “You LA people are all the fucking same. You get a little money in your pockets and you think you own the world and anyone who isn’t jerking off to your pretentious bullshit isn’t worthy enough to deserve basic fucking decency. Huh is that it?” she quickly jumped on top of him, straddling him.

He was frozen under her as she leaned in and murmured, “Well then allow me to show you”, she pulled away, her left hand clutching his shoulder as right fist rose the air, “HOW FUCKING BETTER THAN ME YOU ARE!” then her fist crashed on the side of his mouth with all the force she could muster, releasing a knot built in her chest since she checked in with the manager in the evening. Hot, sweltering adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

The impact resulted in him burying his face in his right shoulder so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to face her. His lips were starting to swell up so she decided to help it. His eyes went blank as her fist met his face once more.

Involuntarily, her hand was raising in the air again when she felt a strong pull from behind. The security guard, twice her size, yanked her away from him. People gathered around them staring at her, the music stopped to her relief. The guard twisted her arms behind her back, enough to leave bruises that’ll sting for days to come. She couldn't move, her sight went hazy yet she felt this strange cool serenity soothe her tensed muscles. His friends were crowding him, probably consoling him. She could neither hear them nor make out their faces from her almost closed eyelids. She was pretty sure she was falling asleep in the guard’s painful hold until she heard a certain voice and the hair at the back of her neck stood up.

“What the fuck! She’s at it AGAIN? Sir, I'm so sorry -” Sam, the manager’s voice pierced her ears as he rushed into the booth. As he was talking to them, commotion rose in the background. She could feel blind rage beating with every thump of her heart. If it wasn’t for the guard holding her in place, she would have skinned him alive by now. She was struggling to free herself when Sam turned to her and said, “You! That’s it!” pointing his left index at her. “I’ve had just about enough of your drunkass assaulting fine gentlemen. You’re fired. Get out right now! And be grateful we’re not reporting you to the police.”

Suddenly everything went quiet in her head. She smiled, nothing behind her gaze. Grinning ear to ear like a maniac, she said, “I’m fired? Aww what’s gonna happen to you now Sam?”. She cooed, ''Whose tits and ass are you gonna grab from now on? Stella? I wonder if she’ll compare to me though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam almost hissed at her.

“Ohhh right! Of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said while still tussling with whatever little strength she had left to loosen herself from the guard’s excruciating grip. “You don’t know anything about how you sexually harassed me day after day, how your disgusting, slimy little hands grabbed my body against my will at every chance that you got. You knew how much I need the money from this job and you used that against me to keep me silent, threatening to fire me every time I made even a sound. But guess what fucker? I’m fired now! And I’m gonna tell everyone about HOW YOU TRIED TO -”

“Take her to the staff room!” Sam cut her off, “NOW!” And, as soon as the words left Sam's mouth, the guard put his palm over her mouth and started dragging her back. The hand over her mouth muffled her screams and she glanced at the man, now with swollen lips, looking at her with eyes filled with, what looked like, concern.

As she was getting dragged, she finally managed to sink her teeth into the guard’s palm resulting in him withdrawing his hand just enough to give her a small window of time to scream at Sam: “YOU MOTHERFUCKER I’LL BE BACK AND I’LL PEEL THE SKIN OFF OF YOUR SCALP FUCKING SON OF A BITCH I’LL -” Before she could finish, her voice got cut off again and she faded into the dimly lit passageway at the back of the floor.

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

The cherry of her fifth cigarette shone brightly in the shivering cold as the smoke drifted up in the air and sluggishly faded away. Mouth agape, her eyes meticulously followed the faint trails left after their disappearance. She wondered where they went, where she’ll go. If it wasn’t this late, and the water wasn’t so cold, maybe she could have gone for a swim in the ocean. If the water wasn’t so cold maybe she would have let it swallow her even. She was calculating the probable temperature of the hypothetical water she’d marry someday when the sound of slow approaching footsteps entered her field of perception. She would have preferred to ignore it but the, somehow already familiar, voice spoke up, “Hey erm...” and left her no choice but to look. And there he was, the foreign man with the swollen lip, looking culpable. There were distinct imprints of guilt in his voice as he continued, “I saw you across the parking lot…um I was actually just leaving with my friends,” he pointed at a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the lot. “They’re waiting in the car anyway so I decided -”

“So you decided now that she’s fired from being a stripper, she's probably a hooker! Lemme go ask the price she’s selling at,” her gestures and voice was comical, “you know, dude if you’ve got a kink of getting beaten up non-consensually then you’re really good at getting it cause I might just be up for round two.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds with a perplexed face, as if trying to process her stream of logic. When he started speaking, he sounded genuinely hurt, “No! Jesus Christ I came to apologize. Can you just not be defensive for one second? I’m not a monster ya know!”

His sincerity caught her off guard. She had about five thousand ways of dealing with assholes prepared and ready to go but an actually decent person? Now that was rocky territory for her.

“Well, uh, that’s a first. Go ahead I guess?” she shrugged her shoulders.

“I apologize for saying what I said back in the club. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand my films just because of your choice of profession. It was really shitty of me to say that, and nothing can justify it either. And I feel like I caused you to be fired, that’s also weighing heavily on my soul and I don't know how to make it up to you. Just, I hope that you can forgive me and, again, I apologize, earnestly. Please tell me how I can make it up to you,” he said and looked at her with a rueful expression.

She was at a loss of words. It had been years since anyone apologized to her, let alone that sincerely. After a considerable amount of silence, she gathered her fragmented thoughts and spoke up, “Whoa, whoa man, chill. You didn’t murder my family or anything so calm down,” she held up her open palms, the cigarette almost at it’s end. “Apology accepted, okay? And don’t feel bad, I would have been fired sooner or later given my questionable behavior ever since I joined, so it’s not on your conscience. And I’m sorry too,” her index and middle finger holding the cigarette gestured at his lips, “for, um, punching you so let’s call it an even.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “yeah okay,” sounding clearly more relaxed than before.

“You know it’s a miracle how long it took for me to get fired,” she mused, “oh no it wasn’t a miracle it was sexual harassment, ah I see now. Wonder what Sam saw in me though that was worth not firing me for this long even though I pulled so much shit,” she took a long drag of her weary cigarette. “Maybe I've got a talent for getting harassed or something...who knows?”

His face tensed up again as he said, “That’s...not right,” eyes pooling with the same worried look as before.

“I was joking, chill. Humor is an excellent way to deal with most everything really, especially trauma.”

“I am sorry for what you had to go through, it’s gut-wrenching. Can’t you lodge a complaint to the police?”

“Going to the pigs? As a sex worker? Who just got fired for being drunk and punching a man in front of many eye witnesses? Now that was humor, you’re quite good at it actually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides, that’s like one of the first things you gotta learn to put up with if you’re working in this business. As unfair and grim as it is, men, no actually, people don’t see sex workers as human beings and I’m just too obstinate to accept that simple fact, or maybe too much of a pussy, depending on where one’s priorities lie.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.”

It was just setting in for her how beautiful he actually was. His crestfallen face was graced by two stunning green eyes, lush unruly curls sticking to his forehead, sharp jawline kissed with a scruffy goatee and the swollen lip throwing off the symmetry just right to make him look captivating, to say the least. In the chilly December ambience his face was a soothing sight to her eyes, his sweet voice kind to her drudging ears, his presence warm to her existence. And she wanted to hold onto the warmth, just for a bit longer.

“You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?” she said as the cigarette fell on the ground then died out under the crushing embrace of her cruel heels.

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

“Well I'm Ro -” he said leaning against the passenger seat window, sitting half facing her.

“If you’re trying to say your name then don’t,” she cut him off quickly without averting her gaze from the road.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her intently yet without any emotion in particular.

“‘Cause it doesn’t matter. It’s better if we don’t know each other’s name. Names individualize people and that’s not necessary for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly as the neon lights of a passing by road sign illuminated her face and then faded into the past just as nonchalantly.

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but it didn’t bother her, it wasn’t tainted. There was this unusual tranquility in the atmosphere of the car, this obscure but consistent serene rhythm. She felt a bizarre comfort in his presence and she could drive like this forever, on a never-ending road spiraling towards heaven or winding down pandemonium or just dissolving into the ether, with him sitting lazily on the side.

“Do you ever feel like that?” he spoke up absentmindedly, breaking into her almost fever dream.

“Huh?”

“The song, I feel like that often.”

She didn’t realize the radio was on, playing at quite a significant volume. She wondered if he had turned it on at some point and how long she was driving for without being present mentally.

This place will be the end of me. Take me out, LA. Take me out of LA, the voice from the radio filled the car to the brim.

“I don’t feel like that, I know that. I know I'll die here, kinda intrinsically...do you hate this place?”

“No, not hate. I just feel like I don't fit in here. It’s the way of life, it’s quite significantly different to what I was used to. The people and the city, it all feels hollow sometimes and every now and then i catch myself yearning for what I left behind me.”

“I see. Beautiful people and their beautiful problems.”

Silence fell in the car again. Except for the voice through the radio, Well this place is never what it seems.

“You don’t have to make small talk, you know. I'm fine with silence,” she said, finally looking at him for a brief second.

“Oh I know,” he was looking right into her eyes, unruffled. “I wasn’t making small talk, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”

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

The bleak fluorescent tube above buzzed in solidarity as the fatigued clock on the chipped convenience store wall dragged its hands and finally managed to tick at 2 am. The attendant was leaning on the counter, trying not to fall asleep when her voice echoed in the store: “$20 on pump 2.”

“I’ll pay”, he cut in, reaching for his wallet. “Okayyy...” she replied, narrowing her eyes at his benevolence and looked around the store which was significantly emptier that other nights. She closed her eyes for a second and the memories flashed behind her lids. She used to come here frequently, around this time, with someone when everything in her world was right, just right enough for her to not to seek out falling stars every night and wish for death over and over again. When she opened her eyes a shiny pack of Parliaments caught her gaze and she quickly gestured behind the counter, “Since you’re paying, can I get a pack of those also?”

“Sure”

“I remember surviving on those alone while writing my thesis papers,” she said wistfully, “good times.”

“You went to college?”

“University actually, but yeah.”

“Good lord.”

“But I had to drop out so I couldn’t complete my Master’s in Biochemistry.”

“Why?”

“Life.”

“I flunked out my first year of college so you did way more than I did in that regard.”

“Welp, look where that got me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What?” she scoffed.

“Anything else?” the attendant interjected, visibly tired and clearly annoyed at their conversation.

She swiftly grabbed a lighter, “Can I get this too?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“That’ll be all,” she tossed the lighter towards the attendant and continued, “You’re clearly doing way better than me in life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I meant that seriously. I’m the one who fucked up my life and that’s a fact. Say, how did you know what you wanted to do?”

“That’ll be $30”, the attendant interjected again.

“I don’t know. I started acting as a kid and it just seemed right. It’s all I've known really and I can't see myself as anything else,” he said as he passed the money to the attendant.

“I envy that.”

“I do sometimes ponder what I would have been if not an actor.”

“Wondering too much isn’t good,” she grabbed the goods and shoved them in her coat pocket, “It might make someone into me.”

She stopped right before the glass door, pulled the lighter out and flicked it on, “I’ll use it later,” she leaned in close to him with a frivolous smirk and whispered, “to burn this city down.”

He chuckled at her sudden gaiety, “I’d gladly assist.”

Pushing the door open, she continued as he followed behind her, “Did you see the way that dude rolled his eyes to you? He definitely thought you were with a blabbering hooker and to be honest, my make up probably didn’t help either. Oh well it's not like -” her voice slowly evaporated into the gloomy gas-station lights.

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

“So beautiful,” he said with awe looking over the vast and apparently endless ocean which the full, eternal moon bathed with its silver glory.

She clutched at her coat sleeves as the chilly wind sent shivers down her body and said, “I know right? I’ve always found the sea to be peaceful during this time of the night.”

“It’s lovely, I’ve never been to this beach before.”

“It’s my favorite spot actually, I used to come here pretty often,” melancholia dripping from her voice. She paused for a little while as if going over a mental checklist and said, “let’s go sit down there,” and pointed towards a vague place in the distance.

They walked down the beach for a bit side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other’s, making them want to hold hands, feel the warmth of another being. But the hesitance of the yet to be known, the uncertainty of a nameless stranger clouded their minds and prevented them from reaching out.

She stopped, sat down and gestured to him to do the same by tapping the cold sand beside her. He sat a bit too far for her liking so she huddled up closer to him saying, “You blaze right?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” she said, taking out a small bag from an inside pocket of her coat, “keep an eye out for me while I roll it.”

They sat in silence as she rolled a joint meticulously. The waves kept crashing on the shore as if fulfilling some ancient duty. Wind rustled through the empty beach. Sand glimmered sporadically under the warm light of the moon, creating a transcendental atmosphere.

He sighed and thought out loud, interrupting the intoxicating stillness of the night, “Where do we go from here?”

“Other than plotting the murder of Sam, I don’t know about me,” she replied without looking up from the task at hand, “Don’t really wanna think about it tonight. That’s why I took you along with me. I wanted someone to keep me distracted from my thoughts and I had no one to go to...then you came to apologize, like my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled wryly and said, “I see.”

“What about you? What are you gonna do about your not fitting in or what was it?”

“I don’t know either. I just miss my people. I’m not meant for here, I think.”

“So can’t you go back there? To your home I assume?”

“I can...”

“Then go. Why the fuck would you stick around if you had the option to go back?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh! I wish I had a home to go back to too.”

She could see him from the corner of her eyes, clenching his knees tight with his fingers at her words, bringing them closer to his chest. She looked up to see him staring at her with his big, beautiful, hurt-puppy eyes.

“Did that make you sad or something?” she asked, almost amused.

“Yeah...yeah it did.”

His apparent empathy for a literal stranger who also punched him not so long ago struck her as odd and oddly enticing. He looked unreal to her in the strange moonlight, as if a remote but vivid memory. She felt as though if she reached out and touched him, he’d turn to dust and drift off with the wind. Those intense eyes and his fey beauty were getting too much for her to bear so she averted her gaze towards the ocean and said, “There’s no use for your or anyone’s sadness. You see, sadness changes nothing. Unless you can start a capital R revolution tomorrow, everything will be the same. It’ll be the same day with slight variations over and over again, things will repeat and go on and on and on until one day humanity just goes poof somehow and then the universe will go on as if we never even happened. There’s no significance of our lives, there’s no point in feeling sad about anything in this set up. One must always imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“That’s quite pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Kinda absurdist actually, but It’s hard not to be pessimistic or defensive, when you have to lead a life like mine.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, “Glamour Boy,’” she said, licking the rolling paper.

He put his hand over his chest and feigned being hurt which made her laugh; a clear, hearty laughter. The beach echoed with a faint sound of the laughter of two stray souls as he joined in.

The joint hanged from her lips, sensual and reckless like an erotic magazine model, burning bright as she took a long drawn-out drag.

“Say, do you think the water is cold?” she said, passing the joint to him.

He took in a drag, inhaling some of her used up smoke with it too, tasting her cheap but obscenely sweet fruity lip gloss at the filter tip, “Yeah...very much so”.

She huddled up even closer to feel the heat of his body as he passed the joint back to her. Taking in another drag, she leisurely put her head on his shoulder.

The sedating smoke sank into their lungs as the sand anchored them from floating off in the elating static of the enveloping darkness.

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

“Is this it?” she said, pulling up to a posh apartment complex, something she wouldn’t be able to afford even after paying off her debts.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied absently and unbuckled his seatbelt.

She was looking ahead at the road, expecting him to get out of the car, but he sat in silence. She looked at him and saw him laid back on the seat as if being consumed by it, tracing the edge of the left air vent softly with his fingers. He sighed and said, still looking at his busy fingers: “I feel strange and fucking awful.”

“It happens sometimes after coming down a high.”

“It’ll be a pain in the arse going to bed feeling like this.”

“I know,” her eyes travelled down the flow of his posture, giving birth to an urge of some aboriginal origin in her loins, “but you don’t have to.”

He turned his head towards her slowly, lethargy clear in his slow breathing pattern, “What do you mean?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He furrowed his brows, alarmed by her sudden gratuitous command. He looked at her; motionless as if not even breathing awaiting his compliance and her eyes glinted with expectancy. He pushed his seat back, as far as it could go then parted his lips to say something but before the words could get out, she virtually jumped on top then sat astride him.

A deathly stillness engrossed the car as her previous bellicose energy returned to the atmosphere, only this time rather ardent in nature. His heart, instantaneously racing, almost audible to her.

“You know,” she said taking off her top, “dopamine is a hormone and neurotransmitter that’s an important part of your brain’s reward system, and it can elevate your mood and make you feel really good.”

Eyes wide with surprise, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips snaked up and down his smooth chest as if caressing a sumptuous painting one is not allowed to touch. She felt his taut muscle tighten at her touch, veins kindled with a hot rush pulsing under. Burying her face in the hollow of his neck, she felt the heat of his body as she pressed her chest against his. His breathing picked up it’s pace even more at the contact with her flushed skin.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she spoke up letting her lips skim over his bare shoulder.

“Terribly,” his voice breathy as he placed his hands on her hips hesitantly, not possessively, but affectionately.

“I do too.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we don’t do anything.”

“Maybe.” he said resting his right cheek against her head, “or maybe we keep each other company.”

“But for how long?”

“However long we need to.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from her lips then through his skin. She pulled back to look him in the eyes, curious green mixed with an unfamiliar kind of sorrow, a sorrow too costly for her. “Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which includes rational behavior,” she said, knocking softly on his temple.

“Makes sense.”

Cupping his face, she stroked his swollen lips with her rough thumbs, making him wince in response. The purple bruise steadily forming on the side of his mouth marred his flawless complexion yet his allure only enhanced. Her thumb rubbed on the bruise with reckless abandon, his flinches testifying to that. Withdrawing her hands from his face, she left a light peck on the bruise and said, “Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me, come on, I'm giving you a chance to get back at me for earlier.”

“No!”

“Prude!”

“Hey! I just don’t want to hurt you, especially not as revenge or what not,” he sounded genuinely offended.

She leaned in, “But I want to get hurt, silly,” her lips ghosting over his as she whispered, “Endorphins are our body’s natural pain reducer and it so happens to increase when we engage in reward-producing activities, such as eating, working out, or having sex.” She pulled away and continued, “So hit me. Hard.” His adam’s apple bobbed up then down as he searched at her face, as if trying to find some sort of sign. His fingers dug in her hips, indicating the upcoming crude impact. Her palms laid flat against his chest as his left hand rose then crashed against her face. Her fingers curled in response as she gasped weakly, eyes shut closed but the tensity clear in the lines on her eyelids and forehead.

“Ah... that was good,” she said as if talking to herself, caressing her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring with uncertain eyes, the doubt readable in the way he bit his lips.

“Just like that, once more,” her firm voice ringed in the vehicle. His hand cruelly collided once again with her face, leaving her face warm and red.

“Good boy,” she cooed as the sharp sting eddied on her cheek and then through her whole body, easing her off some unknown yet intrinsic discomfort. Her chest pounded in sync to his as she spoke up, “Do it for me once again, won’t you?”

Pressing his teeth even deeper into his lips, he struck her once again, with as much strength as he had. A white light flashed before her eyes, her ears ringed as she sat in silence for a bit. When her vision became clear, she held his face between her palms. Leaning closer, she rested her temple against his and murmured, “Such a good boy.”

Sweat dripped down as her nose grazed up the side of his neck, she could feel him growing hard through his pants. She buried her face in his curls and breathed in. He smelt sugary, sweet to the extent of almost making her nauseous. She whispered against his ear, “You’ve got a boner...it turned you on this much to hurt me?”

“It’s, um, n-not really that part it’s the -” he stammered in embarrassment.

“Ugh men,” she cut him off and rolled her eyes playfully. “But since we’ve got a situation at hand, and you’ve been so good to me, I think you deserve some relief for yourself,” she said, tugging at his waistband. To which he responded eagerly, elevating his hips just enough so she could slip his pants off as much as possible. His head sank back into the headrest as her hands wrapped around his cock. Her hand gilded up and down his length as her other hand ran through his hair, pulling lightly. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he quivered and moaned softly as she lovingly yet mercilessly worked on him. His breath hitched sharply as she stroked the tip of his cock with her thumb, making him groan and twitch under her touch. She was about to pick up the pace when he grabbed her wrist abruptly. “Wait!” he rasped, “I wanna...feel you.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath and said, “Let’s take this inside, there might be people around.”

“Why? Are you afraid of getting photographed with a hooker by the paparazzi, Mr. Actor?"

“No”, he answered, the same hurt as earlier could be heard in his voice, the type of hurt when one is misunderstood by someone they love, “I just - I just want it to be nice.”

“Let’s not make it too nice lest you fall in love with me,” she said sternly. “Besides, you should be more concerned about getting STDs. There should be some condoms in the glove box and also tissues for later.”

He brought his face closer to hers, looked at her lips and said, “You’ve got such a mean mouth, you know that?”

“And you like it?”

“Perhaps”, he replied then kissed her, deeply. Holding her face in his head, he bit her lips which made her moan in his mouth. After running out of breath she pulled away, still tasting his saliva on her tongue as he reached behind her and rifled through the glove compartment. Having found what he wanted, he turned on the radio then returned his focus to her; she was hiking up her dress and awkwardly slipping off her panties in the short space.

Heavy bass filled the car, I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust, as the sky started to light up with shades of azure and tangerine. Her tongue blended with his as she took his cock in her. Their bodies pressed and flushed against each other as a steady rhythm flowed through them. Her nails scratched his nape, as he kissed her neck, nibbling at her collarbone. Her head shot back as he thrust up into her, frantic and keen. His groans muffled in her chest, her moans melting into his hair as their hips clashed against one another.

Maybe I just wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

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

The sparkling rays of the breaking dawn illuminated his face as he cleaned himself off and got dressed. She marveled from the driver’s seat at the magnificence of the sight of him in afterglow. There was something in him, something innate, that made him stand out from anyone she ever came across. He was made for the screen, he was made to shine, and she wondered whether or not he’ll remember her afterwards. It was for the better if he didn’t, she thought to herself, as this was probably one of the lowest points in his life, while that night was most definitely one of the highlights of hers. The sheer dichotomy was glaring at her soul when he spoke up, bringing her attention back to the present, “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Look if you want my name or number, then that’s just not gonna happen,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the oxytocin flooding your brain. Increased levels of oxytocin facilitate attachment and bonding and shit so, like, don’t be fooled.”

“But it’s not that, I feel a connection between us...something I haven’t felt with anyone here before.”

He averted his eyes from her and looked out the window. His hand lingered on the door handle for a second before he stepped out of the car. Turning his back towards the car, he walked into the apartment complex, without saying anything further. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, as the car drove past the buildings. A Parliament washed out the leftover taste of him in her mouth as she rolled down the window to let the nauseously sweet scent dissipate into the cold morning air.

“It is that. Believe me, I know. There is nothing between us. Whatever connection you feel is your hormones doing bullshit things.”

“You’re just evading me”

“I’m not. I do actually know. Okay, for instance you feel really tired and sleepy right now, right?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the parasympathetic nervous system down-regulating your body and a shit load of vasopressin coursing through you”

“But that could also be because we stayed up all night and got high and just had sex”

“Why don’t you understand? It’s all chemicals, everything! There is nothing called love and whatever the fuck people feel is just their chemicals doing somersaults. There is nothing between us, we don’t know each other. There can be nothing either, look at the circumstances. People like you shouldn’t have to do anything with people like me unless it requires a monetary transaction.”

“But i can help, with whatever you’re dealing with”, he said reaching to place his hand over hers, “we can help each other”

“and what exactly do you think i’m dealing with?, she asked, withdrawing her hand, eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t know yet”

“Exactly. You don’t know anything. I’m not some sad little girl who went to college then got depressed but in a sexy way so maybe she did drugs or whatever and dropped out and now strips for fucking aesthetic reasons probably. No honey, I’m involved with shit that can drag you down faster than a meth withdrawal and my life is a living testimony of that, take my word for it. So, go get some rest. Sleep out your saviour complex and live out your promising life when you wake up.”

219 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Subjugation.

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Yandere!Kalim/Reader & Yandere!Jamil/Reader

Synopsis: Kalim tends to get spoiled rather quickly. Jamil knows this better than most, and yet, when his self-proclaimed ‘friend’ comes to him with open arms and a problem in his unusual relationship, Jamil doesn’t have a choice but to assist.

TW: Mind-Control, Imprisonment, Mentions of Kidnapping, Delusional Mindsets, and Implied Assault.

Jamil was, first and foremost, a servant.

Less of one than he used to be, sure, but he was still the one to cook the dorm’s feasts, the unlucky savior most hesitantly went to for help when they’ve gotten themselves into trouble, and when Kalim found himself in over his head, Jamil was the one to pay the price. Kalim preferred to dress it up in flowery titles and affectionate descriptions, saying they were friends or rivals or whatever he needed to when he was asked about the nature of their relationship, but in the end, Jamil was the servant and Kalim was the master. It was as undeniable as it is unchangeable, and as much as Jamil wishes it wasn’t, it had to be true.

If it wasn’t, Jamil would’ve walked away the moment Kalim opened his mouth.

“It’ll only be for a day,” Kalim whined, his words pulled into a prolonged, childish drawl as he leaned onto one of the many cushions littered across the dorm’s common room. It was late, too late for there to be any other students within earshot, something Kalim must’ve been counting on when he decided to approach a studying Jamil. His proposal had been simple, albeit one-sided, and Jamil’s rejection had been simple, too. Kalim was never one to take ‘no’ for an answer, though. “Not even a day - twelve hours. Eight, if you want. I’d take five minutes, if I had to.”

Jamil sighed, shaking his head, the gesture more for himself than his companion. With Kalim’s oh-so-frustrating tenacity, denial was pointless. He wouldn’t stop trying to convince Jamil until he lost interest in the idea of arguing, and even then, he would still manage to waste a good few hours Jamil was never going to go back. Currently, they were ten minutes in, and Jamil had already given up scratching down notes in favor of rubbing his temples, and Kalim was either kind enough not to point it out, or oblivious enough not to notice at all. “It won’t be that easy. If I give you a day, you’ll want two. That’ll turn into a week, and…” Another sigh. Kalim swatted his side gently, and Jamil gave him an insulted huff. “It’s not going to work out. I’ve had to deal with you long enough to know that.”

“I have some self-control,” Kalim countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “A little affection won’t turn me into some drooling, thoughtless infant.”

Jamil raised an eyebrow. Kalim glared, but it came off as more of a pout.

“Hypothetically, if I do ask for more time, you can refuse. That’s why I’m coming to you!” Once again, Kalim’s tone shifted, his excitement growing as if Jamil had yet to refuse. “I can’t stop myself from making another potion or casting another spell, but you don’t have to work your magic. You can say no, and I’ll have accepted it. That’s the beauty of it - nothing’s forcing you to help me.” The plea was punctuated with a smile, wide and eager and completely unaware of Jamil’s grimace. “You have restraint, I don’t. You don’t love (Y/n), I do. It’s perfect!”

Jamil clicked his tongue, closing his notebook entirely. With a deep exhale, he let himself fall into the velvety, plush cushion behind him, a hand rising to trace the shape of one of his braids. That was one of Kalim’s many, many problems. He viewed Jamil as a free agent. He thought that, regardless of the circumstance, Jamil would do what he wanted to and little else. In reality, Jamil would do what he wanted to unless it contradicted with what Kalim wanted. He’d tried going against his master, and it hadn’t worked. He wasn’t keen to try again without the aid of a thought-out plan.

He opened his mouth, but Kalim was talking before he could get anything out. Rambling, more accurately, but keeping Jamil quiet all the same. “I know it’s not the right thing to do,” He started. “It’s not like I wanted it to come to this. I just… I thought it’d be easier, once I got them alone. I put together such a nice room and I’m really, really trying to make them love me on their own, but it’s taking a lot longer than I thought it would.” He swallowed, pausing to square his shoulders. Jamil looked on, abruptly interested with the sob-story. “I just want to know they love me, too. I just want to hear (Y/n) say it, even if it’s a lie.”

That caught Jamil off-guard. He’d played a hand in your imprisonment, bringing you to one of the spare rooms in Scarabia while you slept and making sure no one was around to see it, but guessing at Kalim’s infatuation and hearing him admit to it were two very different experiences. Jamil assumed he would be disgusted. That was the right thing to feel, wasn’t it? He should be repulsed, disturbed, revolted, but seeing Kalim fight not to curl him himself, hearing him struggle not to let his voice waver…

It was different. Jamil didn’t think he appreciated the misdirection.

His eyes dropped to the carpet. “I can give you twelve hours, and not a minute longer.”

Instantly, all traces of Kalim’s anguish disappeared, and Jamil was tackled into a hug that left him lying on his back and desperately attempting to pry a boy-shaped mess off of his chest.

Already, he regretted doing anything to warrant it.

In the time since Jamil last saw you, a lot had changed.

Most of it was materialistic. Your abduction had been an impulsive thing, a request made by a lovesick boy on a night dark enough to make it seem like a possibility, so the space had been sparse and undecorated, just another single room in a tower no one had occupied since before Jamil was enrolled, but Kalim had made some… renovations, since Jamil’s last visit. Rugs and tapestries hung from the walls, eye-catching methods of sound cancelation, and whatever wasn’t plated in gold had a healthy coat of silver, instead. Evidence of Kalim’s presence was everywhere, from the half-empty can of his favorite energy drink sitting on a bedside table to the chipped paint on the posts of your bed, easily overpowering whatever signs of life you might’ve managed to leave in your weeks of occupation. Even you seemed to be scarce, a reflexive panic flaring in Jamil’s chest when he failed to find you from the doorway. He had to search for you silently for a moment, but there weren’t many places to hide.

Still, he almost wished you’d made a little more of an effort.

You were shivering. You had been since the moment he stepped in, your knees pulled to your chest and your face tucked into your legs and every part of you trembling so violently, it was hard to believe you hadn’t managed to shake yourself out of your own skin. A platinum chain kept you tethered to the furthest wall, and although the shackle was lined with a generous amount of dark, purple velvet, your ankle was irritated around it, the indent red and furious, your bare wrists littered with signs of similar abuse. He wondered if he should’ve brought something, a balm or an ointment or a hacksaw, but before he could turn back, Kalim tugged on the back of his vest, and Jamil remembered what he was here to do.

You uncurled as he approached. Hesitantly, at first, but as soon as you saw it was someone who hadn’t openly glorified themselves as your captor, your shell dropped away quickly. It was a frantic sort of desperation, one that pushed you to ignore the scowl Jamil couldn’t repress as he got close enough to see the bruises around your neck, the deep cuts that stretched down your arms, swirling from shoulder to elbow. Immediately, it dawned on him that there’d probably be more on your back, your chest, your thighs, but Jamil only took a second longer to realize that, if there was, he didn’t want to know. You didn’t seem to sense his aversion, just smiling, too happy to do anything more than sit back and stare.

If he’d been any kind, Jamil’s heart might’ve broken.

You thought he was here to save you.

“Jamil,” You gasped, your voice heavy with hushed excitement. You scrambled away from your safe-haven, your knees and your palms soon pressed against the stone floor, but if you were uncomfortable, it was secondary to your utter, primal relief. He let you latch onto him as he kneeled, resting his hands on your shoulders sympathetically as you buried your face in his chest, but you were pulling away quickly, your gaze flickering from his face to his arms to the open door behind him, like you couldn’t quite believe he was there. When you spoke, it was just as hasty, just as rushed. As concerned for him as you were for yourself. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t know what happened, I can’t… He won’t let me leave. I didn’t think I would ever--”

“I know.” It was a small reassurance, but an honest one. Your smile grew easier, as if he’d already promised to see after your safety. “I’m going to help. I just need you to do one thing before I can.”

“Anything.” No hesitation, no reluctance. You leaned back, but you refused to pull away, your grip on his biceps never loosening. “I’ll do anything.”

Despite his better intentions, he felt his grin broaden. “It’s simple,” He said, a hand coming up to cup your jaw. “I just need you to look into my eyes.”

Confusion flitted across your expression, bewilderment mixed with the beginning stages of betrayal, but following his commands came like a second nature, your stare meeting his before you can stop yourself. In a moment, his concentration sharpened and a familiar sense of power began to broil in his chest, something sharp and hungry reaching out, seeking a mind more malleable than his own. Unfortunately, you were the only thing nearby.

You opened your mouth one more time, but that was all you managed before you went slack, your eyes glazing over and your body going limp in his arms. You never looked away, though, never dared to take a breath he might not permit.

You were ready to serve him. You wanted to serve him.

And until he decided you were allowed to, you wouldn’t take a step he didn’t want you to take.

As soon as you went quiet, Kalim’s head poked around the doorway, scanning over your limp posture and Jamil’s unspoken control before he entered, barely hesitating before he collapsed at Jamil’s side. He took the signal, tilting your head back, making it clear who he meant to address. Not that you wouldn’t leap at any word he said, while you were like this. “Until I give you permission to do otherwise, you’ll treat Kalim as a lover. You’ll do anything he asks, and you will be grateful.” He gave himself a second to think, to add anything more specific that might’ve been necessary. His attention drifted towards your shackle, the cuff tighter than he remembered it being, a minute ago. “Whether you’re restrained or free, you will not leave the confines of this room. Other than that, act of your own volition.”

Your reaction was delayed, but just as Kalim began to get antsy, your face lit up, your neutrality quickly turning into adoration. Again, you moved forward, but rather than attempting to earn Jamil’s kindness, you threw your arms around Kalim’s neck, whispering something inaudible into his ear before giggling as you were pulled into his lap, the blatant display already starting to make Jamil feel sick. You fear was gone, replaced with something tender and affectionate, too loving to be natural. But, Kalim didn’t seem bothered. “This is perfect,” He cooed, his more stoic companion already near-forgotten. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we, treasure? And all thanks to Jamil.”

You nodded enthusiastically, and Jamil sighed, more desensitized than he was defeated. “Twelve hours,” He warned, pushing himself to his feet. “And not a minute longer.”

Kalim smiled, his fingers moving to your hair, petting through it idly as he encouraged you to litter quick, playful kisses over his jawline. His stare was just as distant as yours. “That’ll be enough.”

It wasn’t enough.

In Kalim’s defense, he did make the effort to act like he was trying to stave himself off. There were weeks between the first request and the second, each day without complaint and only the occasional mention of how nice it was to hold you or kiss you or take you out of your restraints, but his request did come, and it came again two weeks after that, then one, then four days. Always for twelve hours, and always posed as if he’d never asked before. And, with some hesitance, Jamil always agreed.

He was just that generous, he guessed.

It was an improvement, he told himself. You couldn’t resume classes or get away from your captor, but you weren’t chained to a bed, either, or conscious enough to experience the brunt of Kalim’s ‘love’ as he forced it onto you. He caught glimpses of it, your one-sided bliss. You were kept away from the other students, but occasionally, he’d find you leaning on a kitchen counter sometime after midnight, watching Kalim raid the dorm’s pantry, or clinging to Kalim’s waist in the early hours of the morning, pouting because you knew you were going to be left alone until he returns. You looked healthier. You weren’t as afraid as you used to be.

Not when you were under his control, at least.

He could almost see why Kalim preferred you this way, if he was being honest. Laid across Kalim’s bed, silken robes splayed out around you and your arms outstretched above you, allowing you to admire the golden, jewel-encrusted rings dripping from your fingers. Even before your time in Kalim’s care, you would’ve taken any excuse to get something so gaudy away from you, but these were gifts from someone you loved, someone you worshiped. Right now, you’d sooner die than attempt to remove them.

He had to clear his throat before you’d glance in his direction, ripping your eyes away from the finery with a good deal of difficulty. He moved to speak, but you were faster, your reaction instantaneous, rehearsed. Something that’d been drilled into your head time and time again, by himself and by your captor. “Kalim says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

He smiled, unable to stop himself. “I’m just a friend,” Jamil explained, indulging your induced naivety. “I’m looking for him, actually. You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“Any friend of Kalim’s is a friend of mine,” You chirped, happily rolling onto your stomach. Instantly, your attention went back to your rings, but you were just fiddling with them, now, tracing the shape of perfectly cut rubies and emeralds. “He said he’d be back, soon, but he still left me alone. He never takes me with him, isn’t that mean?” The question was rhetorical, punctuated by a small huff. “He says he cares about my safety, but he’s gone for hours, sometimes. That doesn’t seem like something he would do if he cared about me.”

“How cruel.” If you noticed the dryness in his tone, you didn’t call him out, only nodding and sinking further into the mattress. He went on, if only out of curiosity. “And you stay with him regardless?”

At that, you perked up, straightening yourself just enough to cement your resolve, as well. “Of course,” You said, glad to prove your loyalty. “Kalim does so much for me… Staying put is the least I can do to show him how much I appreciate him.”

He didn’t push you further, only smirking as you babbled on, content to talk about anything and everything, as long as had to do with your never-dying dedication. It wasn’t long before he let the door close behind him, taking a seat on the edge of Kalim’s bed. In the moment, he told himself he was waiting. Kalim would come back to you eventually, so Jamil was just saving time, but even then, he must’ve known he was lying.

He couldn’t say he blamed himself, though.

Anyone would’ve had a hard time resisting a pet so obedient.

He’d almost forgotten how hard you kicked.

Even with your hands restrained, a pair of silver handcuffs keeping your wrists chained to the headboard despite your complaints, you still found a way to make your displeasure known. It’d been difficult enough to pin you down long enough to straddle your waist, earning Jamil a bruise on his bicep and a tight ache in his left shoulder, but your squirming wasn’t much of a reward, your closed eyes and your grit teeth only adding insult to injury. You didn’t try to scream, but your thrashing could’ve drawn attention on its own, violent and frantic and frustrating. For once, Jamil was glad to be alone with you. The mild-mannered reputation he’d taken so long to perfect certainly would’ve taken a hit if anyone saw him lose his temper so quickly.

“Stop!” You didn’t scream, but you weren’t afraid to yell, your voice pitchy, uneven, desperate. As distraught and as futile as the feet still beating at your mattress. “I’ll behave, I promise, I just--” The thought fell short, fading into a stuttered breath as Jamil took you by your collar (a thick, titanium thing too heavy for anyone to wear casually), shoving you down before you could attempt to sit up. You didn’t attempt to resist, grudgingly accepting the change with a practiced defeatism. A week ago, he might’ve felt bad for you, given you some space or let his mind wander to all the many reasons you had to polish such a specific skill. He wasn’t feeling that considerate, now. “I don’t want to be like that again,” You went on, quieter, but no calmer. “I won’t try to get away, I just can’t keep... existing like this.”

It was a messy promise, poorly worded due to panic and uninformed distress, but Jamil smirked, letting you go. You didn’t waste time, twisting your head to the side and pressing your cheek against the wrinkled sheets, but he didn’t move to stop you, either. “It’s not your call,” He grunted. “Kalim likes it, and you can’t act like a brat when you’re under my control. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he preferred it when you were dumbed-down and easier to handle.”

You shrunk, but you didn’t argue, didn’t correct it. You were desperate, but you weren't delusional. “I… I don’t care. I can be ‘easier to handle’ without your help.” You swallowed, your expression relaxing, but you never opened your eyes. “You’re not a monster, I know you’re doing this because you have to, but I need you to help me. You don’t have to let me go, just… please, I can’t keep doing this.”

He pursed his lips. “If Kalim--”

“Kalim doesn’t have to know.”

You spat the proposal abruptly, leaving Jamil stunned. The shock lingered, even when he processed what you were suggesting, rendering him speechless, silent. For a moment, he didn’t react. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

And then, just as suddenly, he laughed.

“That’s so sweet! You think we’re friends, you think I want to help you,” He chuckled, the words coming out between forced, erratic gasps, only distorted further by the jagged edges of his stark, inescapable smirk. You stiffened, but it didn’t make a difference. Before you could steele yourself, his fingers were entangled in your hair, wrenching your head back by the scalp, prying your eyes open with all the grace of a drunken brute. You tried to look away, to focus on a wall or the ceiling or anything but Jamil, but he didn’t care. He was so, so sick of using his magic for something so easily accomplished.

He wanted this to be personal. He wanted you, the real you, kicking and writhing underneath him until you stopped. He wanted to see you submit and surrender all on your own, without his merciful, numbing help. He wanted you to scream and beg and act like you loved him just as much as you pretended to love Kalim, just as much as he deserved to be loved.

And he didn’t want anyone getting in the way, friend or master or something inbetween.

“I’m not doing this for Kalim, anymore.”

665 notes · View notes

hellowkatey · 3 years ago

Text

it's late night writing hours my guys. so here's a little bit of what happens before and after Echo gets absolutely wrecked by a cafeteria tray in Aftermath

2.6k words ~ CW: PTSD/panic attacks/medical trauma

For a glorious moment, Omega revels in the chaos she had started. She isn't quite sure what foodstuffs make up the greasy loafs that are served in the trooper's mess hall. Whatever they are, they make a satisfying splat noise when hitting armor, and get quite a bit of air when thrown.

Now, the revolting loafs are sailing through the air from every direction. Omega ducks behind Hunter as he decks one of the clones clear across the table. His other hand reaches back to lightly pat her upper arm, as though to make sure she's still there. Her heart soars at the gesture, and she grins as wide as her face allows while jumping on the table to chuck another handful of food at a trooper winding up to punch Echo. It smacks him in the cheek, distracting him long enough for Echo to land a left hook of his own.

Crosshair is still seated, ducking out of the way of projectiles while continuing to shovel food into his mouth. Omega watches with great amusement as Echo is kicked backwards— straight onto Crosshair's tray. His face begins cycling through the stages of grief, and ends on anger. She can't help but giggle at him slamming his fist on the table and whipping his ruined tray like a frisbee, hitting three separate troopers in the process. Though he seemed hesitant to engage earlier, he lunges at a clone that has Tech in a headlock, sending all three of them in a tangled heap.

Omega's adrenaline is pumping, heartbeat in her ears as she takes a running start and throws herself onto the shoulders of a clone. The room blurs as he whirls her around, hands trying grab her small arms. When he can't seem to whip her off, the clone suddenly bends forward at the hips, bucking Omega down onto the table. He obviously didn't expect her to be so light because she slips from his grasp and slides toward the end of the table, the air getting pushed out of her lungs. She lies still for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

What she's above makes her adrenaline high suddenly vanish. In the window that overlooks the cafeteria, Lama Su glares down at the food fight. Standing next to him is a military officer— high ranking by the looks of him. He sneers at the flying food and the troopers, saying something to Lama Su with his lip curled in disgust. She's seen his expression before on the faces of others that come to tour the facility. People revolted or offended by the very idea of clones. They're the type of people that seem little too interested in the decommissioning process. Omega has not idea who this is, but he looks official and that gives her a bad feeling.

With her breath back in her chest she rolls to her stomach just in time to see Echo sitting on the floor in the midst of the fighting. He also stares up at the officer and Lama Su, disgust across his own pale face. Does he know him? she wonders.

But as he is distracted by their spectators, the clone he knocked to the ground picks up an abandoned tray and raises it above his head.

"Echo, watch out!" Tech yells, reaching out to the cybernetic clone, but getting tackled to the ground before he can do anything. Omega's eyes widen in horror as the trooper puts his entire strength behind the tray as it swings, slamming into the side of Echo's head.

"Echo, no!" Omega screams as he pitches to the side, eyes already closed and mind dead to the world before he even hits the ground. She quickly presses a button on her commlink that alerts medical to her location and jumps off the table to weave through the troopers that have been momentarily distracted by the jarring sound of a metal tray hitting cybernetic implants.

Tech has fought his way to Echo's side, two fingers pressed against his neck as he yells out his name. The rest of the Bad Batch has taken notice of their fallen brother now, and suddenly the entire atmosphere turns serious. Wrecker isn't laughing anymore as he picks up clones and literally throws them out of the way to clear a path. Hunter and Crosshair, who were displaced to the other side of the caf, now run across the top of the tables, landing punches and throwing trays without breaking stride. Tech has hoisted Echo over his shoulder as the rest of their squad form a protective circle facing outward. Omega slips behind Hunter, unable to take her eyes off Echo's unresponsive face.

"We need to get him out of here," Tech says, his eyes flickering to every one of the cafeteria entrances. Probably doing a calculation of some sort for the quickest way to the med wing.

"Medical is on their way, we can meet them in the corridor," Omega offers, but the others don't seem to process that she's even there. She cowers at Wrecker's side, anxiety that they're upset with her eating away at her heart.

"Keep tight, let's move," Hunter says, and they all seem to know exactly what that means. Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair flank Tech on both sides and at his back as they run toward the exit.

They nearly pass the medical droid rushing toward the caf with a stretcher.

"Wait!" she yells, louder this time. Even if they're mad at her, at least she can try and make it up to them. This time, they actually listen to her. "This stretcher is for Echo,"

The boys look at one another and then seem to accept this. Tech gently places his unconscious brother on the stretcher as Nala Se comes rushing around the corner. The medical droid wastes no time and performing a quick scan.

"CT-1409 preliminary assessment: head trauma resulting in loss of consciousness. Patient is stable but require further testing."

"Echo isn't going to like that," Wrecker mutters.

Nala Se's blank eyes flicker from the unconscious clone to a food-covered Omega a she comes to a stop at the foot of Echo's stretcher. The medical assistant can already tell she is in for a big lecture after this stunt.

"Take CT-1409 to the medical-wing," the Kaminoan scientist says in her airy voice. "Omega, assist in the transport."

Omega places her hand on the side of the stretcher, avoiding the hard gaze of her mistress. "Yes, Nala Se."

The Kaminoan now looks at each of the others. "All clones involved in the cafeteria incident are required to be assessed for injuries," she says. "You will report to the lower level medical wing immediately."

A weak chorus of "Yes sirs," rings out and the Kaminoan continues down the hall toward the caf.

Omega starts pushing Echo's stretcher toward the medical wing, feeling the heavy footsteps of four shadows trailing behind her. Apparently a direct order wasn't enough for them.

"They won't let you guys in while he's getting tests run." Omega says while staring straight ahead. Looking at them now will fill her with too much shame.

"We're staying with him," Hunter replies as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You'll get in trouble."

"We're already in trouble, what's breaking one more rule?" Wrecker says.

Omega suddenly stops, forcing herself to look at them. They all have varying degrees of worry etched across the faces. She locks eyes with Hunter, hoping she can at least get him on her side. The last thing she wants is to be the reason they get in trouble again. "At least go get your check-up and clean the grease off your armor. If you show up with me, covered in food, then you'll have to change into medical gowns... and I'll get in trouble." Hunter's eyes soften slightly, but she can still see his hesitation. He doesn't want to get her in trouble, but this is also one of his brothers she's telling them to leave. She knows how deep loyalty runs for these men. "I promise I won't leave his side until you come to see him."

"We'll be back in ten minutes," Hunter says after a heavy sigh. "If he wakes up before then, comm us."

"You got it," Omega nods in understanding. Though the others don't seem too happy about leaving Echo, he gives him a pointed look and their shoulders slouch with compliance. Omega starts pushing the stretcher again and is halfway down the hall when Tech appears at her side.

"Echo does not do very well with medical tests," he explains, staring at Echo's prone figure rather than directly at Omega. "I recommend, from experience, to wait until he is conscious and aware of what is being done to him before performing any procedures outside of contactless scans."

Her eyes wander over the complex configuration of wires and tubes that wrap around Echo's head and body. She looks back to Tech, nodding.

"Thank you for telling me. I will do what I can to make sure he's okay."

Tech gives her a small smile, turning around, but then pausing. "Oh, and when he does wake, he might start swinging. So keep your distance and remove any possible projectiles." With that, he starts jogging after his brothers. She cannot tell if he was joking or not.

Omega lets out a shaky breath, holding back the urge to cry as she pushes Echo into the medical wing. AZ takes over as she ducks into the scrub room to change her soiled clothes.

Somehow trying to stand up for her friends has turned into one of them getting hurt— she didn't want that to happen she just... wanted to show them she was on their side. For a little while she did feel that incredible rush of belonging. But was it worth landing Echo in the medical bay?

Of course not. They'll never let me be one of them now.

It was dumb. Provoking a room full of troopers that already have it out for the Bad Batch was a thoughtless act. Nala Se is no doubt going to remind her of that and use it keep her sequestered from now on.

Omega emerges in fresh clothes as AZ is completing the brain scan. Echo is still unconscious.

"Is he gonna be alright, AZ?"

AZ's bug eyes always make him look like he's pitying whoever he's looking at. "CT-1409's"

"Echo," Omega interrupts him. "You can call him Echo."

The droid pauses, taking a moment to process that request.

"Patient CT-1409, a.k.a. Echo's scans are clear of skull fractures or bone contusions. My preliminary assessment is that he has sustained a mild concussion consistent with blunt force trauma. He will require a brain tissue scan to ensure there is no bleeding or clotting,"

"Good," Omega lets out a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"Your services will not be required further, Omega. You are free to return to your assigned duties."

She glares at the droid, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm staying, AZ. I promised the guys."

"But mistress Nala Se summoned you to the sub-level medical wing. You must go."

"No!" There's no way she's taking orders from a AZ. Even if he is her friend. "I'm staying here until he wakes up."

AZ shakes his head, his unexpressive droid face somehow looking disappointed. He hovers over to Echo to begin performing the tissue scan, and Omega goes to look for a blanket or something to make their patient more comfortable.

The distinct whirring of the scan is interrupted by a sharp gasp. Omega turns as Echo starts to flail.

"No! Get them off," he gasps, his arms swinging but hitting nothing. There's a clouded look in his panicked eyes as they frantically search the room.

"But my tests are not yet complete," the droid tries to explain while continuing to move closer. Omega is already running across the room, shoving AZ to the side.

"Echo, Echo, it's—" his unfocused gaze shifts from the corner filled with bacta tanks to her. "It's okay. It's me, Omega." His chest rises and falls as though he's been running for miles, and she raises her hands so he can clearly see them. "I understand." As his breathing slows, she realizes that AZ must have attached a heart and respiration monitor to Echo while she was changing. She slowly reaches down to pull them off of him. "I don't like being hooked up to their machines either."

A few brief memories float passively through her mind. Wires and needles and tubes coming from various places on her body. The sticky feeling of bacta on her skin and gathering between her fingers and toes. Silent tears streaming down her face every time she saw the instrument cart was full for the day.

Omega releases him from the monitors and looks up at him. Echo is still coming out of his panic, but he seems calmer now. He looks at her as though she has seven eyes and two noses, but at least he finally sees her.

"Hello CT-1409," AZ pipes up.

"His name is Echo," Omega reminds him.

"My name is AZ-34521189..." as he drones on with his serial identifier, Echo and Omega exchange glances. She offers him a comforting smile and though he doesn't really react, he does scoot himself further from AZ and closer to her, which is good enough for now. When AZ finishes, his body spins around on its axis, and Wrecker's voice suddenly rings out through the med wing.

"Ha! Told you he's alive!" The rest of the squad, now clean of grease, stroll in. "You owe me two credits," Wrecker says, jabbing a finger at Crosshair. They seem surprisingly relaxed, most of them nodding or even smiling at Omega as they gather around the foot of Echo's bed. The fact they even acknowledge her is unexpected.

AZ turns to the rest of them to give his assessment. In the mean time, Omega turns her attention back to Echo. His eyes aren't glazed over anymore but he still seems uneasy. Definitely uncomfortable sitting on a medical table. Omega has overheard the rumors of what happened on to him— how Echo was an ARC trooper that got captured and experimented on. It's obvious from his chemically bleached skin and the complex assortment of cybernetics that he's been through a certain kind of hell. But judging from how he reacted to a simple scan and heart monitor, she cannot imagine how bad it must have really been.

She decides to take the risk and lays her hand gently over his. His wide brown eyes look from the rest of his squad to her hand atop his, and then finally to her. Echo gives her an appreciative nod and a slight smile. Warmth fills her body again, stronger than it was when they were joining her in her food fight pursuits.

The young medical assistant looks to the others now, only to find Hunter has been ignoring AZ's grand reveal that they are genetically defective and is instead watching her. The sergeant's lips form a curious half-smile as he watches her pull her hand away from their injured brother. The giddy warmth in her chest builds even more. They aren't mad at her after all. In fact, she gets the feeling that they might even like her. Or, at least, acknowledge her existence-- which is progress from earlier.

Omega realizes that maybe grand gestures shouldn't be her approach in trying to get them to notice her. Maybe just showing them how much she truly cares about them is enough.

Definitely no more food fights... unless one of the others is the one to initiate it, of course. If that's the case, Omega will be the second one to throw the greasy Kamino caf loafs.

#not me whipping out one shots when I should be working on stuff that's due soon #lets call this a warmup exercise #Kate writes #insomnia check: it's 1am #cw: ptsd #cw: panic attack #the bad batch #the bad bath aftermath #s1e01: aftermath #echo #tech #hunter #wrecker #crosshair #omega #echo whump #echo ptsd

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millionsknives · 3 years ago

Note

I, personally, would be enthralled to hear of how your cousin rendered you into a partial vampire.

ok this got long so it’s going under a readmore

i LOVED garlic. as a teen i once at a garlic brie that was more garlic than cheese and enjoyed every bite; garlic bread was my delight. i wanted garlic in and on everything. part of this is due to the fact that my mother strongly dislikes garlic and i was a contrarian teenager and an enjoyer of whatever pissed her off -- but also garlic is Just That Good.

at youth group winter camp when i was 11th grade my cousin kenny (who is a few years older than me and is not actually my cousin but actually he is my cousin) was on staff at the time and he ran this game called ‘kenny’s kitchen’ that we could play to win bonus points for our camp team. at any point we could approach him and say ‘what’s cooking in kenny’s kitchen’ and he would pull out this giant canvas sack from the back room and to get the points we had to eat whatever he grabbed from The Sack in its entirety. if you back down or don’t finish within your time limit, you lose points.

my team was in 4th place by day 2 and because i hadn’t seen anything truly nasty come out of The Sack yet (the worst thing to date was a pair of whole key limes that had to be eaten rind and all) i was like whatever i'll do it. dad didn’t raise no quitter. so i say 'kenny what’s cooking' and he’s like 'yoooooooo i know you can handle anything so im gonna get you somethin good'. see kenny KNEW i wasn’t gonna back down and lose points for my team and he was probably tired of hearing wimpy kids ask if they can have something easy. so he pulls out a jar of minced garlic from The Sack. and im like 👁️👄👁️. and he’s like nah you only have to eat a spoonful. and im like oh ok :) this will be easy. and he grabs a spoon and scoops out An Amount and im once again like 👁️👄👁️. there’s probably a quarter cup of garlic stacked on the spoon. more substance than i have ever seen a regular plastic spoon uphold. allow me to illustrate:

but i ate it all and it wasn’t really that bad, despite the burning in my ear-nose-throat system from the sheer amount of unadulterated allicin. what was really bad was the aftermath. when i walked outside my poor friend daniel, who was at least a couple yards away, turned and looked at me with abject horror and confusion and i was like ‘can you smell it from there?’ and he was like ‘good lord whadda heck….?” the stench is just radiating off me in waves. i walk past a volleyball game in the courtyard on my way to my cabin and people are giving me side eye. i ask my friend if it’s really that bad and he’s like im sorry but ………yeah :|

i brushed my teeth 3 times and mouthwashed and drank a bottle of water and chewed several pieces of gum at once but the smell was unrelenting. my IBS was in its early stage at the time and i could feel my intestines start to revolt against the trauma they’d just been put through. i sat in the back of the mess hall that night for dinner and study. i could not stop burping garlic. there was no escape. it was like that episode of spongebob. that night for reasons unknown one of the girls in my cabin turned the heater way up and i realized that my sweat. smelled. like. garlic. my farts. smelled. like. garlic. my stomach churned and my dreams were bizarre and disturbed in the way that dreams only are when one is feverish and ill, but this was no fever. just garlic.

in the morning i had a cup of tea and felt a lot better but ever since that day i feel sick and sweaty and slightly feverish if i eat more than the barest amount of raw garlic. and it’s a really fickle reaction too, because cooked garlic in normal portions is usually fine, but sometimes it’s not. i can’t chop garlic without gloves bc the smell stains my hands and nothing i do washes it away and i have to sit in garlic hell for three days until it fades on its own. it’s unfortunate. my greatest love, turned against me. even though in my mind i still adore the taste of garlic, the body keeps the score and repeats the same ills of the Garlic Incident if i’m exposed to too much. so yeah thanks kenny lmfao

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justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

Illicit Affairs: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

Previous: You Made Me

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader (Barely)

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing

Summary: Namjoon arrives in LA to begin the work he promised he would do.

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

Namjoon lays in his plane-bed, headphones blasting D-2, Daechwita, on a blind loop. The sky is dark, 30,000+ feet in the air, he knows he should be sleeping, resting at the bare minimum. But he can’t, melatonin not kicking in just yet, and his mind is too wired, filled with concerns.

Over a two months ago, after the reckoning, Namjoon put his plans into action. You can’t take managements King, and Queen, and bishops and rooks, without having a plan for total annihilation. Namjoon decided, though without much discussion with Jungkook, what they both needed. What would be the best for both of them, and the rest of Bangtan, was guarantees in their contracts that Bang and Co wouldn’t manipulate them anymore. No more calorie counting, no more extra pay for working out more, no more using Namjoon as a weapon against Jungkook or the others. To do this, Namjoon brought in other lawyers who negotiated with Bang’s team, and in the end the seven men amended their contracts. Gone were the clauses about who they could date, gone was the clause that they couldn’t date, period, gone was Run BTS and the trickery management went through to get the men to perform. They would have ownership of their work going forward, and ownership of their work all the way back to the first Love Yourself album.

Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, Yoongi and Jin were shocked when their contracts were handed back, careful to read through the changes. They’d been floored, wondering how Namjoon and Jungkook’s brawl could’ve resulted in this swift change in their deals. Namjoon had put it simply: change or we sue. Big Hit knew that if BTS sued them, they’d take the house, the plastic plants in the lobby, the stock options and the futures of every person on the label. They had the option to lose everything, or to surrender, tails between their legs, to the gods that are BTS.

Namjoon knew that if this had happened three months prior, even two years, he wouldn’t have had the weight needed to push the deal through. But, in their decade plus at Big Hit, their level of power and influence, the fact that they had never signed NDA’s coupled with Namjoon’s intricate diaries, Namjoon recognized he had the power to take everything. Bang and Sejin were scared. They knew that they had a limited amount of time before BTS revolted, and if they were revolting with evidence, there was no possible solution that ended in Big Hit’s favor.

With their new contracts came one request from Bang, Sejin and the five other members of Bangtan, one request that was truly a demand: fix Jungkook and Namjoon.

Fixing Jungkook meant fixing Namjoon’s relationship to the maknae, which is how he finds himself flying across the globe to LA. Getting Jungkook help, away from prying eyes, was his idea. He and his love had brainstormed what would help Jungkook get through this, and this was the solution:

Jungkook would spend 3-6 months in LA undergoing rigorous outpatient therapy

Jungkook would be booked for exhaustion, body dysmorphia, alcoholism, and a host of other issues Namjoon could’ve spent his entire flight listing

Jungkook would rehearse in LA and fly back for specific stages but would otherwise record and work in LA while he went to therapy five days a week

Detox would come first, followed by a month of inpatient treatment

Then, Jungkook would be settled in his outpatient apartment, with a few Big Hit bodyguards around 24/7

Jungkook would have a sponsor in Korea and in the states, whom he reported to,

Jungkook is required to attend AA meetings twice a week for the first three months

Namjoon, would attend therapy twice a week in Korea,

Namjoon would fly to LA to spend a month going through treatment with Jungkook

To this, they signed their names, to the promise of something better, to the hope they would find common ground. Jungkook was packed and on a plane 48 hours later. The two men had some contact through music and through their group chat, but otherwise, Jungkook kept to himself. He loved LA, the sun, the ability to exercise outside every day of the week, the blue skies… There was a level of health that came with LA, and of course the seedy underbelly of diet culture, but for Jungkook, it was a welcome change. Everyone breathed in LA, they weren’t rushing to meet deadlines or get anywhere on time, they didn’t have the next five years planned on a detailed spreadsheet. LA was relaxed, it was breezy, and with its endless supply of green juice, it was the exact place Jungkook needed to be.

He diligently went to therapy, working exclusively with Dr. Aarons on the years of abuse he’d endured. Wrapping his mind around what had happened to him, not as love, not as building his character or strengthening his work ethic, but as a traumatic state of emotional abuse, was harder to swallow than two horse tranquilizers without water. Dr. Aarons gave him books and pamphlets on trauma and emotional abuse, which in his off hours, he read. His first month in treatment was spent in therapy sessions, a weekly Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) session, monitored exercise to help reteach him how to use his body, and reading to discuss. Some days felt like high school, or training days, when he was required to both train for debut and be a high school student. He hated it, hated studying, hated school, but to get better he had to do the work. All he could hope was at the end of this he’d feel better, maybe he'd be better too.

Dr. Aaron’s agreed, for the two men to make progress, to find common ground again, they needed to work through their Kilimanjaro sized problems.

A month into treatment, Jungkook was ready and willing to begin working on repairing his most treasured relationship.

“Namjoon, thank you for joining us here,” Dr. Aarons says, eyes darting between Jungkook, who was freshly showered and bouncing his leg up and down, and Namjoon, stoic, perched on the edge of his chair. Dr. Aarons can tell that Namjoon is less prepared than Jungkook, which is why she is in full control of this session.

“It’s, yeah, glad to be here,” Namjoon says, head bowing.

“I am first generation and am fluent in both English and Korean. My maiden name is Park,” Dr. Aarons smiles, letting Namjoon into her stratification of both cultures. “We can flow from English to Korean at any point.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon bows again.

“This first session is just to create a welcoming and safe space for Jungkook to see you again. Soon he will be off, and you and I will have a bit of time to talk. I have been in communication with your therapist back in Seoul, and he has given me his thoughts as well as points that we can continue to work on as a triad. Jungkook, is there something you wanted to say to Namjoon before you go?”

Jungkook looks at his brother, irises rising to meet his sun-twin. Namjoon’s eyes are tired, heavy, his lids weighty as he continues to battle some jetlag. Jungkook looks fucking fantastic, the sun and balanced eating working wonders on him.

“Thank you, hyung, for being here, and thank you for being willing to work on this with me. I still hold love for you in my heart, though I don’t have to. We’ve both fucked up. I am sorry for punching you, well, beating you up, and I hope you can forgive me, if not today, at some point. And again, thank you, hyung, for fighting for me,” Jungkook’s voice breaks as he utters his last words, eyes dropping to his hands.

“Jungkook, you did great,” Dr. Aarons reassures.

“Thank you, Jungkookie, for being, forgiving, for still wanting to speak to me, to work with me, it,” Namjoon clears his throat, that familiar lump forming. “I know I let you down. I will always be sorry,”

“I know, me too,”

“Jungkook, thank you for being here today. I will see you tomorrow for our first session as a group.” Dr. Aaron’s gave the go-ahead for Jungkook to leave, and he did swiftly, giving Namjoon the chance to confide in Dr. Aarons.

“Thank you, for doing this,” Namjoon spoke.

“This was your idea, correct? The therapy, detox, all of it?”

“Yes,” Namjoon feels the blood rush to his cheeks.

“From what I understand, you’re kind of a genius, right?”

“In music, I suppose,”

Reaching for her notepad, Dr. Aarons’ glances down. “Mm, I spoke with Dr. Cho,”

“Yes?”

“He was very insightful, gave me lots of great notes and things to discuss. I wanted to start by saying that I understand the levels of abuse you went through,” She raises her head to meet his unsteady gaze, clocking the flustered expression.

“Yes,”

“The manipulation, the invalidation, the pain. Namjoon, no one should have to experience all of that, and yet, here you are. You are strong, you are powerful, you are dedicated to your brothers. None of it excuses what you have done, but what I want to convey to you, is that a lot of your actions were not your fault.” Dr. Aarons’ runs through the list of compliments she had jotted down, notes of what to say to create a safe space for Namjoon.

“I, I know,”

“I know you do; I also know that isn’t how you see it.” Dr. Aarons’ sets her pen down and recrossed her legs, eyes never straying from him. She’s formidable, honored and esteemed throughout the community, domestically and abroad. Namjoon knew, he helped picked her, she was the reason Jungkook was here.

“I still did the actions,” Namjoon sighs, “I still followed through with the plan,”

“Yes, but the cost to you and your life was exquisite. You were a pawn,”

“Now I am the victor,” He mumbles.

“Tell me, Namjoon, how old did you feel when you and Jungkook fought?”

“What do you mean?”

“Jungkook’s recounted his memory of that night, but how did you feel? In that moment when he hit you, what age specifically did you feel?”

He takes a moment to think, but the answer is in front of him immediately. “Fifteen,”

“What happened at 15?”

He shifts nervously, the rapid speed of his speech slowing as he spoke. “I was still being scouted by Big Hit, no contracts, just negotiations. My parents were, unsupportive.”

“Within the Seoul rap community, you were making a name for yourself,” Dr. Aarons’ didn’t have to be living in Korea at the time to know who he was, everyone in the first gen community who still had any ties back home knew. You couldn’t listen to music without his mixes coming through. “Yeah, but that only gets you so far. I was talking to Bang about these big plans for a super group, a group that combined rapping and pop, some bridge between the two and other genres… the places were going to go seemed endless.”

“How did you feel in those negotiations?”

Joon smiles. “I felt, ten feet tall. I mattered in those meetings,”

“And to your parents?” Dr. Aaron’s questions.

“I was just their high schooler, hormonal, with dreams bigger than my mind could hold. They, they didn’t want me to do it,”

“But you went for it,” She smiles gently.

“I did, yeah,” Namjoon, hates flattery. Call it his sun sensibility, his rays unable to shine under the humility of the grey cloud he kept above himself.

“What else happened around that time?” She presses.

Namjoon nods again, knowing exactly where she’s leading him. “That’s when I started receiving a lot of hate,”

“Mm, tell me about that,”

“Do I have to?” He asks, voice no longer strong and steady.

“Not if you don’t want to,” She replies.

“It’s just,” Namjoon sighs. “It still hurts.”

“I expect it to. The comments were very personal,”

“About how I look, about the shape of my nose, the sound of my voice, that I’ll never amount to anything and BTS is just, complete trash passing off as music.” He rattles off the ones that plague him, when self-doubt creeps in, the comments that still rise to the top of the pack.

“They escalated, didn’t they?”

“Don’t they always?”

She smiles softly, a precursor to the next blow. “Did you internalize them?”

“Yes,”

“When Jungkook hit you,” She starts.

“It was like every internet troll finally getting their chance to swing,” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to finish the thought.

“Ahh, there it is.” Dr. Aaron’s allows Namjoon a minute to sit in the realization. “What hurt the most? The physical pain, or the emotional weight you put behind it?”

“I haven’t thought about it like that,” He realizes.

“Well let’s think about it now,” Her voice is kind, leading him to the pasture but never feeding. No wonder everyone raved about her.

“It was the emotions,” He concedes.

“Can you describe what those emotions were?”

“Anger, frustration, inadequacy, disappointment, like I had just shattered the entire world I’d given every bit of myself to creating.”

“That wasn’t why Jungkook was hitting you, though,” Dr. Aarons’ informs him.

“It wasn’t?”

“You tell me, why would he be hitting you?”

“I,” Namjoon exhales, “I betrayed him.”

“Did you let him down?”

“Yes,”

“But did he view you as inadequate?” She pushes.

“No,” Namjoon whispers, voice caught between his vocal chords as the waves of tears start to gain on him.

Dr. Aarons’ smiles again, “No, has he ever?”

“No,” Namjoon shakes his head, hand wiping the tears that have fallen.

“It seems to me like it’s quite the opposite. Jungkook loves you, pure and simple.”

“I betrayed him,” Namjoon argues.

“Betrayal and inadequacy are often put together, at least in our minds. We betray someone, or a relationship, because it’s either not enough for us, or because it’s too much. The dissonance between you and Jungkook is that his anger is misplaced, he can claw at you because you are there, you are present, you are with him every day. He’s shooting the messenger, but you didn’t write the messages, Namjoon.”

“I don’t know if he understands that,”

“There’s only so much I can do to separate what he feels towards you, and what he realizes isn’t your fault. In our time together, as a trio, we will hopefully work towards understanding these complexities within your relationship. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good,”

“Great! I don’t have any work for you, other than, well, a major piece of homework,”

“Bring it on,” Namjoon loves work. Pure and simple.

“You can’t have dinner with Jungkook tonight, or engage with him in a private setting,” Dr. Aarons’ instructs.

“Makes sense,” Namjoon agrees.

“We’ll begin work on it tomorrow, but until then, you have to stay apart,”

“I can do that, we’re staying in separate places,”

“Great, Namjoon, I am really looking forward to working with you,” Dr. Aarons stands. “I hope you enjoy your day in LA,”

“See you tomorrow,” Namjoon smiles gratefully before exiting her office, his phone at the ready, texts from Yoongi and Hoseok, Taehyung and the rest of Bangtan to check in on him. And then there’s the text from his love, who as he steps into the sun, is waiting for him.

“Joon of my eye, what a pleasure it is to see you,”

Though the smile is clearly plastered across his face, it’s the way his arms circle your waist, head nuzzling into your neck, lips pressing firmly to your skin.

“I fucking missed you,” He mutters.

“You’re being so affectionate, in public,”

“No one’s here,” Namjoon says, head still resting against your shoulder.

“That eye opening, huh?” Your hands move up and down his back, the comfort radiating from your familiar embrace.

“Mm, can we go?” He asks, standing to his full height.

“To your place?”

“Anywhere,” He slips his sunglasses over his eyes, the mist beginning to cloud his vision.

“Of course,” You respond, hand finding his, fingers intertwining. With his baseball cap pulled low on his head, Namjoon is barely recognizable. He doesn’t hesitate to move his free hand across your shoulders, holding onto you as you guide him to your rental car. He might’ve been the messenger of Bang’s threats and manipulations, but a pawn is still a pawn. Namjoon had taken the board in his game against Big Hit, but in Jungkook’s universe, under Jungkook’s rules, he’s still a piece in motion.

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 2

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brokentoasterrr · 4 years ago

Note

142 👀

sorry for the lateness of this one life sucks and i have no confidence in my writing

Sirius and James are in the bathtub in Marlene McKinnon’s house. The bathtub is dry, and James and Sirius are fully clothed, but here they can smoke weed with the crystallised window cracked open and groan every once in a while as if they’re taking turns of taking massive shits and pretend that the foul smell from the weed is, in fact, the smell of said pretend shits.

It seemed like a weird plan half an hour ago, but James had said, it might just be weird enough to work. And now that they’re at the butt end of the joint, taking one puff each before passing it, ready to toss it out of the window, it seems like the best idea James has ever had.

It’s in here, seated in the bathtub with their gangly legs hanging over the edge, that they can escape Mary McDonald running around her friend’s house with a bin liner in hand, hollering about throwing empty cans and bottles in there so she and Marlene doesn’t have to bother with cleaning the house in the morning. It’s in here they can smoke, and Sirius can just take a fucking breather from sweaty bodies and see the silhouette of Remus clinging to Benjy Fenwick’s side as if he’s been superglued to him.

“Fucking… Fenwick,” Sirius murmurs, eyes closed with his head against the cold bathroom tiles. “Benjy… Fuckwick…”

James snorts a laugh so aggressive Sirius thinks it must hurt the roof of his mouth. “Benjy Fuckwick?”

Sirius cracks an eye open and looks at James. He’s got tight, red braids in his hair, tied up in a top knot that looks far too cool for the rest of him; khaki trousers and a Hawaiian shirt with some poker print on it. He’s actually quite hot sometimes, though Sirius will never admit that out loud; he’s going to die on a hill, knowing that he made fun of James and his looks until his dying breath.

“Yeah.” Sirius shuts his eyes again, swallows hard and feels his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Fuckwick. Stealing Remus from me, like some… fuck.”

“Excuse me?” James says with a loud laugh. “Stealing?! Have you actually said more than 4 sentences to Remus this term? Or are we still at the pining stage?”

Sirius is quiet for a while, then turns to James. “And where are you with Evans?”

James huffs, then says, “I’ll have you know that we have gotten to under shirt business.”

“Sounds absolutely revolting. I pity Evans for having to feel up on your ribcage and erect nips.”

The words erect nips sits weird on Sirius’ tongue, and it takes about half a second for him to burst out laughing after he’s said it. James stares at him for a few seconds, then bursts out laughing himself.

Laughing when he’s high might be the worst feeling in the world, if Sirius is honest. It sticks in his chest and if he opens his mouth he might scream or vomit, so he laughs with his mouth closed, letting out weird puffs of air, shoulders shaking. James, however, absolutely hollers with laughter, banging his fist against the bathtub.

“OI!” there’s a bang on the door. “Get the fuck out of there you shits! Some people need to take a fucking piss!”

The banging continues, fists rapping against the bathroom door so hard it rattles in its frame.

“Alright, alright!” Sirius shouts. “Hold your fuckin’ horses.”

He clambers out of the bathtub first, boots smacking against more tiles. Briefly, he pities Marlene and Mary for the cleaning spree they’ll have to go on in the morning, but then James is up on his feet and opens the bathroom door, and Sirius suddenly doesn’t care.

Dorcas Meadowes stands there, eyes like fucking thunder and shoulders squared. She sniffs the air, stares into Sirius’ eyes, and huffs.

“Couldn’t you fucking stoners just gone into the garden like everyone else?”

“Everyone else?” James echoes. He looks stupid. Sirius makes a mental note of telling him that once Meadowes leaves.

“Christ,” she murmurs. “You’re not the only ones who smoke weed in our grade.”

“But we’re the only one with standards on our grass, Meadowes,” Sirius says. “Now. We best be off so you can take your fucking piss, eh? See you darling.”

He hooks his arm around James’ shoulders and trudges off, ignoring the way Meadowes scoffs again after them. And right there, smack in the middle of the sitting room, Remus stands, laughing at something with a red solo cup in hand—it’s extraordinarily cliche, and it feels like it’s only something you see on American high school dramas, but there Remus stands.

Benjy Fuckwick has his arm around his waist, and Sirius wants to gag. He doesn’t.

Instead he drops his arm from James’ shoulders and holds his hand out for him instead.

“Quick,” Sirius says, “hold my hand so he gets jealous.”

“He’s not even looking your way,” James says.

“Hold my fucking hand Jimmy.”

“Jesus, hakuna your tatas,” James murmurs, but grabs Sirius’ hand anyway.

It’s dry and warm and feels like a fucking frying pan in Sirius’ slender hand. Sirius looks at James, then at Remus, and starts howling with laughter to grab his attention.

And it works. Remus looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, and Sirius would smirk if he wasn’t busy laughing at absolutely nothing. He leans against James, leaning his head against his shoulder and tries to look in love and sappy and stupid like Remus does around Benjy. Fucking Benjy Fuckwick, and his stupid perfect blond hair and straight teeth and straight nose.

Remus keeps his eyes on Sirius, and Sirius stares back, smiling before he presses a dry kiss to James’ neck.

“Ew, what the fuck was that for?” James says. Sirius thinks he’s glaring but he can’t see, he’s too busy staring at Remus, getting his attention and—

“Making him jealous,” Sirius mutters, and he hopes that the way his heart flutters in his chest and the way his cheeks get warm and the way he thinks about Remus—in his bed, clothed or naked, laughing with him and running his hands through Sirius’ hair—is exactly what Remus thinks, what he feels.

#sirius black #james potter #prongsfoot #remus lupin #wolfstar #r/s #sirius black x remus lupin #remus x sirius #tw drug use #tw drugs #tw recreational drug use

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whetstonefires · 4 years ago

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mcu ethics bad

The thing is that, while I was angry at Tony during Age of Ultron, particularly when he rode over Bruce’s compunctions about building a giant combat super-robot and pressured him into the project like a very very bad friend who happened to also be wrong...

...and when he equipped Hulkbuster armor and fought the Hulk in the middle of a city rather than attempting de-escalation or attempting to haul the Hulk out into the giant adjacent desert....

(And my suspension of disbelief snapped like a frayed cable when he brought down a skyscraper that had had no time to be evacuated on a street full of fleeing people and the only reason we were given to believe he hadn’t just cold-bloodedly created massive civilian casualties was that he told his AI to find the impossible magic angle where doing this wouldn’t kill anyone...)

While I was angry with him then, and unspeakably relieved that he recognized his own damage and retired at the end, haha psych, I was revolted by him during Civil War.

It’s supposed to make us sympathize with a character more, spending so much time with them, getting into their heads, being shown their emotional drives and reactions to things, and we spent so much time with Tony during that film, understanding his point of view. And...I did understand him. He’s not complicated. I even sympathized with his emotional state.

But in the context of his actions, throughout the film, I gazed into that understanding the way I did into Kylo Ren’s face in the seconds after he first unmasked. I see you, I know you, everything you are is written here, and the lines of your shame and self-revulsion are so thick upon you, and you should be ashamed but your self-destruction does not expiate or justify one jot of the harm you do.

Because everything Tony did in Civil War came from a place of selfishness. He was selfish all throughout that movie down to his very spine.

And selfishness isn’t itself necessarily bad--you need a little, to get through life, you have the right to your own portion of it. Your boundaries and your needs. But the type of selfishness that is forcing other people pay dearly for your emotional comfort and sense of control: no.

That is tyranny. That is not acceptable.

And you know how I know he was being selfish? Because his motive for pushing the Sokovia Accords was his personal guilt for the destruction of Sokovia.

But the Accords didn’t address that at all! They were tangential to the issue! None of the terms of the Accords would have saved Sokovia--in fact, the existence of them could easily have prevented the evacuation and harm-reduction the Avengers managed there, without saving a single soul.

The Ultron crisis was something Tony did, not as Iron Man but as Tony Stark, with Bruce Banner’s help, and which Wanda as criminal fugitive later helped exacerbate, and which all the other Avengers were involved in only to mitigate harm.

Legislation, or...treaties, idk, the UN isn’t actually empowered to pass laws so who knows what this thing was...aimed at preventing another Sokovia would mandate constant ethical oversight of billionaire science man’s mad science. At the very least! He never has to run things by ethics boards because he’s self-funded, at the very least let’s invent a mechanism to make up for that.

That would address the actual Sokovia issue, both in terms of risks and in terms of Tony’s personal guilt feelings.

But no one suggests that! It’s not even on the table! Because no one, certainly not any government, can tell Tony Stark what to do unless he lets them, that’s been a clear matter of record since Iron Man 2.

And because no one writing this legal instrument of whatever description was actually motivated by wanting to avoid another Sokovia, or even another ‘Wanda tries to neutralize a suicide bomber but merely gives him a different, smaller victim pool’ incident.

They didn’t care! They blatantly didn’t care! The entire thing was a ghoulish use of the dead to gain enough political leverage over the Avengers to put a leash on them!

(Which might not be a bad thing in principle, everything needs its checks, but when the last quasi-governmental organization you worked for turned out to be Nazis who were only prevented from staging a mass slaughter of undesireables by the skin of your teeth, I think you’re well within your rights to be very choosy about who you agree to obey, and to be firmly against pledging your honor to follow people whose first move was dishonest coercive tactics.

Actually you’re well within your rights to demand to negotiate the terms of even a much less sweeping contract, even without the Nazis. The whole approach to this thing stank to high heaven.

The fact that it was written by the UN like a treaty, expected to be signed by private individuals like a contract, and then enforced like a law except not because 1) laws are for everyone 2) if you break a law you get a trial not extrajudicial incarceration and 3) being pressured to consent to a restriction and then punished for refusing consent is hypocritical circular logic and in fact police corruption at its finest, all continues to show it was a bullshit nonsense franken-document.)

The whole movie is people ghoulishly using the dead to manipulate Tony into making bad decisions in response to his emotional pain. That’s. The plot of the film.

Then Zemo staged T’Chaka’s assassination and framed Bucky for it to raise the tension, ramp up the pressure, and prevent any sitting-down and talking reasonably through this, which might have allowed for the recognition of how extremely bullshit the entire concept was.

Tony was being used. Tony was a tool of bad people for most of that movie, and while Zemo banked on using his wrath for it, the politicos were leaning on his guilt.

And there’s honestly little I hold in deeper scorn than going out and hurting other people to assuage your own guilt and treating this as having the moral high ground. No. You don’t have the moral high ground on account of your guilt motivation. You have it if the actions you took were just, or at least could reasonably be assumed to have been so at the time.

And Tony fucking knew they weren’t. He didn’t even last to the end of the movie before recognizing that he’d been manipulated and fucked up, and doubling back.

That he then walked into a different manipulation, turned on a dime, and had to be stopped from doing a murder doesn’t unwrite that.

And it drives me nuts that people will say Tony was acting out of principle while Steve was acting out of personal attachment. Because sure, the Bucky thing was important, was the reason he was walking forward against all opposition instead of standing still to argue, but it wasn’t the reason Steve said no, while...

Tony wasn’t acting out of principle. Tony isn’t...very good at having principles. That’s not even a criticism or condemnation, it’s just how he functions. Since Iron Man he’s been substituting good intentions and emotional investment, which has worked out to varying degrees. It works best for huge, difficult, very straightforward decisions like ‘ride the nuke through the portal and save my hometown.’ It works less well for nuanced situations.

Tony was, as usual, acting out of emotion. And some awful shitheads who’d figured out where his levers were had calculated how to jiggle his emotion switches in the right places to make him do exactly what they wanted.

And you can tell he wasn’t acting out of principle because, for example, someone who was trying to get the superhero community under outside control for the sake of harm mitigation...

...well, firstly wouldn’t have chosen to stage a massive battle? But it’s possible someone in the UN specifically told him to do that, and in theory they at the very least signed off on it, presumably for its PR value of making Captain America look deranged and violent since it’s a deranged decision from every other angle, so yay, he can pass that responsibility up the chain and not have to angst about it, as promised.

But I was going to say would not have approached a minor who (this timeline takes pains to show us) had no prior experience of battle or even, somehow, serious violent crime, to recruit him to go be a government child soldier on another continent, without his guardian’s knowledge or consent. There were overtones of blackmail in Tony’s approach, before it turned out Peter was such a big fan he didn’t need that. What the fuck frankly.

That is not the action of someone who wants to start doing things by the letter, scaling the violence down, keeping within the law and putting the power of decisionmaking in other people’s hands because he’s realized he can’t trust his own.

And frankly even if he did act like that I wouldn’t necessarily support his choices, in particular his snap decision to behave coercively toward other Avengers with vastly less social power and security than he has.

And that’s the other thing! Everything about ‘Tony + Accords BFFs’ rings so hollow because he has never thought rules applied to him, and he knows perfectly well the entire time he’s fighting to force this surrender of agency down other people’s throats that he is going to be practically immune.

This man was technically a terrorist, proabably the most prolific single terrorist in world history until his rogue android exceeded his body count, but he was immune to prosecution because he was in tight with the United States military-industrial complex and basically untouchable due to his status within capitalism, and pursuing their international goals anyway. In the time between Iron Man and Iron Man II he was basically a one-man upgrade of the US drone program, and so good at it that the crest of blood he carved through the Middle East allowed him to announce he had ‘privatized world peace.’

(You are never going to get a world peace worth anything on the basis of a giant flying gun, okay.)

He went to war as a private individual, against non-state actors who were not directly threatening him, which is very much defined as ‘mass murder’ in all domestic and international law, and the US army in response sued him for control of his weapon. And lost! Lost.

No one attempted to press charges. No one. Because Tony Stark is above all that. And he knows it.

And like. I’m willing to accept the mass murder under the heading of ‘superheroing’ within the terms of this setting! Even if, after his vengeance rampage on his specific kidnappers, this violence was kept strictly off-screen for a reason. I did that! I bent that far! Genre convention!

But this history is kind of vitally important to any analysis of what he thought he was doing, and what he actually was doing, when he decided to become the iron gauntlet of the Sokovia Accords.

The currently active member of the Avengers who needed muzzling most was very manifestly Iron Man, and he knew even as he jammed the muzzle on all his comrades to make himself feel better that it would affect him the least, even if he didn’t finally retire for real this time. You don’t force Tony Stark. Not if you want anything out of it but blown up. You persuade him.

And once you have...oh, look at what he can do.

#hoc est meum #mcu #tony stark critical #i am so angry with this man and i will never stop #i throw salt #an ocean of it

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hungnitan · 3 years ago

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LB 5 PART 1 COMPLETE IN RUSH FOR THREE DAY !!! Spoiler alert below

I really rushing at weekend to the point I never release my hand on phone for total 12 hours yesterday ! I'm really crazy with this LB I guess (lol) so I finish this LB for moreless 20 hours

To summary this whole LB5 part 1, I guess more into human's (and half humans) struggle to revolt against gods and what's more they really put us with mostly *1 servants together to fought *5 servants (very lol)

Everyone really have their own parts and for better or worse all *1 servants have their heroic screentime even Jason (lol) Most of all, I really like Charlotte as she's the only servant had human traits in this godly story so her struggle feels real

This LB really makes me think differently about Jason and Orion, Jason kinda like nerfed version of Gil in my eyes while Orion isn't just a bear (hahahahaha) but then again I never read any ArtemisOrion material so I can't understand what Artemis saw in Orion except a bulky body (lol)

For story, I really like the story from the very first we landed into Atlantis but too bad Poisedon last part really let down since they explained it's just a gatekeeper to Olympus just right at the end of story...

LB5 part 1 MVP for me... sadly it's Orion guest servant ! I have countless time my asses saved by him even to enemy isn't Saber...if not because of him I never finished this LB with just 3cs 1 quartz The most challenging battle I guess Achilles last part which makes me use 1 quartz to let go that stage (lol) they really put me at tight spot placing assassin and berserker enemy right at bat... And I guess the key of passing this LB is to know Orion's full potential tbh Orion really having a cheater skill set lol

LB5 part 1 memorable CE ! I guess this CE tells the overall story itself but... buff using nanomachine or mechanical gods are unexpectable to me-

As the story itself feels awesome, never cross in my mind to pull this gacha of course (lol) but are we forgotting someone's gacha ? oh yeah Europa hahahahahaha well maybe she release at part 2 later

#fate grand order

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nyaheum · 4 years ago

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My yearly list of Eurovision songs after the first impression (I mean, for like, half of them. I heard snippets of some songs.). Judged on music videos, because...if I only listen to the songs on Spotify, my eyes get bored. :’)

(oh, and don’t talk to me about iceland’s placement, I know this might be unpopular)

X. Belarus

Fuck Belarus, all my homies hate Belarus. Not even going to grace them with a rating.

Norway (TIX – Fallen Angel)

...no. :( And it’s not even because Keiino didn’t win, I just wholeheartetly hate this song. And I’m kinda sorry to TIX, because he seems like a cool dude and his stage outfit is absolutely hilarious, but oh my god do I hate this song with an absolute burning passion.

Poland (RAFAL – The Ride)

eye emoji mouth emoji eye emoji – well, this is a non-qualifier if I’ve ever seen one. Can we just...skip this?

Belgium (Hooverphonic – The Wrong Place)

Nap time! This song annoys me. I cannot explain it, but it gives me a headache and my whole body is revolting against this song. I am not kidding. Objectively, I don’t even hate it, but there’s just something about it...that makes me go...hnghgng…

North Macedonia (Vasil – Here I Stand)

eye emoji mouth emoji eye emoji ver. 2 – I am not trying to sound mean, but does North Macedonia do any music that is not dramatic power ballads? I’m serious. (And I don’t like it, sorry. :((...except for the high notes, I like them. When he can hit them live.)

Estonia (Uku Suviste – The Lucky One)

This (the music video)...is soft porn. I am slightly scared of Uku. I don’t know why. But, uh...this is better than last year’s song? Still, it wouldn’t qualify under my watch, whoops.

Georgia (Tornike Kipiani – You)

He stopped yelling angrily at the microphone. :((( Nah, but this isn’t my thing. It’s great that they are doing their own thing, it’s just not really my thing...it also reminds me of a song I know, damn.

Austria (Vincent Bueno - Amen)

He looks like a german youtuber. I don’t know hich one, but he looks like one. I also canot tell if he’s 18 or 38, lol. (For some reason he also reminds me of Alex Albon, which is even weirder.)...oh, uh, the song? Idk, I don’t care for I. It’s fine.

Spain (Blas Cantó – Voy A Querdarme)

Confession: I’m probably the only person who actually doesn’t like the sound of Spanish all that much. Whoops. Apart from that though, I’m not the biggest fan of this song. Can’t really say more about that. Meh.

The Netherlands (Jeangu Macrooy – Birth Of A New Age)

Listen: I really like the tone of this voice. It’s great. I am not a fan of the song. There’s something just very off about the loud percussions (?) in the background that make me go absolutely crazy when listening to this. My sensory-overload-prone ears hate it, and I’m sorry...the part before the last chorus on the other hand I love. The whole song could have sounded like that and I would have loved it. (...and I can’t unhear “You are my broccoli – You know my broccoli!” ;-;)

Azerbaijan (Efendi – Mata Hari) Whenever I see Efendi, my brain still goes “Cleopatrrrrra!”, oof. This song sounds like a song I know. Which...is super unprecice, but I genuinely don’t know which one. I do like that they kept the weird pre-chorus thing from Cleopatra (and reference the song later on), but I must say that I liked Cleopatra more...but it’s a party song, so I think it will be fun on stage!

Romania (ROXEN - Amnesia)

I didn’t like her song last year, I don’t enjoy this all too much and I’m kinda sorry but also...I don’t want to apologize for my taste in music, lmao. I want her hair though. Give me her hair.

Denkmark (Fyr & Flamme – Ove Os Pa Hinanden)

Ring ding ding, native language bonus. This is also way more fun than I thought it would be, hah. VERY retro, but I don’t hate that? :D (this and sweden really aren’t any different in terms of how much I like them)

Portugal (The Black Mama – Love Is On My Side)

I can appreciate this. I just wish it was in Portuguese, honestly. I don’t really know if I like the English for this song. That being said, I don’t know if you can make these very specific tones (you know what I mean) in portuguese without it sounding super off, so…

Ireland (Lesley Roy – Maps)

Okay, you do you Ireland. :D

Israel (Eden Alene – Set Me Free)

This exists. :D

Cyprus (Elena Tsagrinou – El Diablo)

Cyprus came to party, and I can’t be mad at that. I just don’t know why everybody in the YouTube comments loves this SO MUCH that they are sure that it will win if it gets the jury votes. I don’t think it’s as good as Fuego or She Got Me were, but maybe I just have no taste in party music. I don’t party. (Only if you got a 2000s playlist and some iced tea.)

France (Barbara Pravi – Voilà)

FRANCE sending a BALLAD? In MY Eurovision? It’s more likely than you think. It’s good, objectively. Personally, I don’t really care for it all that much and feel like I already know it.

United Kingdom (Embers – James Newman)

A good, modern song? In my british eurovision song? What happened on the Isles over quarantine? Are you guys okay? Did you find yourself? Have you taken your last breath (breath!) and looked at your past results? I’m impressed enough to put this relatively high, wow.

Serbia (Hurricane – LOCO LOCO)

*adore delano voice* party! Oh, and native language bonus...for a party song! I’m...impressed, actually. I cannot decide wheter I prefer this or Hasta La Vista, but I think it’s this one? The flows smoother, if that means literally anything.

Bulgaria (VICTORIA – Growing Up Is Getting Old)

*shrugs* I think a lot of people will like this. And I get that. I think I even understand it...yeah. I didn’t like her song last year either. It’s just personal preference, I think. I just want to have fun during Eurovision, hah.

Finland (Blind Channel – Dark Side)

Finland: FUCK YOU!!! Germany: Fuck you. <3

That’s all I’ll say, we know how the Finnish are, this is not surprising, lmao. (And I’m one of those children that grew up on Rammstein, so I legally cannot dislike this.)

Croatia (Albina - Tick-Tock)

Tick-tock, can you hear me go tick-tock? My heart is like a clock, I'm steady like a rock-...oh wait, wrong tick-tock! Still, really enjoy this song’s chorus – I actually enjoy it so much that it makes up for the utter loss of interest I experience once it’s over, chrm.

Sweden (Tusse – Voices)

I mean...let’s be honest, it’s a generic swedish pop song. It sounds like every other Swedish entry, and I think that bothers me. I know, that sounds kind of...weird, looking at my choices higher up in the list, but...meh. I think this will easily qualify for the Final and place high, and I am totally okay with that. It’s just not...what I wanted, I guess? :D (and i’m sorry but as a german-speaker I cannot get over the name “tusse”) (oh, and tusse seems to be super cool)

Albania (Anxhela Peristeri - Karma)

Oh, we’re going to war in 130 A.D.? Fine, let me just pack my spear and- oh, Albania has already sent a singer? Ah, well, might as well give up and just vibe.

Czech Republic (Benny Cristo - omaga)

This sounds fun. Not a winner or anything, but fun. I’ll probably still be on Twitter when he’s performing, whoops.

Slovenia (Ana Sklic - Amen)

Wait, there’s TWO songs called Amen? And why do I actually kinda like this? Oh well, might as well just accept it. (Her voice though...mhmmhmhm…yes please)

Iceland (Dadi og Gagnamagnid – 10 Years)

We just vibin’. I liked Think About Things more, but I’m very much biased here...because I’ve known that song for a year now. But this is still very good, and very on brand. (And I understand like...half of the lyrics, but I am okay with that.)

Australia (Montaigne - Technicolour)

not australia flexing at all of europe that they can hold big gatherings! D: oh, but I like this way more than last years song. I feel like Montaigne can show her GREAT voice way better in this song. (Even though her outfit and the sound of the song reminds me of the UK song that had...a dude run on the stage. I can’t think of the word for it right now.)

Malta (Destiny – Je Me Casse)

Destiny’s voice is just….wow. This is very different than All My Love, but it’s fun. The topic of the lyrics kinda remind me of Toy, and I like that…..I don’t really like the music video (especially the dancers in the colorful dresses? idk), but I’ll just ignore that.

Germany (I Don’t Feel Hate - Germany)

Confession time: I actually actively enjoy this song. Everybod is shitting on it, but it’s FUN and it has a good message, and Jendrik seems like the nicest dude ever and...it doesn’t deserve all the hate it’s getting? It’s completely self-produced and just fun. Stop being mean. :(

(...also someone on youtube said “pewdiepie” and I can’t unsee that now so fuck you >:((...no, no I don’t feel hate, just rethink your life choices)

Moldova (Natalia Gordienko - SUGAR)

What in the “Eis.de ist in der Kiste” is this music video? And I thought I would absolutely hate this song, but I actually don’t mind it all that much. It’s actually fun. Oh no, I’m splipping, someone catch me, aaaaaahhhhh….(and that poor cake dude. Is this song about cannibalism? Does she want to eat him?)

San Marino (Senhit – Adrenalina)

Catch me hum the chorus of this song at least once a day...but honestly, without any malicious intent: what the actual FUCK san marino? This is so much better than Freaky, and even though I do not believe for one second that this will win, the simple outragiousness of bringing Flo Rida to Eurovision deserves attention. (Bringing someone like Flo Rida to ESC sounds more like Scandinavia/Bulgaria, doesn’t it?)

Russia (Manizha – Russian Woman)

Not gonna lie, I miss Little Big, but at least they are sending something that’s at least as weird. I love that. Russian Rap is cool as fuck anyway, so I’m fully here for this...but I’m glas this song doesn’t have a music video, this just has to be a live performance. (Oh, and another strong woman!)

Ukraine (Go_A – SHUM)

I’m SO glad Go_A are back. But, let me be completely honest: I know why they had to change the lyrics, but I still liked the first version better. BUT I feel like the new one will grow and me and it will climb one or two places, because the Instrumental just slaps SO HARD. (Makes me feel like putting on a Cybergoth outfit and start dancing at a German industrial park, lmao.)

Latvia (Samanta Tina – The Moon Is Rising)

Does this count as my guilty pleasure this year? I loved her song last year, and this sounds similar, so...I like this too. It sounds modern as fuck (well, for Europe, you know) and I can definitely...”vibe” with that. I genuinely really enjoy this, and I don’t know why. (Even though I prefer last years drop.) A lot of “strong, independent women”-songs this year, and I’m not complaining.

Switzerland (Gjon’s Tears – Tout l’Univers)

Just so we’re clear, this and Italy share the exact same spot. I just cannot compare them at all. Gjon’s voice just takes me hostage throughout this whole song and won’t let me go. And everything that isn’t english/is in the countries offical language immediately gets plus points from me. As if this song needed them anyway.

Lithuania (The Roop – Discoteque)

Aaaaaand...dance break! Good, I just love them so much, it’s not even funny anymore. And I’ve been singing this song randomly since it came out. I can’t stop. It has burned itself into my brain. Let’s dis-co-teque right at my home! *waves arms around with no sign of coordination*

(and does anyone else feel like he’s serhat, just with a different alignment? Like, they are both chaotic, but serhat is chaotic neutral and he’s either chaotic good or chaotic bad, it really depends on the way he looks at the camera)

Italy (Maneskin – Zitti E Buoni)

Italy delivers, as they do every year. Not only do I really like this song (it is very much my genre), THIS is an aesthetic I can get behind! Knowing Eurovision, I doubt it will win, but damn if it won’t be super fun! (I am so glad this won Sanremo, hah.)

#eurovision #esc #eurovision song contest #esc 2021 #eurovision 2021 #rotterdam 2021

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mdelpin · 4 years ago

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Male Order Bride - Chapter 3

AO3 | Prev: Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Next:

Chapter 3

“Did you have to bring everything you own?” Lyon groaned after loading another one of Lucy’s suitcases onto the carriage that Gray had hired to take them from the inn where Lucy had been staying to their new home.

“These are just my winter clothes,” Lucy said, “but I’ll be sure to let you know when I send for the summer ones.”

“Don’t feel like you have to.”

“You should be used to it by now, with the way Erza packs,” Gray said, laughing away Lyon’s complaints.

“That’s different, we’re engaged!”

Natsu tuned them out from inside the carriage. He rested his head on the seat, eyes sliding shut as the exhaustion from days of not sleeping very much, and eating even less caught up to him.

He awoke to the feeling of his stomach staging a full revolt. Groaning in misery, he covered his mouth and willed himself not to throw up.

“Is she okay?”

“She gets motion sickness,” Lucy explained, “Been like that ever since I can remember. She’ll be fine once the carriage stops.”

Natsu tried to say something to reassure Gray, who had sounded concerned, but all that came out was a worrying gurgle.

A hand brushed his, so lightly Natsu wondered if he’d imagined it, but Gray’s assurance followed it. “It should only be a few more minutes.”

“You could try icing her neck,” Lyon suggested, “That works for Erza when she’s feeling queasy.”

“Queasy? You don’t mean to say-?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter!” Lyon spluttered, causing both Gray and Lucy to dissolve into giggles. “I meant when she gets sick after eating too much cake.”

After months of self-imposed isolation, the sound of their laughter cheered Natsu immensely. Even if he wasn’t clear on what it was they were laughing about.

A moment later, he felt Gray’s hand touch his again, this time squeezing it to get his attention. “May I ice your neck?”

Natsu figured it was worth a try, so he grunted his assent, worried about what might happen if he tried to talk. Gray moved the hair away from the nape of his neck, replacing it with his hand.

“Ice-make: compress.”

The resulting mist was soothing against Natsu’s neck, the ice creating a welcome distraction from his misery. It didn’t cure his nausea, but it made it feel much more bearable.

“Thank you.”

It was all the words he could manage at that moment, but he hoped Gray understood he meant it not just for the ice, but for all the times he’d already come to his rescue.

“We’re here.”

There was a tinge of excitement to Gray’s voice, but Natsu didn’t dare open his eyes, preferring to wait for the moment the carriage finally stopped.

0-0

Lucy exited the carriage along with Lyon and Gray. She stared at the two opposing staircases with a frown. From her visit the previous week, Lucy knew each staircase comprised seven steps leading to a small platform, from which a shorter set of stairs ushered visitors to the manor’s front door. It was nothing strenuous, but given Natsu’s current condition, it might as well be a mile’s walk.

“How long is she going to be like this?” Gray asked, peering into the carriage where Natsu had remained, hunched over his stomach as his body continued to struggle against his motion sickness.

“It usually takes a bit for her stomach to settle. She’ll be fine,” Lucy said, pulling Natsu out of the carriage and trying to force him to stand on his own, which was no easy feat given the high heels that were part of the outfit her spirit Virgo had brought from the Celestial World.

Gray attempted to carry him in his arms, but Natsu protested, just as Lucy knew he would. So they compromised, with Gray offering Natsu his arm to hold on to for support. It was slow going, and Lyon gave up on waiting for them, using the other stairs to make his way inside.

“I remember him being more charming,” Lucy muttered, and narrowing her eyes at Gray she added, “and you being decidedly less so.”

Gray only shrugged, focusing his attention on helping Natsu tackle the stairs, “You know, this would go much faster if you’d just let me carry you the rest of the way.”

“You don’t have to help me at all,” Natsu replied, his lips pressed together stubbornly, “I can do it myself, you know.”

Gray snickered as Natsu lost his balance on the icy steps, “Of course you can, dear.” He switched his attention back to Lucy. “I asked the staff to prepare my apartment for the two of you. I’m not sure how long it will take to get it ready. It’s been a while since anyone’s lived there.”

Lucy frowned. Gray had called Natsu love at the auction house, and now he was calling him dear? He’d also been rather attentive in the carriage, his behavior a sharp contrast to the aloofness she’d experienced during their meeting. She had a bad feeling about where this was all going, especially with Natsu so focused on whatever was happening with his magic that he didn’t seem to care about anything else. What was he even doing in Isvan, and where was Igneel?

She chose her next words with care. “Are you planning on living there as well?”

Gray shook his head.

Lucy was about to move on to her next question when Gray cut her off.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, and I promise I’ll answer all of them once we have some privacy.”

They were already at his house, it’s not like she had any choice but to accept his promise. She rubbed her arms, trying to coax some warmth back into them. “Ugh, is it always this cold in Isvan?”

“No,” Gray laughed, “Sometimes it's colder.”

“Lovely.”

They finally reached the platform, but rather than continuing on to the next short set of steps, Natsu clung to the banister with one hand and Gray with the other, his breath coming in shallow pants. Gray stood next to him, looking bored but voicing no complaint. Lucy wanted to scream in frustration, and though she had half a mind to wait for them inside, she was wary of leaving the two alone together until she knew more.

“Natsu, can you please just let Gray help you? I’m freezing!”

“It’s only a few more steps,” Natsu pointed out, but Lucy didn’t feel like waiting any longer. She grabbed on to his other arm and pulled, ignoring his protests, until together she and Gray had lifted him over the remaining steps and into the house.

Lyon met them at the door carrying fire warmed blankets he draped over their shoulders. It felt heavenly, and Lucy took back every mean thing she’d ever said about him.

Gray disappeared for a moment, returning with a pair of fur lined leather slippers for Natsu. “Here you go, these should make it easier for you to move around.”

Natsu took off his shoes and replaced them with the slippers, “That is so much better.”

On her last visit, Lucy had been too nervous about her impending meeting with Gray to pay much attention to her surroundings. The only reason she remembered the number of steps was because she had counted each one off in her head to steady her nerves. This time around, she gaped at the large foyer, admiring the two elegant wooden staircases that curved gracefully to the second floor before following Lyon and Gray up the left staircase.

A large sitting room awaited them at the top of the stairs, furnished with plenty of chairs and couches, all facing three full-length picture windows. It was almost dark, but Lucy could still make out the outline of the mountains and at their bottom a darker area she thought might be a lake. She couldn’t wait to see it in daylight.

“Do you like it?” Lyon stood next to her, and when she nodded, he smiled. “Gray’s grandfather designed it for his wife. It’s one of my favorite parts of the house. Sometimes you can even see the aurora borealis from up here.”

The thought excited Lucy. She’d heard several people talk of the phenomenon, but she still hadn’t glimpsed it.

Gray walked over to the door on the left, “This is where you’ll stay. That other door is the entrance to my father’s apartment, where Lyon and I live.”

That same door opened, revealing two women exiting the apartment. They walked over to them with welcoming smiles. The older one reminded Lucy of Gray, with pale skin and short black hair that framed her face. She assumed that was his mother. Her companion was a beautiful girl with long red hair that came down to her waist. She wore a hird uniform and peered at them with interest.

“Oh boys, since you’re both here,” the woman said, “I’d like a word with you.”

“I should get them settled in-”

“Nonsense, I’m sure Erza wouldn’t mind doing that for you,” the older woman waved away Gray’s protests.

“Not at all. Hi, I’m Erza,” the red-haired girl introduced herself with a friendly wave, and the way Lyon moved to her side reminded Lucy of Gray’s teasing in the carriage. This must be the fiancée who loved cake.

“Hi, I’m Lucy and this is Natsu.”

“Nice to meet you and welcome to Fullbuster Manor. I’m Ur, Gray and Lyon’s Master.”

“Master?”

“Yes, I’m their magic teacher,” Ur explained to Natsu, “I can feel a lot of magic in you, both of you actually. What types of magic do you practice?”

“I have fire dragon slaying magic.”

“And I’m a celestial mage.”

“How exciting! Both are pretty rare.” Ur said, her mouth curving into an inviting smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join us for training while you’re here? It’s a bit too dark right now, but you can normally see our training hall from here.”

“I’m all fired up!”

“I’ll think about it, but I guarantee you won’t be able to keep Natsu away,” Lucy couldn’t help but giggle at how ridiculous Natsu sounded, saying his favorite phrase while using the feminine voice her celestial spirit Lyra had enchanted him with.

“Great! Well, I’ll leave you in Erza’s capable hands. You should have just enough time to get settled before dinner. I’m looking forward to hearing all about you then.” Ur waved, and Lyon and Gray followed her back to their apartment.

“She’s nice,” Natsu commented, earning an approving glance from Erza.

“I hope you don’t think me rude for asking, but what is your relation to Gray?”

“Oh, not at all,” Lucy tittered, scrambling to decide what to say that wouldn’t mess Gray up later. “He hired me at the employment auction this afternoon.”

Lucy figured she might as well say as much of the truth as she could, “As for Natsu, I’m afraid Gray wants to announce that himself.”

She changed the subject, “What about you? Did I hear you’re engaged to Lyon?”

“Y-yes,” Erza stammered, her face crimsoning as she showed Lucy and Natsu her ring.

“That’s a beautiful ring!” Lucy gushed, holding Erza’s hand up to the oil lamp’s soft light.

Erza seemed flustered by the attention, but also pleased. She opened the door of the apartment and led them inside.

0-0

“He got away from you?” Ur frowned at Lyon. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“He used the crowd at the auction to his advantage,” Lyon shrugged, fiddling with the beads in his braid. “I’ll get him next time.”

“For your sake, I hope there isn’t a next time. Silver is already furious it’s gone on this long. Were you at least able to get a good look at him?”

Lyon scratched his head, pretending to think it over. “Not really, I mostly saw his backside. He had short spiky pink hair, and his clothing was strange. Definitely not from around here. Maybe Erza saw more?”

“No, she said about the same, I was hoping you’d have more information.”

“Sorry, not this time.”

“Well, go talk to Silver anyway, he insisted on a report. Invel complained about the hirdmen presence at the Auction, so I’m sure he’ll have more questions.”

Ur turned to Gray, “He’ll want to speak to you as well. Invel apprised him of your presence.”

Fucking Invel!

Gray met Lyon’s gaze, unsurprised to see a triumphant smirk that screamed I told you so. It made him glad to have heeded the advice. The smirk, however, was short-lived. A more nervous look replaced it, as Lyon went off in search of Silver, filling Gray with guilt.

Lyon might attempt to act aloof, but Gray knew how much he hated to lie, especially to Ur. Now, Lyon would have to lie to Silver too, and he wasn’t likely to be as forgiving. Gray promised himself he’d make it up to him at some point.

He turned his attention back to Ur, who was gazing at him expectantly.

“It’s something Farfar1 felt strongly about,” Gray said. And it was true, even if he’d never known about it until that day. “I was just taking an interest.”

“And it’s a good thing I did,” he continued, not giving Ur a chance to ask questions he might not be ready to answer, “or I wouldn’t have met Natsu.”

“The fire dragon slayer?” Ur’s lips pressed into a slight frown as she listened.

“Yeah, her. We met at the Auction, and it was just, I don’t know. Love at first sight, I guess?”

“Oh, Gray, honey,” Ur grabbed his hand and peered into his eyes, “You can’t expect me to believe that. Not after you’ve refused to even consider any of the other girls. I know about the ultimatum your father gave you, and I promise, I’ll work on him until he changes his mind about Juvia.”

It was tempting to let Ur fight his father on his behalf, but he knew it wasn’t fair to put additional stress on her and Silver’s relationship. Plus, he was an adult, or close enough to count. The time for hiding behind his mother’s skirts was long past.

Still, Ur was the one person Silver might listen to. Gray had hoped she’d be so excited about him meeting someone he was genuinely interested in that she wouldn’t question his story. But it hadn’t worked out that way. He’d have to find another way to get her support or give up on his plan altogether.

From a young age, Silver had taught Gray that lies were something he should avoid as much as possible. But he’d also said that sometimes they were a necessary evil. An effective leader, Silver had lectured, resorted to lies only after he had exhausted all other avenues, and he was wise enough to include enough fact to lend the lie an air of truth.

Gray thought about Natsu, trying to settle on a truth that might convince Ur of the lie. He soon realized it wasn’t as hard as he’d thought. All he needed to do was remember Natsu’s smile and how it had made him feel, or even the anxiety that had come over him at his motion sickness in the carriage. If he could get that through to her, there was no way she wouldn’t be on his side.

“I know how it sounds, but when she smiled at me for the first time. I- I felt something in my heart,” Gray moved their joined hands up to his heart. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, Ur. I don’t know how else to explain it but love at first sight.”

Ur let go of his hand, her expression softening. “Sweetheart-”

“Let me have this,” Gray pleaded, “All I’m asking for is the chance to get to know her better and see if maybe she’d want to be mine.”

“You’re right, you do deserve that chance,” Ur said, offering him a tired smile, “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Ur.”

She pressed her hands to his cheeks, patting them gently. “How could I say no to my adorable student?”

“You should get ready for dinner, I’ll go tell Ooba to set two additional plates.” She walked toward the door, turning to him with an impish grin. “She’s beautiful.”

Gray looked away even though she didn’t wait for his reaction, surprised by the unexpected flush that crept up his cheeks at her parting words.

Yeah, he really was.

He hurried to his room to change his clothes, determined to speak to Natsu before they faced his father at dinner.

0-0

“I thought she’d never leave,” Lucy complained after closing the door behind Erza, who had promised to come get them for dinner.

“I like her.”

“I like her too,” Lucy admitted, “She just didn’t leave us much time to figure out what’s going on.”

Natsu sat in one of the room’s rocking chairs, swinging back and forth wildly.

“Stop that,” Lucy scolded, “that chair is worth more than everything you own.”

“That wouldn’t be too hard, seeing as I don’t have anything.”

Lucy studied him with concern, but shook her head, “Nevermind, we’ll discuss that later. Where did you put your envelope? We need to figure out what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Natsu knew nothing good would come from Lucy finding out he’d received more offers than her, so he changed the subject.

“How do you know Gray, anyway?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Lucy raged, eyes shooting sparks at the memory of whatever had happened between them. “My father sent me here hoping Gray would choose me as his fiancée. The jerk turned me down, said I was too perky for his taste. Can you believe that? I mean, it’s not like I wanted to marry him either, but - What’s wrong with being perky?”

Natsu could absolutely believe that, despite loving Lucy like a sister. She’d been the only person besides Igneel and now, Gray, to take an active interest in him. He’d risk his life for her in a second, but he also knew that many people found her personality overbearing. The little he’d seen of Lyon and Gray made him think they’d fall into that category.

“I’m sure he’ll tell us more when he gets a chance,” Natsu stood up, stretching his arms above his head and examining the room they were in. It was the first time he’d set foot inside a residence since he’d arrived in Isvan, having spent most of his time hiding in abandoned buildings, trying to figure out how to search for Igneel in a strange country. At least he was lucky the language was mostly the same.

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned?”

Natsu turned his attention back to Lucy. “About what? I already said I’d do whatever it was.”

“You can’t just make promises like that, Natsu. People will take advantage of you.”

“You worry too much,” he said, waving away her concern, “I just wish I didn’t have to keep wearing these clothes, I feel stupid. Not to mention I don’t know the first thing about acting like a girl.”

“Well, you look fabulous!”

Natsu sincerely doubted it, but he appreciated the sentiment.

“Why were those hirdmen after you, anyway?” Lucy’s forehead furrowed with worry.

“I think that’s a longer story than what we have time for right now. Don’t you have to get ready for dinner?”

“It’s not just me, Natsu. Didn’t you hear Gray’s mother? You’re invited too.”

“That’s not his mother.”

“What are you talking about? She looks just like him.”

“Maybe, but they smell nothing alike,” Natsu said absently, his mind full of this fresh problem. Why would they want him to join the family for dinner? When he’d lived with the Heartfilias, he’d always taken his meals with the staff.

“Well, but isn’t your freaky magic on the fritz?”

“My senses have nothing to do with my fire,” he explained, “Are you sure about dinner? I never had to do that at your house.”

“You really have no clue what’s happening, do you?” Lucy looked heavenward in one of her over dramatic gestures that drove him nuts.

“I’m the one who’s with the staff, you are part of the family.”

“Part of the family? What are you talking about? We were both hired by Gray, weren't we?” Natsu paled. Suddenly there was the looming threat of forks to remember and napkins to use, all while wearing this ridiculous getup. Igneel had tried his best to instill manners in him, but Natsu had just never been that interested.

“Oh ho! Not feeling so relaxed now, huh?” Lucy watched him panic, her mouth twitching in amusement.

“What am I going to do? It’s going to be a disaster! You gotta help me!”

“Well first, I guess we should figure out what you’re going to wear,” Lucy headed into the room she had claimed as her bedroom, her suitcases already lined up against the wall.

“Can’t you just summon your spirits again?” He called out. If he felt uncomfortable wearing this dress, he shuddered to think of how he would feel wearing one of Lucy’s skimpy outfits. Not to mention she was several inches shorter than him.

“That’s not how celestial contracts work, I’ve already called on them today.”

“Your magic is weird.”

“And yours is out of whack,” she walked out of the bedroom, holding up a small piece of fabric that only she would consider clothing. “What’s up with that?”

“I dunno. I got sick right before I was supposed to leave with Igneel. Spetto took care of me, but my magic has been screwy ever since.”

“That’s strange,” Lucy muttered, “If we were still at home we could have searched my mother’s library. I doubt there will be much here that will be of help. Maybe Grandpa Crux might know something. I could try summoning him later.”

“Who?”

“Don’t worry about it. For now, let’s get you into this dress.”

Natsu held up the dress that Lucy handed him against his body. The skirt would barely reach down to the middle of his thighs.

A knock on the door saved him from having to put it on. Lucy walked to the door and opened it. To his surprise, Erza stood on the other side holding several items in her arms.

“Erza, you’re back so soon,” Lucy gestured to her to come inside, closing the door behind her.

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Erza looked stunning. She had changed out of her hird uniform and into a cream colored long-sleeved gown that reached down to her ankles. Over it she wore a woolen apron dress in a deep shade of blue that was open at the front. It was several inches shorter than her gown, in the fashion worn by well-to-do maidens in Isvan. Two gold brooches attached the straps of the apron dress to the gown, with strands of colorful beads strung between them. A third brooch held the fabric in place, creating the illusion of a neckline. A light blue patterned belt added a splash of color around her slim waist. Her long red hair was tied in a ponytail knot held in place by an ornate hair stick.

She offered Natsu the items she was carrying. It appeared to be several outfits similar to the one she was wearing. “I remembered you saying you had no belongings with you, so I brought you some of my clothes to wear until you can get some new ones.”

“Thank you so much,” Natsu cheered, giving Erza a quick hug.

“It’s nothing, Lucy is shorter than you, so I figured her clothes wouldn’t fit you very well,” Erza said, seeming bewildered by his enthusiasm. “If you put on one of the gowns, I can help you secure the hangerok2.”

“Okay!” Natsu entered the bedroom he’d chosen for himself and closed the door. He heard another knock on their door just as he’d wrestled out of the dress he’d been wearing. Soon there was another voice in the room, male this time. He pressed his ear to the door to listen.

A voice that sounded like Gray’s greeted Lucy and Erza.

“Is Natsu ready? I came to escort her to dinner.”

“She’s still getting dressed,” Lucy informed him, “She should be out any minute.”

“Already? Isn’t it still early?”

“I, uh, wanted to speak to her before she met Fader.”

Gray wanted to talk to him? Natsu supposed that made sense. He still hadn’t told him what it was he wanted from him. Natsu hoped Lucy had just been reading into the situation like she sometimes did, because if not, passing himself off as a girl would be child’s play compared to what awaited him. What would he do then?

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be with Lyon.”

“Lyon was... busy, so I figured I’d bring Natsu some clothes she could borrow.”

“Busy?” There was a momentary pause, followed by a muffled, “Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” Natsu heard the concern in Lucy’s voice and wondered what Erza and Gray’s expressions looked like to merit it.

“Nothing for you to worry about. Lyon and I were chasing a suspect today, and we lost him,” Erza explained, “The Chief isn’t happy with us.”

Natsu listened with interest, recognizing they were talking about him. Had Erza been one of the hirdmen chasing after him? He’d only seen Lyon before he took off, and it had taken all of his energy to stay ahead of him.

“I’m sorry,” Gray replied, and there was something in his voice that confused Natsu.

What did Gray have to do with any of that? Natsu had a vague recollection of having seen another guy before running into the building. Could that have been Gray? Well, even if it had been, he’d obviously not recognized him in his disguise, which meant nothing had changed.

Natsu continued to listen to them talk about how the Chief had yelled at Lyon and how Erza felt guilty because she hadn’t received the same treatment. As soon as they moved on to a different topic, he tuned them out, examining the dresses Erza had brought him with distaste and a little trepidation. Unlike his regular clothes, these weren’t fireproof.

All he could do was hope for the best and remind himself it wouldn't be forever. He selected a white gown and put it on with a dispirited sigh, covering it with a heavier crimson apron dress and opening the door to join the others.

They all looked up at his entrance, with Erza unfastening brooches she had attached to the inside of her hangerok. She approached him and fussed over him while he tried his best to stand still as she pushed the pins through both layers of fabric.

“There you go,” Erza made some adjustments before straightening up and evaluating her efforts. “That color looks lovely on you. You should keep it.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Natsu was quick to protest, even though he appreciated her gesture.

“Nonsense, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Besides, it looks better on you than on me.”

Natsu guessed she wouldn’t feel the same way if she knew who he really was. This was a dangerous game he was playing, and he could only trust that he’d be able to find Igneel before this farce blew up in his face.

“Something’s missing, though,” Erza studied him with a thoughtful expression before removing some of her beads and attaching them to the brooches on Natsu’s dress with a satisfied smile. “Perfect! Don’t you think so, Gray?”

Gray muttered a response that even Natsu’s enhanced senses couldn’t make heads or tails out of, turning a moment later to bow to Erza. “Thank you for thinking of Natsu, I appreciate it.”

Erza nodded, her expression turning thoughtful as she peered at Gray, her eyes lingering on his hair. On his braid, to be exact.

Had Gray had that before? Natsu couldn’t recall.

“You should get going,” she said, clapping Gray on the shoulder so hard he barely missed slamming into him. “I’m sure you two have lots to talk about. Lucy and I can wait for Lyon together.”

Erza sounded almost giddy, but Natsu had no clue what had set her off. He peered at Lucy to make sure she didn’t have any objections before agreeing.

Gray finally glanced at Natsu, although he looked away the moment their eyes met. “I’ll have Ur talk to our seamstress about making you some suitable clothes.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Lucy said, coming to his rescue, “I brought plenty of clothes, she can just wear some of mine.”

“I feel we might need to get some made for you as well. You’re going to freeze to death wearing dresses like that around here,” Gray laughed, and Natsu and Erza joined in.

“Shall we?” Gray gestured to the door, his eyes still crinkling at the corners. “There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Natsu nodded, following him out but feeling a little awkward now that he knew they’d be alone together.

0-0

Gray had been looking forward to this moment for hours, but now that it was here, he didn’t know what to do. How should he treat Natsu? Did he already know what Gray was going to ask of him? How did people do this so easily?

He offered Natsu his arm when they reached the top of the stairs, only to have him descend the stairs on his own, yanking his skirts up above his slippers and claiming he didn’t need his help. Gray could only smile at the defiant glare he’d glimpsed in his eyes. He liked Natsu’s independent spirit, especially given he was in a strange place and in the middle of what had to be a nerve-wracking situation.

He followed Natsu down the stairs, not sure what to do with his hands, which were becoming sweaty in anticipation of being alone with his crush. It made him wish he’d paid more attention to Lyon when he was first trying to gain Erza’s favor.

Gray had never given much thought to his looks before, but given the reactions of girls like Juvia, he figured he wasn’t hard to look at. That was to girls, though. How did he make himself attractive to another man?

He’d done his best, changing into his finest set of clothes and taming his hair with a comb. After some consideration, he’d worked in the traditional engagement braid that announced his courtship status, embellishing it with beads to make it stand out more against his dark hair. Hoping to make a good impression on Natsu and to send a message to his father that he was taking this courtship seriously. But maybe he’d just made himself look like he was trying too hard. Natsu certainly hadn’t given him a second look.

Gray led him out the front door, walking toward the ice sculptures that decorated their front yard, figuring it was far enough from the house to give them some privacy. Plus, it couldn’t hurt to show himself in a positive light. Maybe he could even impress Natsu with his molding.

It was only when Natsu shivered next to him that Gray realized he hadn’t had him grab a cloak.

“I’m doing a terrible job as your host. First, I forgot about your clothes, and now I didn’t think to make sure you had a cloak before I brought you outside. I’m so sorry, please take mine.”

Gray removed his woolen cloak, draping it over Natsu’s shoulders and pinning it with his brooch to keep it in place. “There you go, that should keep you warm.”

“Thank you,” Natsu bowed his head, “Won’t you be cold, though?”

“Nah,” Gray waved away his concern. “I’m an ice mage, it needs to get much colder than this for it to bother me.”

Natsu appeared skeptical, but his expression softened when Gray showed no signs of discomfort. “You know, it’s strange. I shouldn’t even be able to feel the cold.”

“At all?” That surprised him. Gray was a powerful ice mage, but even he felt cold sometimes.

“Yeah, my magic causes my body temperature to run hotter than other people’s. It usually heats the air around me to a comfortable temperature.”

“I didn’t know that, you’re the first fire mage I’ve ever met.”

“I can’t imagine too many of them would want to travel here,” Natsu said, plastering a smile on his face, but not soon enough for Gray to miss the tinge of sadness it replaced. “Even though it is quite beautiful in its own way.”

Natsu’s sudden change of mood puzzled Gray. He knew there was something to it, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t get an answer if he asked, so he changed the subject.

“I wanted to show you this,” Gray drew Natsu’s attention to the grouping of sculptures that he and his family had made during the Winter Solstice.

Natsu gasped, allowing Gray to take his arm and help him maneuver through the deeper snowdrifts until they stood in front of the first sculpture, a snow tiger Lyon had made. Next to it was a large trellis covered in roses which Ur had made. An enormous wolf, Silver’s contribution, towered over the others.

“How did I not see this when we arrived?” Natsu wondered aloud.

“In the sorry state you were in?” Gray teased, “That wolf could have come to life and attacked the carriage and you wouldn't have noticed.”

“Did you make all of these?” Natsu moved from one statue to the next, his hand extending out but stopping shy of actually touching. “They all look so real.”

“I made that one,” Gray pointed to his creation, a sculpture of the thunder god Thor holding his hammer, Mjolnir, in mid-swing. “This is my magic. I can make just about anything out of ice, so long as I can visualize it in my mind. Most of the time I make weapons I can use to fight, but I enjoy doing stuff like this too. It helps to hone my control.”

It pleased him to see Natsu admiring his sculpture, even walking around to examine the back of it. “Your magic is beautiful,” he complimented with a smile which stretched into a grin as he added, “but I bet you I could melt it without too much trouble.”

Gods, that grin. Gray was learning he was weak to it. And Natsu’s words felt like an invitation to a game, one he was desperate to play despite not understanding any of the rules.

“Is that so?” Gray raised an eyebrow at the taunt, “Those are some mighty big words coming from someone who could barely hold on to her magic at the Auction.”

He could have kicked himself when Natsu’s smile wilted in front of his eyes. He’d made his first move and failed miserably.

“I didn’t mean- uhm, I just wanted to-,” Gray struggled to explain that he’d only been trying to flirt, but he was a clueless pathetic mess. He was glad Lyon hadn’t seen that, he would’ve never lived it down.

“I don’t need your apology. Not when it’s the truth.”

Natsu turned away from the sculptures, avoiding Gray’s eyes as he asked, “So are you ever going to tell me what it is you want from me in exchange for helping me get my magic under control?”

Could there possibly be a worse time to ask him that? Still, Gray had put himself in this mess, he’d just have to crawl his way back out.

“I- uhm, I’m not sure how to start. I suppose short is best, since they’ll be expecting us for dinner soon.”

Natsu slipped him a curious glance, “I don’t understand what you’re acting so nervous about, I already said I’d do whatever it was.”

Gray was fairly certain that would change as soon as he heard what it was.

“Okay then, I’d like you to pretend to be my fiancée.”

“Except for that.”

“I know how this sounds, but at least hear me out?”

“Gray, it wouldn’t be right for me to-”

“Please hear me out?”

“This is insane,” Natsu frowned, but gestured for him to continue.

“Thank you,” Gray wrapped his arms around himself, feeling a tad shaky now that the time had come to explain what he wanted. “My father is the Chief of Isvan, and someday I will take his place. Because of that, there’s this stupid law that says I have to get married on my next birthday, which is in October. I tried to get out of it by running out the clock, rejecting every girl my father brought to my attention.”

“Is that what happened with Lucy?”

“Yeah, I thought my plan was working, but it backfired. When I rejected the last girl this morning, my father told me if I didn’t find someone I could accept as a wife then I’d have to marry her, and she’s the worst one of the lot. I can’t spend the rest of my life with her, Natsu. To me, that would be a fate worse than death.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Natsu’s mouth twitched into a smile at his declaration. “She can’t possibly be that bad.”

“No, I’m not,” Gray objected, “I can promise you I wouldn’t be going to all this trouble if that were the case.”

“You’re still better off asking Lucy for help,” Natsu argued, “I’m sure she’d agree. She knows all about this stuff, whereas I don’t even know which fork to use or-”

Gray cut off Natsu’s protest, “You don’t understand, it has to be you. My father already approved of Lucy. If I chose her as my fiancée, I’d have to marry her. But he doesn’t know you. If you agreed to marry me, he’d have to find your family, and enter negotiations with them.”

“Hold up. Let me get this straight,” Natsu peered into his eyes, “You’re saying if I agree to do this your father would have to find my family?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry about that,” Gray assured him, not wanting it to be a sticking point, “We can think of ways to keep him from doing that. Maybe I could hire some actors or-”

“Are you crazy?” Natsu cut him off, his excitement such that he was almost bouncing on his feet, “I want him to.”

Natsu’s reaction left Gray dumbfounded. “I don’t understand. Are you saying you want to marry me?”

“No, you idiot!” Natsu grinned, punching Gray none too gently on the shoulder. “I came to Isvan looking for my father. He came here a few months ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. If you can help me find him, I’ll pretend to be anything you want.”

Gray bristled at being called an idiot, and the playful punch had shocked him, although he had to admit it was also a little refreshing. For most of his life, everyone had tiptoed around him. Natsu was apparently not planning on doing any such thing, and it exhilarated Gray.

He was eager to get to know the real man hiding behind the dress, the one he’d glimpsed outrunning Lyon with ease and who was bold or insane enough to pull off this disguise in plain view of his pursuers.

“It’s a deal then,” Gray said, “We’ll start working on your magic tomorrow morning.”

He was pleased that Natsu had agreed, although he was a little worried about what would happen once they found his father. But that was a worry for another day. They had to get through dinner first.

His excitement ebbed as he thought of what awaited them. “I have to warn you, my father won’t approve at first. It might get unpleasant. I’m sorry for that.”

Natsu shrugged, his hands moving up to his waist. “It’s okay. I’m more worried about my magic flaring up than anything he could say to me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

He felt the urge to give Natsu a hug, but instinctively knew it was a bad idea. It would only end up being awkward. So he crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from doing anything stupid, offering him an earnest smile instead.

Natsu returned his smile, and suddenly they were staring into each other’s eyes with neither of them looking away. Natsu’s smile grew even wider and Gray could feel the blood rushing to his ears, which were thankfully hidden by his hair.

“We- uhm, we need to come up with a story so that we don't mess each other up when we get in there,” Gray said, trying his best to hide how flustered he felt by the moment they’d just shared. “Something simple that’s mostly true is probably best.”

They discussed a few ideas until finding one they both agreed on.

“We should go inside.”

“Yeah.”

They walked back to the house’s entrance, Gray’s stomach tying itself up in ever more complicated knots at the thought of facing his father.

Natsu stopped just shy of the front door, pumping his fists in the air and crying out, “We’re gonna do great!”

Gray was so enraptured by the display he let himself believe it. He grabbed Natsu’s hand in his and led him inside towards the dining room.

Notes

Farfar is the name for a paternal grandfather

The hangerok (sometimes spelled hangerock or hangeroc) was a type of dress worn by Viking women and some other early medieval northern European cultures. The garment was shaped somewhat like a pinafore, with two straps over the shoulders secured by brooches.

A/N: I'm happy to finally bring you this chapter. It will be the last one for a bit as I will be working on the next chapter of The Red Dragon and those tend to take a while, along with some collabs that have been waiting for a bit.

@ft-ez-bb

#fairy tail #gratsu #update #gray x natsu #ftezbb2021 #MOB #chapter 3 #fanfic

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

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Member: Kim Jongin

Genre: fluff, angst, smut

A/N: i know what you’re thinking: “all of a sudden, dana???” well, yes. i guess... i spent a good few hours simping over kim jongin because wHO doesn’t right and he’s not even my bias in exo sigh... also this is going to be a pretty morbid one shot so forgive me.

Word Count: 3.2k

“please just look me in my face, tell me everything's okay”

why was it so easy for him? he looks at you and it’s like he could make the world stop for you.

don’t get it wrong, you were not in love with him. it is not love, and it will never be, not because he’s a terrible person.

no, never.

he is the light of your life, and that’s exactly why you would never fall for him. nobody ever believed your relationship with jongin was platonic, but it was enough for the two of you to know the truth yourselves.

“i was wondering where you ran off to.”

the rustle and crumble of dried leaves on the brown and orange floor catches your attention, and your eyes fly downwards to see jongin looking up at you with wide eyes.

it’s a surprise to see his hair done up, because most of the time it’d be softened and ruffled around his forehead, glasses perched on his nose and his fringe dangling between his lashes.

but the sight of him just a few metres from your feet hanging over the edge brings a smile to your face. “you’re lucky this ledge is big enough for my ass, i could’ve fallen right over if i got scared of your calling out.”

the dimple on his right cheek reveals itself, and he pulls out his hands, walking over to the ladder under the tree house.

as he disappears from your view under your feet, you return your attention to the frozen lake beyond the trees, now stark naked without their leaves to hide their age.

the trees’ barks are darker than the fur of beavers, and the leaves that fall like hair from an aged person camouflage into the slightly soiled ground.

the sun is peeking from behind the slightly cloudy canvas the gods bestowed upon mankind, ridding the frozen lake of its possible beauty had it been given the chance to reflect the sun’s light.

the cool breeze kisses your skin as if it wasn’t already on the verge of drying up and cracking open.

wooden boards creak under your weight when you hear the trap door of the tree house being pushed upwards and open. it reminds you of how old this treehouse is.

“how long have you been here?”

you hear him shuffling about, a small thud in the corner farthest from you telling you that he’s removed his shoes. a soft clack signals to you that he gets the trapdoor closed.

you turn and he is getting off the pile of blankets and pillows stacked against the length of the room. light reflects off the rings he had on his hands, and the gel hardening the strands of his fringe together occurs to you that he had a photo shoot today.

“not long.”

he scoffs, swinging one leg over the ledge and the other up to his knees, back resting against the wood behind him.

“your definition and my definition of ‘long’ are, unfortunately, very different.”

it earns a gentle laugh from you as you glance at him. “about an hour.”

“an hour is considerably long,” he leans his head back, eyes looking straight at you.

“well, for you.”

a quiet pause.

“want to tell me why you’re here?”

“why can’t i be here?”

“because you’re only ever here if you have something you can’t -- or don’t want to -- tell anybody.”

a sharp inhalation of the cold air sours your throat and nose, your eyes travelling out again into the open. slight resignation pulls your lips up your cheek as you look down at your hands, mostly covered in the over-sized pullover that belongs to him.

“sometimes i feel like you know me too well,” the wind rustles some trees while you look up at him again. “it gets a little intrusive.”

jongin chuckles and sucks his lips between his teeth, fingers playing with the rings on his hands.

you shake your head, turning back out to nature and leaning your head against the side of the ledge. “i wish i could say no, but if you can already tell then there’s no reason for me to hide.”

he leans forward and the change in position motivates you to side-eye him.

“i had a health check up last month.”

“the one you skipped work for?”

“yeah.”

you don’t need to look at him to know he is panicking.

jongin was never one to hide his feelings well; in fact, you know him a little too well.

there is a deadly silence in the air, and suddenly, you feel all as one with the trees outside. it is only a matter of time before you feel as nude as the trees without your hair, before you feel like you are nothing but the solidity of your bones like the trees stand with only their trunks.

the only difference was that flowers will bloom again in spring, and then again year after year, but you?

you’d be buried underground, seeping back into the earth and your existence will become one with the grass, the trees, the leaves.

“what was in the report?”

it cracks you open like a walnut, to know that he is already in denial before the truth is set out before him. the muscle in your neck feels like it has been frozen in place, forcing you to put in more effort into turning your head to look at him.

but he is as frozen as the trees and water will be when winter completely sets in, he is more frozen than you will be in another year’s time.

a gulp finds the walls of your throat as you stare at him blankly. you curl your toes in your socks, curl your fingers in the sleeves of his pullover, curl your spirit inside your skin when you notice the bare smile on his lips has completely disappeared.

“what was in the report?”

the question hangs itself in the air between the two of you, and jongin is now leaning towards you, arms crossed against his chest.

“i fucked u--”

“what was in the report?”

“i--”

“what was in the report?”

why does it hurt more to have him know this information, than you knowing it yourself?

it will definitely hurt more than you shoving yourself off this ledge; it will definitely hurt more than you going through chemotherapy just to relief the pain; it will hurt the most when he is the one giving your eulogy because he is the only person for you, even if it was never romantic.

it will definitely hurt like fuck when your spirit will witness his tears falling to the ground, but you cannot hug him, you cannot wipe his tears away and tell him everything will be okay.

not when he is looking down at your lifeless body, buried 6 feet into the earth and returned to mother nature.

“...stage four... pancreatic cancer.”

the words are heavier on him than they are on you.

the sleepless nights from nausea and abdominal pain were already telltale signs that your body has been refusing to function the way it should.

initially, you were worried it was just your reproductive system acting up the way it does every other month, but when it gets worse and your period doesn’t show up the way it should, something felt wrong.

of course, jongin didn’t need to know. he doesn’t need to know he will lose his best friend in another year. he doesn’t need to know he cannot stop the world to save you. he doesn’t need to know he cannot do anything about it.

his adams’ apple bobs up and down as he swallows, and he pulls back away from you. his back meets the edge of the ledge with no control, and he hides half his face behind his arms, dawned in the black sleeves.

his voice cracks the moment the first word comes out muffled into the cotton of his clothes, and his eyes became all the more harder to look at.

“it’s a good time to tell me you’re messing with me.”

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and a frown cements itself between your brows as you quickly look away.

he shuffles, and his presence disappears from next to you when he stands up behind you.

“i’m still waiting for you to tell me it’s a joke.”

i wish.

your jaws are clenched, and just imagining him crying is enough to tear you apart. it feels like it was your fault for breaking the news to him.

“i’m sorry,” you bury your face into your hands, fingerpads pressing into your lids where your eyes are closed. “i should’ve known sooner.”

the wooden boards creak behind you as he paces up and down the treehouse, and the creaking stops.

the complete absence of movement, or sound, is creeping up on you like a scrooge’s ghost of the past, and it urges you to turn around to make sure he isn’t going to throw himself out the ledge.

but he is looking at you with strained eyes. his lips are slightly pursed and he is blinking like life was running in slow motion.

you could hear your own heart thumping in your head while his soul crawls out from his pupils and dig into your eyes. it’s as if he is trying to pick you apart from the inside to eradicate every toxic cell inside you, so he could put you back together again.

so you watch the truth sink into him like snow would sink into the ground when you are one with the earth, and it forces him to sink to his knees infront of you.

the sight is tremendously revolting, causing you to jump to your knees. frantically grabbing onto his arms, his weight feels like it has been doubled, now with the knowledge that he is losing you, though not the same way you will be losing him.

the tears are definitely not your priority right now, though you couldn’t really see well with all that shit in your eyes.

jongin does not move an inch and it is heartbreaking to know that he cannot accept it, no matter how true this was.

“get up. please--”

your legs were weak by the time he pulls you into his chest, and you fall messily into body as he shifts backwards.

his arms are wrapped around your shoulders and your right ear is plastered to his heart, rapidly running in his ribcage. his legs stretched out by your lower back and knees, and you wish with all your might that this is just a nightmare you will wake up from.

that you will see him at dinner after his work, that he will send you home and say hi to your parents, that you will be invited over to his place to watch movies and he could make you breakfast the next day.

but it is not a nightmare, regardless the effort you channel into your wishful thinking.

he pulls away and it is more surprising than not when he leans forward, never hesitating for a moment.

is this how snow white felt when the kiss restored her life?

but you are not snow white, and jongin does not have that ability to prevent your nearing death.

when jongin pulls away, he is looking into your tear coated eyes and ugly-streaked face. his thumb wipes the wet trails off your cheeks, orbs filled with ache and hatred.

not for you, but for life and life’s decision to take you away from him.

“is there... anything you want me to do?”

you could feel his hands trembling against your cheek, and you writhe further into his palm, into his warmth. your hands comes up to hold the back of his hand against your face, your eyes shutting tightly and pushing out the overflowing tears.

“anything. anything at all. it doesn’t have to be now but--”

“nothing,” you shake your head and open your eyes to beg him. “please, just stay with me.”

you can already hear the grind of the gears as you are lowered into the ground, and the choir of sobs and hiccups in the background. jongin will not be one of them, for he will be too tired and too broken to force anymore tears out.

it takes him awhile to process your wish and you weren’t sure if he understood it wrongly, but it is overwhelmingly, horridly, destructively heartwrenching when he shoves his lips between yours again.

it is in that moment that you could no longer tell the line between death and love, because it definitely feels like he is trying to bear the burden of your fate through your lips.

you can taste the regret and anger on his tongue when you let him slide through your lips and your eyes flutter shut upon the contact.

his palms drop down to your thighs and he wraps your legs around his waist while he’s still sitting down. you wonder where he finds the strength to drag the both of you backwards to where the pillows and blankets were.

he tastes like life because he is a crucial part of yours.

it is difficult to understand why you were chosen to be torn apart from him; from someone you never want to leave, and jongin will go through the trouble of figuring that part out on his own.

your hair falls down the side of your face when you tilt your head, your thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones and his palms warm on your lower back.

the kiss is broken when you pull away to rub your tears away with the sleeves of his pullover, and he looks at you like it was the last time you were in his arms.

“forgive me,” he says, quiet and unresolved. “but i don’t care if we’ve been just friends. there is nothing for me to lose, and i want you to know that i love you, more than anything in the world.”

so much for wiping my tears away.

your sharp inhalation is garbled by the mucus that was already collecting in your nose.

your nods start shallow and light but it soon becomes aggressive when the importance of what the two of you have and will physically lose is in fact, running on a time bomb.

“i love you too.”

the cold air runs off your faces when he finds your lips again, this time feeling more desolate and resentful, and you can only imagine how he was feeling.

he leans forward so he can shift you over onto the pillows, and your back rests into the soft padding of the stacked blankets and cushions.

jongin doesn’t try to be intrusive or aggressive with his kisses or his touch, his hand only running down the length of your thigh that was leaning on his hip.

the tears don’t stop, but they are running slightly slower, now that his declaration of love for you makes you feel like this was everlasting and eternal, even if you were not.

he pulls away to leave butterfly kisses on the icy skin on your neck, and the sensation of his warm lips against the coolness is especially hard to wrap your head around.

your breathing is surprisingly stable, and you realise it was because it is jongin. you trust him with your life and he will carry your ashes to the end of the world if he needed to keep you by his side.

he rests his forehead on yours, alternating kisses between your lips, cheeks and forehead while his fingers grip the rim of your joggers.

the huffs from his lips tell you that he was in more pain that he’d like to admit, and the sudden slow-down in his movements give his thoughts away faster than he shakes his head and locks eyes with you.

“i’m sorry, we shouldn’t--”

“no, please,” your fingers wrap around his arm by the side of your chest. “we have nothing to lose, and i don’t want to go if you think i don’t trust you, if you think i don’t love you.”

resignation tightens his temples and shuts his eyes like someone screwing a nail into his head and he looks away for a brief moment, his breath shaky and indecisive.

so it is absolutely bitter when you take the initiative to catch his lips again, and you drag his hand back down to your joggers.

wrapping his fingers around the rim, you help him pull down the material while you arch your back off the blankets.

jongin doesn’t say another word while he pulls away to remove both your bottoms and your underwear, the cool air hitting you where you were sinfully yearning for his love.

but what are sins, if you were already chosen to leave without a choice?

his crouched, almost lifeless frame gets his belt undone, his knees locking your legs apart.

the sight does not make you want him more sexually, but instead makes you love him even more.

was it because he loved you as much as you loved it? was it because he is so willing to prove it? you might never know, but it was alright.

knowing that he ever loved you the way you did was enough.

jongin pulls the blanket over his back, the sides draping down the sides of your hips while he positions himself over you.

it takes him awhile to find the strength to look at you.

“everything will be okay as long as i’m here with you.”

he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone while you nod, and he buries his lips between yours as he pushes himself into you.

the initial pain does not do anything to curb the pain you were feeling inside, so when the pain seeps away into pleasure like you’ve never known before, it is endearing that you chose to give your most prized possession to jongin.

it was strange that the both of you were still mostly clothed with a blanket covering the most obscene part where you were joined, but it doesn’t matter, does it?

not when you have fallen to your knees, begging and pleading life to tell you why you were being torn away from him.

jongin is aware it is your first time, so he starts off slow and makes sure you’re not wincing in pain before he picks up the pace.

he buries his nose into your neck, and the soft mewls you were feeding his ears were earning low grunts into the skin on your collarbone.

your nails dig into his back while he thrusts into you, the feeling of embracing him in such a sensual way was all too difficult to bear.

was this it? was your life all meant for you to realise that jongin loved you the way you did? did you realise the one thing that fate needed you to, and now that you were done with it, you were being taken away?

it is bittersweet that fate needed to put you through this ordeal in order to understand the love you shared with him.

then again, he was always enough.

he was your truth, he is your truth, and he always will be.

#exo #exo kai #kai #kim jong in #kim kai #kim jongin #exo kim jongin #jongin angst #jongin smut #kai angst #kai smut #timetohajima

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