#but i do get paid this wednesday so i just need 2 like. clamp down on. uhm. i dont know. i get paid wedn so

[bingobongobonko]

maybe i shouldnt have. er. bought glasses but like i went for the cheapest option too so im mad as hell that i barely cut it w rent this month still -_-

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VIII

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person requested and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Send me requests for other fics, ideas for this one, opinions, whatever! My apologies if the quality seems to have one downhill; I'll be doing minor edits for the sake of readability when I have a good chunk of free time.

“Shhh, guys, leave it,” Jens said. Everyone’s comments died on their tongues. Zoë and Moyo herded the superfluous students from the room and left as well, shutting the door behind. Moyo almost clapped a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it in favor of a saddened smile. It didn’t really help. Robbe wasn’t sure if they ended tonight on good terms.

“We’re going to bed early,” Aaron suggested. “We have to get a jump on those damn exams.”

“Leave it,” hissed Jens.

“I was just saying, we’re—”

“Leave it.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Robbe. “We’re going to bed early.” He hadn’t realized how angry he was all week until faced with its culmination. And now—now he was tired. Stupid and single and tired.

There were still no sheets on his bed; he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything with them. He could perform a cleaning spell on the mattress if it got too bad in their absence. Whatever. Robbe couldn’t be bothered to rifle through his trunk for a cleaner blanket, so he crossed the room and grabbed the one off the fourth bed.

Motherfucker. It smelled like Sander. He really couldn’t win, could he? Robbe threw the blanket to the decimated floor and curled up without any covering at all.

“He wasn’t that attractive,” said Jens, breaking his own rule. “Had to get those roots done again.”

Robbe clamped his pillow over his ears. “Shut up.”

“We haven’t been to Hogsmede in a while. Might be nice to go tomorrow. The four of us.”

Hogsmede. Robbe’s eyes burned.

“I need to stop at Honeyduke’s,” Aaron agreed. “It’s Live It Up week.”

“I’d fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks.”

The Three Broomsticks. Robbe was not going to cry over this. It brought him back to Sander explaining their fake love story to Zoë, all the little accurate details, all the possibility… that’s all it was. A story. You don’t like me. He cast the Muffliato charm across his four-poster before the tears started flowing. Once they started, they didn’t stop until morning.

“You don’t have to tell us a thing,” Jens said. “We understand.”

I want to, Robbe thought. He rolled over and faced the wall for the remainder of the night.

***

As much as he would love to hardcore sulk, Robbe had never been that kind of person. Sander was gone. They weren’t even together for that long, so there wasn’t much sulking warranted. He took Saturday and Sunday as unofficial off-days before exams, in that he spent them with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, pointedly not talking about Sander. They did not go to the Three Broomsticks. Jens passed a whole afternoon in Honeyduke’s, attempting to sample every flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor beans.

Okay, Robbe sulked. But not hardcore.

Robbe resolved that one Monday he would snap out of it in time to guard his outstandingin his five classes. What should he do? What had he learned? He could start there. Starting there was something.

1. He should never drop a class for someone he wasn’t really dating.

Robbe’s Potions exam was the first on Monday, and he went into it grossly unprepared, despite hours of common room studying. There was a large difference between reading theory and enacting what it said. Plus, a lot of his library time focused more on Sander’s eyes than on the written material.

Everyone else chopped up their beans and sprinkled them into their brews without difficulty. Robbe couldn’t remember how many he should use. In the end, he dumped a whole handful in completely whole and stirred counter-clockwise. How much could it hurt, anyway? He left fifteen minutes before the exam period was up, and the Potions master did not bother to stop him. The Drought of Living Death he prepared could probably kill the whole class, Britt and all, even if not in the way it was meant to.

Why had he stopped attending in person? What could Britt have done to him? It hit him—she probably knew the dating thing was fake from the beginning. Sander might have planned it all out to make Robbe look like an idiot.

That wouldn’t account for that night in the workshop.

Fuck that night in the workshop.

Sander waited outside the Potions classroom, his back on the wooden doorframe. Britt would be done soon. It didn’t give Robbe any satisfaction to brush by Sander without speaking—or at least, not until he saw Sander rubbing his arm in the aftermath. Robbe must have hit him with the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder, hoping it sounded blasé.

It could have been anyone there, he thought. Sander wasn’t special anymore. Then he went to his bedroom and stared at the wall over it.

2. He was not straight.

The specifics were, as of yet, unclear. He was in love with Sander, which meant he liked boys, but he’d kind of liked Noor too. Not romantically. Or even sexually. But like, he enjoyed her company.

Sometimes.

He wasn’t in love with Sander anymore, though, definitely not. Robbe figured if he told himself that at least four to five times a day, it might become a little more accurate. Two weeks was too short a time to fall for someone.

After all this, he needed to get Jens alone and lay it all on at once. Bad phrasing be damned. The boys began packing their belongings on Wednesday, after a mostly uneventful Transfiguration exam (Moyo turned his cockroach into a pair of earrings that still moved their spindly antennae—he seemed satisfied). They would leave on Saturday afternoon. Aaron tried a simple cleaning spell, Scourgify, and ended up scattering his belongings to the four corners of the castle. He scurried away to pack the rest manually, Moyo at his heels to help.

Jens and Robbe were alone. Robbe was ready to talk about it.

“Why is Moyo always here?” asked Jens, in a way that made it sound like he was breaking the tension.

His plan failed, of course, because Robbe was already speaking. “We have to talk about something.”

They stared at each other. Jens blinked.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Robbe began. “I wanted to, but it was always so complicated.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jens shoved a crumpled shirt into his trunk, followed by a pair of ripped slacks he could never wear to class again.

“This thing I had with Sander… it was fake to him. But, well, uh, to me—”

Jens nodded. “I know.”

Damnit, no.

“Jens,” Robbe tried a second time, “I’ve realized some things about myself recently. They kind of explain other things, from earlier, so…” He switched tactics. Who knew how long until Moyo and Aaron returned? “Do you remember when you and Jana broke up? How you found out about what’s-his-name and—”

Another shirt in the trunk. Some more destroyed pants. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So um, you should understand that it was—” It was never this awkward to talk to Jens before. Jens was supposed to be easy. Robbe folded his shirts by hand, like his mother did, and placed them carefully in his own luggage as he thought of how best to phrase this. “I did it on purpose. She was gonna tell you and I—well I said—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I know things about myself now. Learned them. From that. and this.” Here it came, the big jump. Even though Robbe knew Jens, Aaron, and Moyo outlined a whole plan to get him and Sander together, he still worried about what they’d say when confronted with the reality of it. “Jens, I’m—"

“I know.”

No, that wouldn’t work. Again, “Jens, please, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Robbe, I know—”

“I don’t want you to know!” Robbe flopped a shirt down harder than he intended. “I want you to let me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. That’s who I am. With or without Sander. Okay? I need you to understand that it’s like that with or without him.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you know. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” said Jens. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Jens closed his trunk on top of some clothing that spilled out the sides. He sat down on it to close the latch. Then he reached out and gathered Robbe into the tightest hug ever. It wasn’t nearly everything that Robbe wanted to say, but it was some, and Jens didn’t run away from him. Sexuality crisis, somewhat had. Robbe was sure there would be more later.

3. You don’t like me.

Robbe’s final exam was History of Magic. Luckily, his cramming paid off. He breezed through the questions on the first and second wars faster than any of his peers and was out the door within thirty minutes.

Most students were trapped in their classrooms for another half-hour or more. Empty corridor stretched in all directions, and Robbe didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He knew where he wanted to go.

Sure enough, his astronomy tower perch was vacant. Bright sunlight dyed the campus in shades of yellow and gold, made the upper turrets appear as drawings from a children’s book. Robbe noted in passing that someone had collected Sander’s picnic blanket from its forlorn position on the roof. That made sense. Filch himself must have cleaned.

From overhead, soft music played. Robbe was sure he was hallucinating. He sat down on the sill.

Oh fuck, maybe not hallucinating. Noon cast a shadow of someone above onto the roof below.

Sander’s blanket wasn’t where he’d dropped it on night one because Sander sat on the overhang above the window. He had it splayed across the shingles, a compact player oozing the final lines of that same damn song on a loop, his wand gripped in his hands.

Robbe couldn’t escape him. Couldn’t escape how he felt about him. He could bring it under his control if he made it look purposeful.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have class?”

Sander startled.

This was a mistake. Never mind. Robbe should go.

He leaned even further out the window for a better view of Sander’s setup. A stack of textbooks balanced precariously, end on end, held aloft by a complicated charm of some sort. A quill rolled down the roof and stopped as if by an invisible wall. Sander had created a bubble for his things.

“Cheers to exams,” Robbe said, a bit louder. Sander did not look at him. The music cranked itself up to mask Robbe’s voice—perhaps it was spelled to muffle all noise Sander did not want to hear. That wasn’t fair. “This is my spot.”

“You said you didn’t want to be friends,” said Sander. He didn’t sound upset. Why did Robbe expect him to be upset?

“Can you turn down the music?”

“Britt’s going to join me.”

“That isn’t really what I asked.” Robbe wondered if interactions like this would ever stop hurting. But he didn’t feel as bad as he felt last week. Or on Friday night. Maybe the finality of a no was all he needed to move on. He recalled Sander’s speech word-for-word, mostly the end. You don’t like me.

It hit Robbe in a moment of irrational bravery, when Sander’s music dialed up in volume. Their first night in the astronomy tower, together, illuminated by Britt’s wand. The CD playing in the background. Sander knew what he was wearing on a specific double-date on a specific day—there was no denying something existed between them.

And to have Sander talk like that, say it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing, not to Robbe, and Sander needed to hear it.

So he said it. No introduction, no nothing. “I liked you.”

The Major-Tom-planet song quieted. Definitely some kind of magic there.

“I liked you so much,” he said again. Now that it existed, now that it was said, there was nothing to stop him from continuing. “You can’t tell me I didn’t.”

One of Sander’s quills rolled to the edge of the bubble, only this time, it dropped out and fell the length of the tower.

“We made it up, we agreed,” Sander whispered. “I’m sorry.” He slid down from the roof, landing beside Robbe on the sill, then jumped to the floor. His belongings trailed behind him in a floating line.

Robbe stood his ground and blocked the staircase. “It’s not your thing to decide.” His voice softened. “I liked you. So that’s that. And it’s done.”

Sander scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“Good. You never have to see me again.” Robbe pointed down the stairs for dramatic effect. “I have class. Bye.”

He felt lighter than he had all week when he descended the staircase. Any lighter, and he would have missed it when Sander said, “I liked you, too.”

4. He was a jerk to Noor.

Robbe sought her out on the train home, abandoning his friends in their own little compartment. They had plenty to discuss without his involvement. Pranks and whatnot. The usual. Noor was alone in a compartment near the back of the train, a dozen or so scrolls of parchment dispersed around her. She wrote on one with a broken quill.

She wasn’t a bad person. Robbe should have just told her. The least he could do was tell her when everything was over.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello.”

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

Noor blushed. “No, I—Britt’s sitting elsewhere, and I have a lot to do.”

“With Sander,” Robbe supplied.

“What?”

“Britt’s with Sander.”

“Oh, um, actually—”

Robbe wasn’t in the mood for the nitty-gritty details of whatever Britt and Sander had going on. Obviously it was toxic. Not his problem. Besides, this conversation was for Noor’s sake, not his own.

“Listen, about me and him,” he said. “I need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on.” He hoped it wouldn’t get awkward. The extent of his recent planning was pretty much just say it without warning and hope it works out.

“I don’t read smoke signals,” said Noor curtly. She set her quill down on the seat next to her, ink stains bleeding into the cushioning. “But I get it.”

“No, it was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Awkward silence. Robbe wasn’t built for prolonged chatter with anyone besides Jens, Moyo, and Aaron. The girls’ group was the exception, and only when Jana and Zoë were present. He fiddled with the beginning of a hole in his yellow sweater.

“I suppose I should apologize too,” said Noor, after a while. “That was fucked up, to say he’d get bored of you. I was a little—well, you know.”

“If it helps,” Robbe said, “you were right.”

Noor frowned. She sat up in her seat, and her parchment fell to the carriage floor. The sweets trolley passed by their sliding doorway without stopping—its driver could likely sense the tension. Robbe explained, “He’s back with Britt.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Noor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jana said—”

“Who would know better: Jana, or me?”

Robbe fumbled for something to say in response. Actually, now was a pretty good time to get out, before the topic became any more serious. He said, “He broke up with me.”

“It wasn’t for Britt. She helped him through some stuff, sure, but everyone knows that train’s come and gone.”

“I guess I’m just boring,” Robbe said.

“Bullshit.” Noor picked up her parchment again. She dipped her quill into her ink and began her writing anew, on whatever mess this was. Robbe couldn’t read fucking cursive. “I don’t believe it. Britt says he adored you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he could segue into his next point, which was, of course, that their dating arrangement wasn’t real in the first place, especially after something so honest from Noor. He gave a bullshit excuse, something about chasing the sweets trolley, and got the hell out of there.

***

Robbe said goodbye to Moyo on the train platform. Jens and Aaron lived close enough that their parents parked in the same general vicinity, meaning that they could walk over as a trio. Robbe considered awaiting Sander on the platform as well. Every time he learned something new about Sander’s behavior when he wasn’t there, he got more and more confused. What fake relationship could be convincing enough to have Sander’s ex lamenting its reality?

The boys shared idle gossip on their way to the parking lot. Nothing substantial. Robbe’s head was too full of thoughts, most of them Sander-related. He wasn’t angry, or upset, or tired right now. How did knowing one little thing from Noor make a difference in his overall mood? They split off to their respective parents with casual goodbyes and a promise to write at least once during the holidays.

“Hey,” called Jens, just as Robbe opened the shotgun side.

Robbe turned back, his rucksack swinging off his shoulder. He swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Were you in love with him? Actually?”

They spent two weeks together. Two weeks, plus months and months of pining from afar that couldn’t count for much. It was supposed to last longer. What had Sander said, that day after their date? He wanted it to continue through the holiday break. And now, nothing. Robbe summarized this feeling the only way he knew how: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He climbed into his mother’s waiting car, and with that, it was Christmastime at the Ijzermans house.

[treasure-my-aurora]

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

A/n: Just to be clear, this is not a y/n fic because I seriously can't write in "you" form (or whatever you call it) to save my life. Oc/reader is scandinavian because a major plot point is her blonde hair and blue eyes. Sorry not sorry  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This can be read as a seperate work but there is a refrence in it that comes from my previous work, 'Making Love Out of Nothing at All' so please check that out first if you haven't ♥

Pairing: Hongjoong / fem!Reader

Genre: Porn with Plot, fluffy af

Summary:  I worked shifts in a small club underneath a 4-star hotel in the middle of Seoul, as a hostess. I wasn’t a prostitute, my main job was to entertain, serve drinks and host events. But I wasn’t allowed to decline if someone wanted a private session. The clock neared midnight a hot wednesday evening the 10th of July and my hope of getting a good days pay was dissapearing with every minute. But the anxious feeling in my stomach was interrupted when a group of eight almost fell through the entrence door and one certain red haired promised that he'd make my night.

I thanked the power of air conditioning for the hundredth time that day. It was hot outside, the summer sun cooked anything underneath its beams, and I squirmed, uncomfortably in the white Qipao dress I was wearing. The fabric hugged my body, with golden details and embroidery that made my pale skin shine, packing it tight and I swallowed again, contemplating if I should just excuse myself for a few minutes to push a finger down my throat and throw up my lunch because I was fighting to keep it down anyway. “Hey you!” A man’s voice echoed between the walls of the booth I was serving, and the snap of his fingers made me flinch, “You don’t get paid to just stand there and look pretty, serve me my drink or get me someone who can” I felt my face flush, thankful that my make-up covered it and set down the tray of drinks I had in my hands. Rough, calloused fingers found their way to the lower parts of my thighs as I leaned over and I swallowed, repressed the vile taste that rose in my mouth. I let the action happen, not being able to do anything as the hand reached higher, touching just below my buttock. I cleared my throat, “A private session will be 121420 won” The slap against my thighs that followed made me fall forward and I nearly spilled the drinks when I caught myself on the edge of the table. I made eye contact with a co-worker and close friend, who gave me a sympathetic look, seated between two others in the company we were serving. “Don’t kid yourself woman, I will not pay that much for you” The man laughed and muttered something about foreigners while pointing at me like he couldn’t believe what I was saying. I looked down, ashamed, my hair hanging like a curtain to hide my red cheeks. I was born and raised in Korea, but my family was Scandinavian and even though I consider myself equal to the rest of the black haired and brown eyed population, many would disagree. My blonde long locks and blue eyes spoke of my difference and it’s been multiple times when I had to tell people that I could understand everything that they whispered about me. The man and his three friends roared with laughter, hands pounding the table and my co-worker clenched her jaw, so subtle that you wouldn't notice it, stress visible in her eyes as the man next to her threw his arm around her shoulders. I don’t think he meant to, but we’d been serving them for hours and they were quite drunk, and my co-worker, who couldn’t be more than 160 cm and weigh less than 50 kg was easily manhandled to the ground underneath the table. She shrieked in surprise and I signalled to the barkeeper, a big and burly man, at least 2 meters high and with biceps as thick as my thighs, who had been watching us the whole time. My heart broke from not being able to rush forward and help her out. The men’s laughter reflected on the walls and I found myself swallowing again, trying not to puke as one of the men grabbed a handful of my co-worker’s hair. Her screaming silenced by the barkeeper’s sharp open hand against the man's head, who immediately released her and jumped up, ready to give out punches to the person who’d slapped him. “You’ve had enough, leave now and there won’t be any more trouble” the barkeeper ordered and the men held up their open hands, when they realised that they it wasn’t worth getting their asses beaten, an innocent look on their faces and they got up from their seats. The one that had slapped my thigh, grabbed my chin forcefully, coming disgustingly close to my face, “I’m not done with you yet; you better be careful. I didn’t get to finish my beer. I’d sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you” I flinched at his breath, the smell of cheap vodka burned my nostrils and he chuckled before spitting on the floor in front of me before he grabbed his coat to join the others. My co-worker stumbled over to me and I invited her in my arms, “Let’s get you cleaned up” I said while patting her back and gave the barkeeper a thankful look before I lead her to a private toilet at the back, behind the bar. We worked shifts in a small club underneath a 4-star hotel in the middle of Seoul, as hostesses. My employer owned the club and was brother with the barkeeper who just helped us. I wasn’t a prostitute, my main job was to entertain, serve drinks and host events. But I wasn’t allowed to decline if someone wanted a private session. The prices ranged between 121420 won to 2428400 won, depending on what kind of session it was and even though it was rare, only twice or thrice a week, I wasn’t always happy with it. I enjoyed sex, I enjoyed when men (and women) worshipped my body, taking me and using me to get themselves of. It was empowering, most of the time and it gave me a hell of an ego boost. It was safe, we always used protection, got tested regularly and the barkeeper had his eyes on us and was sure that we escaped a worse fate than what just happened to my co-worker. But there would always be people who thought they were entitled to one more session, one more dance, one more drink and that’s where things could get dangerous. Just as early as last week, an 18-year-old a few blocks down, was strangled to death and I always feared that it would happen to me, or to one of the girls I was working with. I looked down at my co-worker, just barely knowing her real name and age. She was closest to me but didn't enjoy talking about things that was too private and I didn’t want to guess. Her hands trembled in her lap when I wet a towel and removed the tear smeared makeup, patting her back with comforting movements. “I hate this, I hate it” She whispered, and I hushed her, scared that someone would hear before I nodded. More tears welled up in her eyes and she looked away, down on her hands, her leg anxiously bouncing, and I let her act out her restlessness as I washed her face. I led her to our changing room and made her sit down in a chair while getting the makeup. It wasn’t complicated; some blush, mascara and a red lip and she was ready. “Are you ok?" I asked and she gave me a weak smile. I knew that she wanted to tell me that no, she wasn't and that she probably never would be, doing the work we did but those words were unspoken, and I gave her a hug instead, holding her tight. "Let’s go” I told her, and we went out again going our separate ways when she noticed one of our regulars. It was getting late, closing in on midnight and I fiddled with the hem of my dress nervously, prepared to greet the next client that walked through the door. It was a Wednesday and we didn’t count on much more activity. Just the usual regulars and me, not exactly being new but still one of the newest, had most of my regulars throughout the weekend. One of my other co-workers walked up and joined me on the lowest step, watching the door three steps up and gave my arm a squeeze. I thought for a second that she’d joined me for my company, but the door opened just as the clock hit 11:10 and one of her regulars walked in. She gave me a small smile before leading him directly to the back, knowing his schedule and what he wanted by now. I sighed, feeling how my heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. I’d made enough today to eat and pay my rent, but tomorrow was Thursday and those days were even slower than today had been. If no one would enter by 12 am I’d have to seduce someone first thing tomorrow and though I didn’t mind the sex, the seducing part, the part when I felt that I wasn’t in control, scared me. 11:30 and my back hurt as I arched it, needed to constantly carry my body in that beautiful S shaped form. Suddenly several clamping feet over the floor above me, interrupted my concentration and my heart jumped as the door opened and a whole gang of eight entered. I forced down my shoulders so that I wouldn’t look tense, clasped my hands over my midriff in the same way a prude princess from a fairy tale would. Lips curled up in a way that invited to conversation, eyes open and curious. Lovable, sweet and gorgeous, honey sweet with my blonde hair and white Qipao. “Damn look at you” One of them, with a silver blonde bowl cut said, his eyes scanning me from top to bottom and I gave him a brilliant smile, “Hyung, I don’t think that you need to look much further. If you don’t choose her, I might do” he continued and I couldn’t help but smirk, it wasn’t rare for me to see one or two K-pop groups come by, and this moment was one of those times where it was so obvious that K-pop was their profession. Their hair colours ranged from the silver blonde, to light brown, black, blue, red and the blonde that had been called ‘Hyung’. My work came with secrecy and I could only observe in silence as the beautiful men (and occasional women) that ruled our music industry released weeks and sometimes months of training and stress from world tours and comebacks in our laps. I didn’t complain, almost teary eyed with happiness as the anxiety I’d been feeling in my stomach disappeared when I realized their intentions as they flocked around me, like dogs around a treat and I felt my cheeks flush when the blonde that had been called Hyung looked at me with hungry eyes. The bar keeper’s voice thundered down on us, suggested them a table and something to drink and the group dissolved around me just as my co-worker from before joined me, being done with her client. “How’s your scalp?” I asked, not looking at her because my focus was supposed to be on the group that just entered. I could hear her scoff out a small laugh though, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her Qipao, hers a gorgeous green that matched her eyes. She’d accidently spilled that she had roots in England over a glass wine too many just over a year ago. Her grandmother an immigrant and though the red hair that she used to have wasn’t passed down to my co-worker, she considered herself lucky enough with the exotic eye colour. “I’m fine, thank you” She whispered just as the blonde whistled. “You, you’re going to join me later” He pointed at me and I gulped at the sudden proposal. My co-worker sighed beside me in defeat, she needed the money just as much as me and after everything that had happened to her today, I felt like she deserved a treat. It wasn’t a secret that idols where the best kind of clients, all of them young and fit with almost endless stamina and most of them just wanted casual sex, nothing too complicated and were generally generous back. I couldn’t help but smile big, putting my hand on her back and pushing her slightly forward, “Why settle with just one when you can have two?” I asked and the blondes smile disappeared. My request made his mouth fall open; eyes wide with surprise that it was even an option. His friends hit him on the back, screaming for no apparent reason and I wondered how much sugar they must’ve mixed with alcohol before coming here. Their energy was insane, and I would’ve taken a step back if it wasn’t for the positivity they radiated. “Can I just pipe in with one thing” One of the guys, the smaller with light brown hair and delicate features, “It’s San’s birthday and of course he deserves the best but…” He turned to the red head across the table, “Our leader deserves something nice as well, Aurora has received amazing support and I think that he did a really nice job” I suppressed the reflex of raising my brows as the leader, who I first thought was the maknae rose up and bowed to the small applause that followed. “Winner gets the blonde” the black haired screamed and a couple of people in the club looked over at the spectacle as the apparent Hyung and leader proceeded to play rock, paper, scissors. It was close but, in the end, the red head was victorious with 3-2. He downed the shot that had been placed at their table at their arrival and scooted past the blondes upset face, extended his hand for me to take and said, “Shall we"?” Before sticking his tongue out at his friends. I bit down on my lips, suppressing a giggle because it would be inappropriate to show any sort of enjoyment from their game. I turned around just as we rounded the corner to see my co-worker smiling as the blonde haired; San, quickly got up, not slow to show her everything he first intended to show me, spun her around and dipped her, her laughter bounced on the walls and I smiled to myself while leading the red haired to my room. He closed the door behind him, and the sudden silence was deafening, my slightly soundproof walls just picked up the beat of the music. He sat down on the bed, smoothed out the white linen and I propped myself up against my wardrobe, ready to obey his every command. “I’m sorry about what just happened” He said softly, not looking up at me, the light strand above my bed softly illuminated his features and I gulped, “What that just happened?” I asked, fearing that he might call me stupid, but he just chuckled, “You’re worth much more than just three papers in a row but I just had to have you for myself. Even though it’s San’s birthday and I feel just slightly bad that I ripped him off but I just… He leaned back against his hands, eyes at the ceiling and I gulped. It has been some time since I had someone that looked so good in my bed. His skin looked so smooth it was almost ridiculous and the contrast with the red hair made it glow in the soft light. He wore a simple black t-shirt with a print that I couldn’t fully read, a blazer and matching black slacks and I almost groaned at the sight of him, “I just couldn’t lose. Not this time” He looked over at me, intensity in his eyes and I wet my lips, suddenly nervous. The feeling settled uncomfortably in my stomach and my heart jumped. It had never done that before, no matter how handsome the person in front of me were. I knew that I looked good, I was fortunate with a nearly perfect body according to most beauty standards. I was curvy but at the right places, a bit thicker than my co-workers and men, especially foreigners, seemed to love it. But even though I felt blessed now, with a healthy diet and daily exercise, I used to be bullied in school for my extra fat. My Scandinavian roots didn’t make it any better and, in the end, school was the main reason why I ran away from home. My parents had tried to understand me, but they were so busy with work that they barely even had time for each other, and I felt lost, abandoned. So, I ran, and tried to get by with a few thousand won, some clothes in a backpack and my phone. That was seven years ago, and I’d been through some bad shit since then. I quickly got addicted to alcohol and became a sex worker for almost four years after I ran away. It was a literal hell hole to climb out of and I lost a whole year to a battle I never ever want to experience again. Quite quickly after that, I moved to another part of Seoul, wanting to start anew. I found a contact who knew one of my old co-worker’s. She set me up where I was working now and even though some would argue that it was basically the same job, there hasn’t been a day where I regret my decision. I have another purpose than just being a body to fuck. I’ve been trained in the art of standing still for hours, never breaking my smile and never waver from my position. I learned how to elegantly walk with a tray of drinks, how to talk, sit, laugh and move properly and I like to think that I am good at my job, having most of my clients from Friday to Monday when it’s busiest and most of them were people who wanted to just get a quick fix, be it attention, affection or sex. The age range is big, from rich middle-aged agents looking for someone to dominate them for a chance, unhappily married middle class office workers, poor students who only increased their debts and the occasional group of idols who came in to blow out some steam. “Why?” I asked, coming back from my train of thought and the man chuckled, and I had to bite back a smile as his eyes squinted and a perfect set of white teeth were revealed, “You really want me to say it, don’t you?” He had something teasing in his voice and I could feel my heart jump again, “Yes… tell me why you couldn’t lose” My voice was low, and my body writhed slightly against my arms that were locked against the closet I was leaning against. He got up, slowly, like a carnivore ready to attack its prey and I gasped at the duality of him. One moment he was sweet, squinted eyes and a big smile and now I had to lean back, as if his presence had grown a meter. He managed to look down on me even though he couldn’t be more than a decimetre taller and I felt my body quaking before him. He licked his lips and stepped into my intimate zone just half a meter or so from my face. “I knew that I wanted you since the very second I saw you. You are special... reminding me of someone I met a few months ago” Something sad shadowed his features and I felt my heart drop, realising that I wasn’t special because I was me but because I was like somebody else. “Who was she?” I asked quietly, determined not to let his words hurt my ego and he sighed, pulling his fingers through his hair, “Just a fan really, but she taught me a lot. About what to do, what to say…” He trailed off and bit his lips, “She was my noona, are you as well?” I swallowed. Damn these younger groups and their age kinks. I clenched my jaw, “How old are you?” I asked and crossed my arms across my chest, determined not to let him push me around if he was younger than me, “21” He answered, and my heart picked up harshly in my chest, “Then I’m your noona” I said, and I could swear that something glazed over his eyes. He took another step forward, but I put a hand on his chest to stop him from going any further. He flinched slightly as if I burned him, but I kept my hand in place, feeling the muscles under his shirt clench and I swallowed again, my mouth dry and I could feel my stomach doing somersaults. I collected myself, cleared my throat and then said as definite as I could, my voice still shaking a little, “One basic session is 121420 won for 30 minutes and then prices range up, depending on how nasty you like it” He only nodded as if he wasn’t interested in either how much it would cost him or much time we had and placed a warm hand on my waist, thumb pressing on my hip bone. I shivered involuntarily and he flushed his body against me, all lean strong muscles and soft skin and I bit my lower lip. “What’s your name?” I asked, my voice but a whisper and he smirked, “Hongjoong” Before meeting my lips in a soft kiss. I groaned against him and he smiled between the kisses as if he knew the impact he already had on me, his hands traveling up my sides to my throat and my breath hitched as he cupped my face and deepened the kiss, licking his way into my mouth. I tasted the shot he’d taken earlier on his tongue and underneath that, traces of strawberries from a previous drink. He consumed me, pushed me against the wardrobe with his body weight. His taste, the smell of his cologne and his body against mine made my heart pound. I’d fucked hundreds of men, kissed even more and it was rare that I felt the sweet feeling of butterflies in my stomach. This was one of those moments though and I could feel my body flush with excitement as he pushed one knee between mine, softly separating them and grinded agonizingly slow against me. I gulped at the apparent boner poking against my thigh and he chuckled when he realised that I’d noticed. I placed my hands on his chest, my want and lust overshadowed any kind of soft foreplay and he gasped as I pulled his blazer over his shoulders, the fabric of it softly crinkling as it hit the floor. I broke away from his lips and pressed him closer to me, placing kisses from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek to his throat and I could feel him swallow as I nibbled over the big artery on the side of his neck. A groan escaped his lips from the teasing, and I pushed him backwards, the back of his legs hit the bed before he fell. His back hit the bed first with a small thump and I bit my lip to suppress a giggle as he gave out a small surprised yelp. He raised himself up on his elbows and I swallowed, serious again as my hands reached for the buttons of my Qipao. I’d done this more times than I could remember and yet, this time hit differently. There was an almost intimate feeling between us, and he cocked his head to one side, biting his tongue and his hooded eyes met mine as I slid the dress off my shoulders, letting it pool around my ankles, revealing a white lace set. “God, noona… you’re gorgeous” He said, voice almost a whimper and I bit my lip when I noticed his cock twitching from anticipation in his black slacks. His legs rested on the side of the low bed and I twirled a lock of hair between my fingers, watched as his chest rose with every fast inhale, “Tell me what you want me to do” I said, voice sugar sweet and he groaned softly, eyes rolling as he popped open the button on his slacks, “I want you to suck me off noona, please? I promise I’ll do you after if you want, I just need…” I didn’t hesitate for a second as soon as he gave me the command, dropped to my knees and earned a small gasp of surprise when I unzipped him and pulled down the slacks and underwear to his midthigh in an instant. My mouth watered, breath hitched, and I could feel my heart pounding in my ears as my hand closed around the girth of his cock, “…need some release” He breathed out the rest of his sentence as he threw his head back when I pumped him lazily, feeling how he grew harder under my touch, inspecting how his facial expressions changed to see how I could get him off best. “Please” He whined, hands reaching out to touch my cheek and I looked up at him, confused. His brows furrowed, bottom lip between his teeth and his fingers pulled on my hair, downward and I understood that teasing wasn’t really his thing. I paused my movements and locked my gaze with him, watching as his mouth fell open when my tongue flicked out. I lapped the head of his cock a few times, feeling how my panties got soaked as a low guttural moan escaped his throat. The salty taste of pre-cum laid heavy on my tongue as I took him in my mouth and swallowed, letting him hit the back of my throat, my gag reflex non-existent from doing this for years and he choked out a sob, grabbing my hair forcefully but I didn’t mind. I loved the taste, loved the weight of him on my tongue and I placed my hands around his hip, pushing him down as my nose bumped onto his pubic bone. I hollow my cheeks and came up for air, bobbing down his length and licking my way up, dipping my tongue into the slit at the top and he was a writing mess underneath me, one hand thrown over his eyes, panting breaths escaping his mouth and his other hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place. I swallowed down around him again and his chest heaved with irregular breathing and I could feel him holding back his need for release. I let go of his hips, placing my hand on the sides of his thighs instead, pulling his hips upward a few times and he quickly got the idea. A deep choked out growl made me squirm and I could feel how saliva coated my chin as he thrusted into my throat, first carefully, as if he was scared that he’d hurt me but I’d been through worse and he got bolder, pushing my head down to meet his thrusts and I could feel my eyes tearing up from the raw friction as he fucked my throat, using me to get himself off. My arousal burned between my legs with the confirmation that I got him into the moaning mess he was underneath me. I was the one who got him panting and gasping and moaning for release. “Noona… I…. I’m…” He gasped, pulling on the sheet with his free hand, thighs shaking, and I swallowed around him again, his thrusting irregular and offbeat and I knew he was close. I kept him there, moaning at his desperation and the vibrations of it set him off him and he came undone, mouth falling open, head thrown back and body freezing and then shuddering as hot spurts of cum filled my throat. I groaned at the surprisingly sweet taste, fantasized that maybe he’d been planning on getting here and have been on a strict diet of fruit all day for my enjoyment. He shook, and I let him ride out his orgasm before letting him go and leaned back to see what I’d done to him, reaching for a napkin on the windowsill to clean myself up. I watched him as he came back from his high, beautiful as a painting, face and neck flushed a gorgeous pink, his lips red from biting onto them too hard and cock still twitching. I tossed the napkin away and he looked up at me with drunken eyes. “Wow, I needed that” He said, and I smiled back, just happy to help. I sat up again in front of him, my hands resting on my knees, ready for him to give me another command. “What are you waiting for?” He asked, puzzled as he sat back up, looking down on me from the edge of the bed. “What do you want me to do?” I asked again, my job was to please, and I didn't want to make any decisions for him. His eyebrows rose in a ‘huh’ expression and he leaned back against his hands, “Undress for me” he said, a smirk on his lips and I swallowed, standing up. My hands reached back, and I unclasped my bra, keeping eye contact with him and he deflated like a balloon when my breast sprung free and I pulled down my panties. A low gasp fell from his lips when he saw me standing there, naked as the day I was born. My hands fiddled with each other and I felt how my heart skipped a beat. My skin flushed from arousal and I looked away, suddenly shy from his gaze as he looked at me like he wanted to devour me. There was a clear stain on the inside of my thigh where my wetness escaped my cunt and Hongjoong smirked when the light behind him reflected in it. His ego blew up like a fire when he realized the influence he had on me. It filled the room, suffocating me and I involuntarily took a step back when he got up. He stepped out of his slacks and underwear and pulled the t-shirt over his head in one swift movement and I felt my breath hitch in my throat as he stepped into my intimate zone, putting his arms around my waist and pushing my naked body against his. His touch send electric jolts through my skin and goose bumps made my skin prickle and nipples harden and he cupped my breasts, delighted to see such a reaction from me. I let out a whiny moan and looked away as he teased one bud between his fingertips, his other hand moving up to my throat and I swallowed, my heart beating so hard I that I was sure he could hear it. “Come” he said softly and lead me to the bed again. He pushed me down softly with a hand on my chest so that I lay on my back, much like he’d done just a moment ago and I felt like my heart was going to burst when he laid down between my separated legs, pressing his body weight on me again. He cupped my face, softly and I sobbed silently against his lips when they met mine in a chaste kiss. I’d never experienced that someone wanted to take it so slow. To just enjoy me and my company. Most of the men I was with would be done by now, not giving me a second glance and here he was, Hongjoong, looking down at me like he saw through me. Past the fact that we only had a moment, the fact that he would pay me when he was satisfied, the fact that he was just one of many. He saw me, my personality, my insecurities, my passion and lust for him at this moment and I could feel how he radiated from satisfaction that he made me feel as hopelessly lost to him as I made him feel lost to me. His hand travelled from my sides, up my neck to my cheek and he cupped them, looking into my eyes and I could feel his chest rising and sinking against mine. “God, I’ve missed this” He whispered and leaned down to kiss my lips again, another slow chaste one and placed his thumb on my lower lip, carefully pushed it between my teeth into my mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting my lower lip before slipping it into my mouth in an open kiss. My own tongue met his and it was wet and messy, and I loved it, my body writing underneath his as I felt my arousal tick like a small bomb between my legs. He groaned when tasting the traces of himself on my lips and I gasped as his hand flicked over my right nipple. He squeezed my breast, kneading it hard, a desperate gasp escaping his lips and he grinded down heavily on me with his body as if he wanted to disappear within me. His already half hard cock poked at my thigh and I spread my legs wider to allow him to sink closer to me. “You’re going to be the death of me, Jagi” He moaned and I swallowed, feeling how my eyes teared up to the sweet nickname, something you only called someone you really liked, someone beloved and the butterflies that was flying around in my stomach picked up their speed. He paused, sensing the difference in the energy I emitted, and his brows furrowed when he saw my emotional state. “Wha-?” “Call me Jagi again” I begged, and he smiled, scoffing out a small laugh and brushed the hair from my face. “My beautiful Jagi, who’s made me all hot and bothered” I stuck my tongue out as he teased me. “Do you like me all sweet and smiley, Jagi? He continued in a voice dipped in honey as his hand travelled down between my legs and I gasped when he put his hand flat on my vulva, “Or do you want me to take control? How much do you want me Jagi?” he asked, voice dropping an octave and I swallowed, excited that his nature could switch so fast, “Tell me” he breathed into my ear and I shivered with wanton lust, my thighs rubbing his hips and he grinded slowly against me, the underside of his cock rubbing my clit in slow movements as his fingers separated the folds and he shook with the need to restrain himself from plunging into me. I was so wet that he glided over me, the delightful burning pleasure made me choke on my breath, “Tell me how much you want me; how much you want me to destroy you” I wasn’t one for begging, preferring the men I slept with to beg for me. Loving the feeling of being in control of their need, their release but I couldn’t help but squirm under Hongjoong’s gaze, his eyes so black that the sweet brown was just a thin circle around his eyes. “I want you to fuck me, want you to take me and use me until you are completely spent. I want you to walk out of here knowing that you’ve left me drenched in your cum” He inhaled sharply as I played out the scene of him using me and I could feel his cock twitching between our bodies. “Play with yourself Jagi… I want to watch you lose control” I whined out a gasp, biting my lower lip and I grabbed my breast, flicking my nipples between my fingers and my heart jumped with excitement as his eyebrows raised and he motioned for me to move my hands lower. My fingers stroked down my sides and I bit my lip as they reached my legs, rubbing my inner thighs. He leaned back to see properly, and I inhaled sharply at his figure. He was more turned on than I’d guessed, cock already angry red and blood filled. Rock hard and pointing proudly against his belly button and I shuddered from need as I raised my legs to wrap them against his hips. My fingers reached their destination and I pressed down on my clit softly, my back arched as pleasure shot through my body. “Damn Jagi, look at you” He moaned and wrapped his hand around his cock, not able to contain himself at the sight of me, melting under his own touch and I gasped out a breathy moan as his head fell back. He tugged on himself a few times, beads of pre-cum smearing over his clasped hand, panting increasing and I lazily stroked my clit while watching him, my heart beating hard in my ears and I couldn’t help but whine. “Hongjoong please, I need you inside me” My voice seemed to wake him up because he growled and reached over to my bedside table where the condoms were, opened one with his teeth and rolled it over his cock, hands shaking and I held his gaze as he pulled my body against his hips with a sharp tug, locked my legs around his waist, hands gripping my thighs hard as he lined up. He entered me with one swift movement of his hips, the eagerness of not letting me adjust to the size of him had me gasping and he burrowed his face in the crook of my neck when he was fully inside of me. His labored breathing in my ear and my own heartbeat was the only thing I heard, and I pushed on his lower back with the heels of my feet, making sure that he was so deep into me that he could. Not able to help myself from moving, I rolled my hips agonizingly slowly, clenching around him, teasing him and he groaned before pulling out of me, just slightly before jolting his hips forward and I held onto him as the friction made me writhe. He was deliciously slow, feeling me up and bringing me down with every snap of his hips. His hand cupped my face and his lips met mine again, all lips and tongues and playful nibbles as he thrusted harder, faster, pounding my body into the mattress and soon I was a gasping mess underneath him. “Fuck Jagi, you’re so wet” he moaned against my lips, “Feels so good…” his moan turned into a choked sob as he bit down on his lower lip, hands on my hips, pulling me down on his cock to meet his thrusts and I swore, my hands pulling on the red strands of his hair, “Touch yourself, I need you to come first” He growled against me, sitting up again and my fingers reached between us. I rubbed myself, angling my hips down and he bit his lips, a groan leaving his lips and his head cocked to the side when he looked down. My fingers spread the wetness around my clit as I rubbed myself, a small gasp escaping his throat when he watched with hooded eyes, the lips of my cunt swallowing him down, over and over again and I moaned, loved seeing him coming undone from the sight of me. His body was covered in a sheen layer of sweat, chest heaving and thighs shaking but he didn’t seem like he needed to slow down at all. Quite the opposite, as he placed one hand on my chest to stabilise himself and hoisting me into his lap, leaning back, toes digging into the bed and his other hand threatening to bruise my waist and my head fell back against the pillow. I could feel my entire body move with every powerful thrust and I felt myself tipping over the edge embarrassingly fast. I clenched up and Hongjoong moaned when he felt my walls constrict around him, watching my face as I came harder than I’d done in months. “Fuck Jagi, I’d gladly pay to see you make that face again” He swore, and I choked out a chuckle. He slowed down as I came down from my high, leaning forward again to press down a kiss on my lips and I hummed against his lips, meeting his slow thrusts and enjoying the afterglow. He wrapped his right arm around me, holding himself up slightly with the other and buried his face in the crook of my neck, placing soft kisses there and I wrapped my arms around him, feeling my heart swell as we laid so close against each other. The sweet burning stretch of his thrust made me squirm with bliss and I wanted to pause time. To take a snapshot of this intimate moment to fill my mind every time I was with someone who was less giving. I swallowed as he got up again, locked his eyes with mine and the tender look he had made me want to cry. His fingers brushed my forehead and I melted against his gentle touch as he combed my hair from my face. His lips met mine again and he paused, as if he wanted to capture this moment as well and I felt my heart skip, “We don’t need to take it slow” I whispered, his forehead against mine, his hard, warm breath against my face and my fingers played with the short hair in the nape of his neck. He chuckled softly, “I know, I just wanted to give you a breather” My brows furrowed and I only caught a glimpse of a mischievous twinkle in his eyes before he pulled out and flipped me around as if I was light as paper. He hoisted my hips up and entered me again with one sharp snap of his hips and I cried into my sheets when he didn’t give me time to get used to the new position. He pounded fast into me from behind and I immediately arched my back, ass in the air, arms above my head while supporting myself on my elbows. He groaned, gripping my hip with his left hand and I bit down on my lip when he dug his fingers into my flesh, desperate and needy to claim, to control. His other hand grabbed a handful of my hair and he twisted it before pulling and my head snapped back, the sweet pain in my scalp made me choke on my breath. He pressed a sloppy kiss on the nape of my neck, kissing down my spine and I felt my skin prickle as he flushed his chest against my back. He moaned, the hand holding onto my hip traveled over the round of my ass and he kneaded my buttock harshly before bringing down his hand, flat and hard over the soft skin, the slap echoed between the walls of my room and I whined out a moan as the sharp sting shot straight to my core. “Damn, I can’t get enough of you Jagi” He gasped, voice low and husky and I groaned in response, not able to find my voice as his hand left another stinging slap on my butt cheek. I clenched around him with surprise and a thick moan left his throat, “Do that again Jagi… fuck… I’m so close” His voice erratic and I clenched around him again, loving the sounds that spilled from his lips as his thrusting became irregular, thighs shaking and his grip on my hair hardned, arching my back so that he could fuck me harder, deeper and i let out a choked sob when i felt him tensing up behind me with one last thrust and I shuddered, feeling how his cock twitched as he pushed himself balls deep into me, a whimpered growl leaving his lips as he softly bit down on my neck to stifle his moan. The motion so ancient and primal that it was on the verge of being animalistic and I felt my heart beating hard in my ears, the thumping deafening. He let go of me a moment later and i turned over to lay on my back again, winching slightly from the pain in my scalp and back. I looked up at him, his flushed cheeks and the red hair spread in every direction, beads of sweat on his forehead and in the roots of his hair. Chest heaving and cock still half hard and I bit my lip, feeling how my own arousal still burned between my legs. He left me for just a second, discarting the condom into a bin next to my bed before he placed his hands on my thighs, fingers tapping butterfly soft on my inner side of them. It was supposed to be a sweet gesture but I couldn’t help but gulp, still very much turned on and his eyebrows raised when I rubbed my legs together, wanting nothing more than those fingers inside of me. “You’re not done yet, are you?” He asked almost amazed, voice so incredibly low that I shuddered. He leaned forward, rubbed circles on my thighs, urging me to seperate them and I complied, my face burrowed behind my hands and I could hear him sigh softly when he watched me. “Look at me Jagi” He ordered, voice silky smooth but the dominant undertone made me gulp and I inhaled sharply when I removed my hands, feeling my face flush when I met his eyes again. He kept his gaze locked with mine and his left hand on my thigh, holding me in place, my legs on either side of his hips where he sat on his knees. His right hand caressed the inner side, just a decimetre from their destination and I sucked my lower lip into my mouth, clenching around nothing when soft fingertips stroked over the sensitive skin there. “Tell me what you want me to do” His voice husky and i could feel tears forming in my eyes from arousal as he repeated the same words as i had used at the beginning of our session, as if our roles were changed. He looked down on me, eyelids heavy and fingers tapping just centimeters from where I craved them “You gave me a promise” My voice was needy and whiny and I could feel my heart pounding, not being used to be the one in control, to be the one getting worshipped. But he only smirked, happy to please and laid down on his stomach, kissing my inner thighs on his way down and I shuddered from the sweat gesture, his lips soft on my skin. He placed my legs over his shoulders and I choked out a cry when he placed his tongue flat on my folds, licking between them and I shuddered against his face. I could feel him smiling, nose bumping against my pubic bone as he began eating me out, drinking my juices like a starved man. I borrowed my fingers into the red of his hair, loving the scene of it between my legs. He gently sucked on my clit, paused to come up for air and I could feel my eyes tearing up as he smirked to my reaction, chin wet and eyes hooded, hair tousled from being pulled and I gasped breathlessly when he leaned closer, pushing his body against mine, fingers pressed onto my clit and my back arched as they rubbed softly and agonizingly slow. He bit his lower lip, keeping eye contact with me when his finger travelled down between my folds and my mouth fell open when he pushed in his middle and ring finger to the knuckle, softly hooked in a “come hither” movement and a whiny gasp left my lips when he tickled my sweet spot. “Need one more taste” he groaned and leaned down again to lick my clit, fingers still pumping lazily into me and my back arched, the back of my head pushing down on the pillow and a silent scream leaving my lips when my eyes rolled back from the pleasure shooting through me. I could hear him breathlessly chuckling against my folds, the obscene sound of him slurping my juices filled the room and i got drunk on them, got drunk on him, the mixed smell of sex and his cologne surrounded me, clouded my senses and I never wanted him to stop. His left hand gripped my thighs harder as he pushed himself closer to me, as if he couldn’t get enough either, wanting to reach deeper, his toungue lapped against me, pushing against his fingers as he tried to fuck my hole in as many ways as possible and I could feel myself standing on the edge, hands in his hair and mouth dry. I licked my lips and whined out, “Don’t stop” while moving my hips against him, riding his face and he gripped my thigh harder, picking up speed with his fingers and i was gone within seconds. My mouth fell open as I convulsed against him, my hearing blown out and body going numb as pleasure shot through me. He let me ride out my orgasm and came back up when I was down from my high and I choked on my own breath. He looked so wonderfully fucked out that i wanted to cry and I swallowed hard. He bit his lip and his cheeks flushed red when he suddenly clasped around his cock hard. I looked down, surprised to see him leaking from precum, a clear stain where he’d laid and I gulped as he tugged on himself, a breathy moan escaping his lips and eyes glossy from arousal. “Can I come on you?” He asked, voice husky and I nodded almost embarrassingly quick as I took a shaky inhale, not even realising that he was so far gone already. He placed his left hand on my thigh again, fingertips digging into my skin as his head fell back. His movements where fast and erratic when he started to fuck his own hand, slowly grinding into it and I groaned from the sight, touching myself and writing from the oversensitvity. Beads of pre-cum dripped down on my thigh and he locked eyes with me again as I separated my legs, letting him see my wetness, putting on a show for him as I dipped my fingers into my hole. An animalistic growl left his lips and he pushed his cock down to slide the head between my folds, and I didn’t stop him. I got checked regularly and knew that I didn’t carry anything. Normally I’d scoot away, not trusting the person I was with to be healthy as well but his despreration clouded my judgement and found myself not caring as I just pressed down on my clit harder when he dipped the head of his cock into me, furiously jacking himself off at the same time, his breathing labored, eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip between his teeth, threatening to draw blood. The overstimulation from pressing down my clit became too much and soon I was coming again, my body tensing up and Hongjoong whined when he noticed me clenching around the head of his cock without warning, his name fell from my lips as I writhed underneath him and his hand tightened on my thigh, face contorted from coming for the third time that night. Body convulsing as hot ribbons of cum painted my lower stomach and chest and I groaned with satisfaction. He fell forward, caught himself with one hand and I swallowed when his lips suddenly met mine again. It was slow, sweet and I felt my eyes tearing up when I realised that it was a goodbye kiss. His lips moved against mine and he pulled on my hair to hold me closer, a gasp fell from my lips and he hummed back, sharply inhaling through his nose. We separated, the need for air taking over and I smiled when he cupped my face, placing a playful kiss on the tip of my nose before getting up and walking over to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel and I thanked him when I took it, debating with myself if I should just let him leave with his cum still stained on my stomach, marking me like his. But I decided that even though I loved the feeling, waking up with it crusty would be less pleasant. He stood up again, looking for his clothes and I swallowed, feeling my cheeks flush as I cleaned myself before putting away the towel and I asked before I could stop myself, “Can you… stay?” I bit my lip, my jaw clenching. It wasn’t something I ever asked, the moment we had was over and I had only asked it once or twice over the years I’d been working here but he smiled. His eyes squinting again and my heart swelled, thumping hard in my chest. “Of course, for a little while...” he said, pulling on his underwear and dragging the duvet over our bodies as he laid down next to me. I could feel how my body froze, so used to causing pleasure that simple cuddles made it feel awkward. But he laid on his side, placing his right arm under the pillow I rest my head on and the other around my body, intertwining our legs and placed his chin on the crown of my head. I took a sharp breaths of air, my own arm around him and my nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck. The musky smell of sweat and cologne filled my senses and I allowed myself to relax in his arms, welcoming a deep sleep.

……….

I woke up when the sun peeked from underneath my blinders the next morning, my bed cold and I shuddered, pulling the duvet closer around me. I was alone and I bit down on my lip when I felt empty sadness fill my heart and poison my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I forced myself up, placing my feet on the sun-heated floor. A letter was placed on the table next to my bed and I frowned, picking it up. My heart picked up in speed as a stack of 20 ‘50000’ banknotes fell into my lap. A gasp escaped my lips at the sight of the money and my heart raced as I read the note,

We’ll meet again, Jagi

[hymn2000]

Called To Be A Rock - Frostiron feat. Spiderson AU fanfic - C12

Chapter 1  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Comments/reviews/questions welcome as always

Overall Desc.: Peter is staying with Tony and Loki one summer while his aunt is away working/travelling.

Chapter Desc.: Post-holiday blues are one hell of a phenomenon. It doesn’t always take long trips to trigger them. Loki drops into a downwards spiral, and Thor takes drastic measures.

Ship(s) involved: Tony x Loki aka Frostiron

Verse: Personal AU

Ongoing Warnings/themes/cw mentions: sickness, domestic, mental health issues, abuse mentions, descriptions of severe anxiety, angst

Chapter 12 - Take The Ropes And Fuck It All - Part One

-

The short trip away seemed to do everyone good. They returned home in good spirits. Once home, Tony turned his phone off for the rest of the day so he could enjoy ignoring his commitments for a while longer. 

Loki and Peter were feeling close, and were quite happy spending the afternoon drinking tea and play-fighting on the rug in front of the telly (and very nearly knocking the set over more than once in the process). Tony was happy nursing a large whiskey and keeping an eye on them. The sun was warm through the windows, turning the mood to a perfect lazy Sunday.

-

For a while, everything was good. Monday came and went, and Tuesday found Tony and Peter working on a new project, spending much of the day down in the lab while Loki took to his reading nook. Eventually he grew tired, having now read every book in the house that wasn’t an electricians manual. Somehow, he didn’t really feel like rereading anything. Even the one’s he had enjoyed seemed tremendously dull now. 

Loki retired early that night, having exhausted all possibilities of entertainment, and feeling rather lonely too. Tony and Peter had emerged briefly in the afternoon, and Loki had been pleased to see them, but within half an hour they were back down in the lab. Loki found it very hard indeed not to mind. 

-

Wednesday morning came as a shock. Loki awoke early, and as soon as he did, he was overcome with a sense of absolute dread. It took him quite by surprise, and try as he might, he couldn’t pin down a reason for the feeling. At a loss of what else to do, he went to Tony’s room and crawled into bed with him, wriggling under his arm. Tony grumbled, but pulled him close anyway.

“It’s five-thirty am, did you know?”

Loki didn’t reply, and Tony soon fell back asleep. Loki didn’t have such luck. He curled up with his head against Tony’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. For once, it did nothing to calm his nerves. He struggled to shake off the feeling of dread he’d woken up with. His thoughts raced as he lay there, feelings he’d pushed right to the back of his mind resurfacing. He tried to repress them, tried to think instead of the weekend he’d just had, but he struggled to see what he wanted to. He tried to remember the dandelion and burdock, the tennis, the talk about nights out, cuddling by the fire... But it all got taken over by feeling sick, struggling under water, snapping at Peter. He felt more than he saw, growing steadily more overwhelmed. He screwed his eyes closed, jerking his head slightly as though he was trying to shake the thoughts. 

-

He must have slept eventually, because he woke up alone. He checked the clock on the bedside table. 8.30am. He wandered back to his own room, brushing his teeth and getting dressed in a distracted manner. 

He found Tony in the kitchen, making himself a mug of coffee - awkwardly, because he had his phone between his ear and shoulder. He looked royally fed up. 

“Should I-” Loki started, but Tony put a hand over his mouth to quieten him. 

“Well, why can’t you sort it? That’s what you’re paid for” Tony grumbled into the handset, letting his hand drop and going back to his coffee. 

Loki tried to hug him, but was stopped quite firmly. 

“What? No, it’s nothing important” Tony said, holding his phone properly and standing back against the counter.

Loki tried not to let that remark hurt him, but it did. Tony wasn’t in a good mood, largely as a result of this current phone call. He sighed, looking at Loki and placing his phone back between his ear and shoulder. 

“That’s not my problem. Just call the technician later if you’re still stuck: it’s not that difficult. It certainly doesn’t warrant an early morning call” Tony said, sorting out the mismatched button on Loki’s polo top. “What do you mean, it’s not that simple?” he took hold of the phone properly again. “Yes it is. You’ve got a manual, and I suggest you use it”

He turned Loki round, giving him a little push towards the door. He was starting to get very angry and impatient with the incompetence he was forced to put up with.

-

Loki went off to the reading nook, feeling quite dejected. He sat down heavily on the right side of the window seat, even though he’d always preferred the left. He looked at the bookshelf, filled with its endless boring novels. He looked at his empty dolphin bowl and the assortment of cushions and blankets. Usually the most comforting place in the world, the reading nook seemed to have lost its potency. Everything seemed unfamiliar and distant. He felt ill. Sick, and scared. All the feelings that had been swimming in his mind earlier on had resurfaced. The sense of dread was stronger than ever. He could hear his pulse, beating deafeningly in his ears. A horrible, hot feeling swirled in his chest and stomach, and goosebumps sprung up all down his arms. 

Before he even really knew what was happening, he had both hands clamped over his mouth, muffling his sobs. It took him by surprise, and because he hadn’t known it would start, it was impossible to stop. He tried desperately to stop, but his efforts were wasted. If anything, trying to stop only made him cry more. 

-

He soon became aware of someone watching him. He looked up, seeing Tony through his tears, and found himself crying harder still. He felt like such an idiot, crying so uncontrollably, but he couldn’t help it. He leant back against the wall, covering his face with his hands. He couldn’t speak. He desperately wanted to. He wanted to look at Tony and tell him - tell him what? He didn’t even know what he was feeling, so what hope was there for explaining it to someone else?

Eventually he managed to muster a bit of strength, moving his hands away from his face.

“Don’t just stand there-!”

Tony hadn’t moved, still stood with his arms crossed over his chest, phone in one hand. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know-!” his voice broke, and he drew his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his hands again. “I don’t know!”

Tony went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but his phone rang, distracting him. Loki looked up for a moment as Tony looked at the screen, waiting to see what would take precedence. 

“I’m going to have to take this”

Loki may well have been stabbed, for all the pain it caused him. He found himself falling onto his side in uncontrollable torment. He hated every inch of himself with every fibre of his being. He felt like he was cursed to carry on like this forever. Panic was rising in his throat.

“Just do it!” he cursed himself. “If you’re gonna have a panic attack, just bloody, fucking well get on with it-!”

But he didn’t. He collapsed into the nest of pillows and blankets, pulling one over his face, and feeling in that moment that he may well be better off dead.

-

Tony didn’t return to him, and Loki wasn’t sure if that was a mercy or not. Eventually he managed to grant himself some level of composure, and pushed himself up from the window seat in a dizzy haze. He needed to do something - anything - and the box of cigarettes and bottle of vodka in the drawer of his bedside table seemed to fit the bill. 

As he stepped out into the hall, feeling a bit surreal, he heard the doorbell ring, and the door began to open. He knew who it was straight away: there was only one person he knew to call round and enter without permission, who rang the bell as more of an announcement of their arrival than anything else. Loki held his breath for a moment, and as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, he lost it again.

“Loki?”

He sunk to his knees, too overcome with emotion to stay upright.

“Loki!”

Thor closed the door and dropped to his knees before Loki, gathering him up into his arms and cradling him. 

“It’s ok Loki, it’s ok. I’m here now”

Loki clung to him desperately, unable to quieten but reassured by his presence and the weight of his hand on the back of his head. 

“Thor? What are you doing here?” Tony had appeared in the hall. “I’m far too busy to entertain today”

“I came to see Loki, and thank god I did. What’s going on here?”

“He’s just having one of those mornings” Tony knelt down too, going to hug Loki, but Thor gave him a shove, knocking him backwards. “Ow! What are you playing at?”

“This is your doing” Thor snapped, rather thinking Tony didn’t look very concerned or interested. “What have you done to him?”

“What?! I haven’t done anything! What kind of question is that?”

Thor stood up, helping Loki to his feet and keeping him close. Loki looked between the two of them, suddenly sensing he was caught in the crossfire. Tony stood up too, getting defensive. 

“Look, you know what he’s like: he gets upset sometimes”

“Not like this” Thor said. “Never like this. What did you do to him?”

“Oh for gods sake; I didn’t do anything! Why do you have to keep interfering in our business all the time? So he’s upset: that doesn’t mean it’s my fault!”

“This is the second time this month that I’ve showed up to find him in a state. You’re the common factor here, Stark. I don’t trust you”

“Get out of here. I’ve got enough to deal with without you throwing accusations at me” he went to take Loki’s hand, but Thor gave him another shove.

“Don’t you dare. Come on brother; you’re coming with me”

“What?! You can’t just snatch him away!” Tony protested. “Leave him alone; can’t you see you’re upsetting him?”

“This is your doing, Stark, not mine”

Loki was still crying, and so not in a position to tell them that they were both upsetting him. Thor put an arm round him properly.

“I don’t trust you. I’m taking him home with me”

“How the hell can you not trust me?! Our relationship isn’t just bedroom stuff, you know. Who do you think it is looking after him all the time? This is his home: you can’t just take him away!”

“I can if that’s what’s best for him. I’m not going to stand by and let you hurt him”

Tony darted and made a grab for Loki, and Thor snapped, pulling Loki out of his reach and slapping Tony across the face.

“Don’t even think about it!” 

-

Thor set Loki down in the kitchen back at the flat, putting a glass of water down in front of him. Loki had stopped crying on the journey over, and was left feeling very hollow and drained. 

“I think I need to go to sleep”

Thor nodded. “Ok”

Loki stood up shakily, leaving the glass of water where it sat, stumbling through to the living room. He lay down on the sofa in the sun, staring ahead, but not really seeing anything. He barely noticed Thor putting a blanket over him. He felt stupid. He felt guilty and scared and embarrassed. But more than that, he felt tired. He wanted to fall asleep for a very long time.

-

Sleep is one hell of a healer. When Loki awoke, everything felt hazy, but it felt aligned, like someone had sorted everything while he was absent. He felt a bit lightheaded and groggy, but the sense of dread had lifted, and he no longer felt like screaming his heart out. 

“Oh, you’re awake” Thor said, giving Loki a quick squeeze when he came out into the kitchen. “How are you doing?”

“Better” 

“Are you ready to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything much to talk about”

“Loki. I’ve never seen you like that before. I’ve never seen anyone like that before. That wasn’t just you having a bad morning: that was something serious. What happened?”

Loki shrugged. Thor sighed.

“Loki, whatever it is, you can tell me. It was Tony, wasn’t it?” Loki looked up. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“What? No! Don’t say that” Loki said indignantly. 

“Loki, if he’s hurting you, you need to tell me about it”

“What? Of course he’s not hurting me! Whatever would give you that idea?”

Thor gestured for him to come over, which he did, reluctantly. He took hold of the hem of Loki’s shirt.

“I’m just going to take this off, ok?”

“Why?”

“Just humour me”

Loki did, but he wasn’t happy about it. Thor looked at him carefully, turning him to see better. Loki didn’t appreciate being manhandled.

“What are you doing?”

“How did you get these bruises?”

Loki looked at himself. Admittedly, he did look a bit knocked about, with quite a few marks. His knife wound was almost fully healed, but the bruises on his hips and lower back looked quite nasty. Thor gently touched his shoulder blade.

“And this one?”

Loki hadn’t known about that one - but then, he wasn’t in the habit of examining his back, so how could he?

“I had a wrestle with Peter the other day. Well, quite a few rounds. It got a bit rough”

Thor didn’t look convinced, and Loki noticed this. It suddenly clicked.

“Wait, you don’t seriously think Tony gave me these bruises, do you?”

Thor nodded. “I know he’s hurt you before”

“What? When? And don’t you dare say the argument the other week, because not only was that an accident, it was a one-off too, and you know it!”

“Loki, please” Thor said. “Stop lying to me”

“I’m not lying! Tony would never do anything to hurt me. These bruises are nothing to do with him”

“Have you got any more? Take your trousers off”

“What?! No!”

Thor grabbed him, pining him against the fridge.

“What the hell are you doing?! Hey, don’t you dare!”

Much to Loki’s dismay, Thor exposed his legs. Loki shouted and swore at him, but Thor didn’t take any notice. He saw the bruises on Loki’s thigh, quite obviously finger marks. 

“What the hell has he does to you?!”

“What? Oh, so we like getting a bit rough in the bedroom, so what?! Let go of me!”

Thor did so, and Loki pulled his trousers back up, absolutely fuming. 

“I don’t need this! You and your paranoia have put me into too many compromising positions” he grabbed his shirt, pulling it back on. “I’m going home”

He made for the door, and Thor grabbed him round the chest.

“You are home. You’re not going back there: I won’t let you”

“What are you talking about? I don’t live here” he struggled out of Thor’s grip, standing before him. “This was never my home, even before. Just leave me alone: I’m sick of you interfering with my relationship”

“Loki, I can’t let you go back. I’m not going to stand by and watch you let him abuse you”

“For gods sake, I’m not being abused! How many times do I have to say it?” he looked at Thor, and suddenly his anger turned to fear. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I don’t. There’s too much evidence. I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt”

“But-but, I’m not getting hurt! I swear it! Tony would never hurt me, he’s never laid a finger on me” Loki gabbled, getting a horrible feeling in his chest. “I’m telling the truth. Please, you’ve got to believe me!”

“I can’t. You’re being abused, and I’ve sat by too long. I can’t take any more chances”

Loki laughed nervously, but it sounded more like he was crying. “Brother...”

“I have to do what’s best for you”

Loki looked at him, all the colour draining from his face. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, Loki. I can’t let you see Stark again. From now on, you stay here”

Everything shattered around them. All Loki could see was Thor, and he knew he hadn’t made an idle threat. He could feel himself shaking, hear himself laughing to try to stop himself from crying again.

“You don’t mean that. You don’t mean that..!”

“Yes, I do. And you know that I do” he felt horrible. He all but watched Loki’s heart break before his very eyes. “That’s just the way it has to be”

Loki knew this was it, and he didn’t know how to comprehend it. He was still laughing, half-covering his mouth, shaking his head.

“You can’t. No, no, you can’t, you can’t do that” Loki said. His voice sounded funny, higher than usual, and shaky. “I need to go home. I’m going home..!”

Thor looked him in the eye. “No”

Loki laughed more for a moment, scared out of his wits. It soon turned to cries, and he found himself on his knees, clinging to Thor’s shirt and shaking his head.

“No. No, you can’t make me stay here! Brother, please! Please let me go! You have to let me go!”

Thor looked down at him, a stabbing pain in his chest. It was almost more than he could bear, seeing Loki this way. But he felt it was a necessary burden. 

“I need to go home! I need to be with Tony, I need to be with him, please! Please, I’m begging you! I’m begging you to let me go!” 

Emotion took over, and he was overcome with sobs once again. His hands fell from Thor’s shirt, and all dignity went out of the window as he cried on his hands and knees, still begging incoherently, growing hysterical. Thor knelt down in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest. Loki grabbed at him, pulling himself to his knees with the help of Thor’s shirt. 

“You can’t do this to me, you just can’t! You can’t do this-! You can’t! You c- you ca- you-” he stopped, gasping, clutching his chest with one hand. “You c- you c- c- c-, I ca- I can’t-”

“Loki?”

Loki was breathing short, sharp breaths that made his whole body judder as he did so. His hand slid from Thor’s shirt to the floor, the other still clutching his chest.

“I can’t breathe-! I can’t brea- I can’t- I can’t, I ca-, I can’t-”

“Loki, Loki, it’s ok, you’re ok” Thor sat him up against a nearby cupboard. Loki tried to push him away, but was too deep in a frenzy to best him. “Loki. Loki, listen to me”

Loki covered his ears and closed his eyes, too scared to know where to look. He couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt. He felt sick. He had pins and needles in hands and feet, and a tingling in his lips. The room seemed to shake around him. Thor took his hands, taking them away from his ears and holding them tight. 

“Loki, Loki, you’re ok, you’re going to be fine. You’re having a panic attack, that’s it. It’s just a panic attack” 

Loki knew that already. He’d never had one quite like this before. It completely took over. He could feel Thor’s hands, but it felt like he was being held through thick gloves. He could see him, but it was like looking through frosted glass. He could hear him, but it sounded like he was listening from the other side of a door.

“Focus on me, Loki. Focus on me. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere”

Thor took his face in his hands, looking him in the eye. 

“You need to breath. Focus on your breathing now”

“I-I can’t!”

“Yes you can. Come on now, in and out. Slowly”

“I can’t-” 

For a while it seemed he was right. He tried, but every deep breath he tried to take was cut up by several small ones. Thor kept encouraging him, telling him to keep trying. 

Eventually he managed a shuddering, but slow breath.

“That’s it. Keep doing that. Breath with me now. In... And out. That’s it; you’re doing really well” 

Loki did his best, and soon his breathing improved, his heart rate slowed, and within a few minutes, he’d calmed almost completely. He was still trembling slightly, still feeling rough, but he was definitely over the worst of it.

Thor stroked Loki’s cheek gently. “That’s it now. It’s all over now. Well done”

Loki collapsed against him, exhausted. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly realised he didn’t know what to say. So he stayed quiet, and let his eyes close. Thor held him tight, biting back an apology. He couldn’t give in, not when there was so much at stake.

-

Loki let Thor settle him on the sofa. The sun was starting to set outside, and nothing felt quite real. Thor wasn’t sure how best to comfort him. He knew angry outbursts were on the horizon. 

“Everything will feel better after you’ve had a good nights sleep” 

Loki didn’t bother looking at him. Thor sat beside him. 

“I’m worried about you, brother. That man has such a hold over you. You took my decision really badly”

“And how would you react?” Loki said bitterly, still staring straight ahead. “If you were stolen away from your family and told you couldn’t see them again?”

“I didn’t steal you away: you didn’t exactly protest when I told you to come home with me”

“I was upset: I’m allowed a momentary lapse of judgement” his voice sounded odd, disconnected. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me”

“I’m trying to protect you. I know it feels like the worst thing ever to happen right now, but it well get better. You’ll thank me one day” 

Loki rested his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. Thor went to comfort him, but Loki flinched away from his touch. Thor sighed sadly. 

“I’ll give you a minute”

He excused himself and went out to the kitchen. He tried to remember what he used to cook when Loki was still living with him. It wasn’t a memory he’d retained too well. He could only think of one thing. He checked he had the right things in the cupboard, and set to work.

-

Loki looked up as Thor came back into the room. 

“You’ve burnt up a lot of energy today” Thor said, putting a cushion on Loki’s lap and balancing one of the plates on top of it. “Eat”

Loki opened his mouth to speak, but Thor stopped him before he could say anything.

“Now don’t you dare say you’re not hungry, because I know you are, even if you don’t feel like eating” he sat down in the armchair by the sofa. “I bet you’ve forgotten how good my chip butties are: it’s been so long since you’ve been round. Go on. You need your strength” 

Loki was feeling too weak to argue the point, and too tired to be defiant. He picked up the butty and took a bite - and was immediately reminded of just how good Thor’s chip butties really were. It was a single moment of bliss in an otherwise horrendous day. Thor was relieved to see Loki settling down and tucking in. He couldn’t fix everything, but he could start with the little things.

-

Loki felt much better now he had a full stomach. He crawled onto the armchair, moving into Thor’s lap, as it proved a bit of a squash being side by side. 

“I wish I could make you believe me” he said. “Tony gets angry sometimes, of course he does. But he-”

“You don’t need to defend his actions. There’s no excuse for hurting you”

“But-”

The phone started to ring, distracting him. Thor didn’t take any notice.

“You should get that”

“It won’t be anything important”

Loki couldn’t bear to leave it ringing, so he knelt by the telephone table and answered it. 

“Hello?”

“Loki?”

“Tony!”

Thor snatched the receiver from him. “Stark”

“Thor. When are you bringing Loki back?”

“I’m not”

“What do you mean, you’re not? Why do you have to keep sticking your nose in?! Bring him back, now! We’ve got plans”

Loki stayed where he was, listening to the buzz of Tony’s voice, trying to work out exactly what was being said. This end made it clear it was an argument. Loki tried to grab the phone back.

“Let me speak to him!” 

Thor grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Loki listened hard.

“You can’t just take him like this! Did you even stop to ask what he wants? Right, bring him back or I’ll-”

Thor put the phone down on him. Loki looked up at him. Thor looked down at him.

“What?”

“I wanted to talk to him”

“Loki” Thor knelt down. “When I said you can’t see him, that also means you can’t have contact with him. That means none whatsoever. We have to completely cut him out of your life. It’s for the best. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“But I love him” Loki whispered, and tears spurted down his cheeks. 

“I know you do”

“He loves me too”

Thor wasn’t convinced. “He wouldn’t hurt you if he did”

“I need to talk to him”

He went to grab the phone, and Thor stopped him quickly. 

“No. The phone is off limits now, understand? That man is nothing to do with you anymore, ok?”

“That man has a name!” Loki suddenly shouted. “He has a name. He’s my boyfriend and-”

“Not any more. You can’t be in a relationship with an abuser”

“He’s not an abuser! Stop saying that! Why won’t you believe me??” Loki cried. “Where’s your proof?!”

Thor grabbed hold of him, yanking his shirt up to expose his bruises.

“These are a good start”

“Those are nothing to do with Tony, I’ve already told you! You’re just trying to break us apart!” 

“Of course I’m trying to break you apart!” Thor snapped. “I promised to take care of you: I’m not going to let you be with someone who puts you in such sorry states as this”

“You can’t blame him for this! You’re the one who’s done this to me!” Loki stood up, squaring up. Thor got to his feet.

“Loki, please. That’s just the dependence talking” 

“What does that even mean?! Stop treating me like a victim! I don’t need you interfering like this! Even if Tony was abusing me - which he’s not - I wouldn’t be running to you for help. I hate you!” 

Loki pounced, half-blinded by tears, acting from emotion more than malice. Thor managed to catch and restrain him easily enough with an arm round his chest, holding his wrists together in his other hand. Loki didn’t even bother struggling: he just cried. 

-

Thor carted Loki off to his old room, sitting him down on the bed. 

“You need to rest” he said firmly. “You need rest and time to get your head around what’s happened today. I’m going to leave you alone for a bit while I find you something to get changed into, ok?”

Loki let him leave. He looked round the little room, remembering when he used to live there. He’d always hated this flat, hated this room: it always felt like a prison. It felt like that again tonight. He screamed with the anguish of it all.

“Look what you’ve turned me in to!” he exploded at Thor when he returned, grabbing his shoulders. “Look what you’ve done to me! I don’t even know who I am any more!”

Thor decided ignoring his outburst was the wisest course of action. He sat him back down on the bed, helping him out of his clothes and into the pyjamas he’d found for him.

“There. You’re still a bit swamped, but it’s better than nothing. I’ll go and get some of your things for you in a day or two” 

Loki stared at him in visible confusion, wondering what exactly was happening, and why Thor hadn’t shouted at him. Everything felt to be the very definition of Wrong.

“Come on, brother, it’s time you went to sleep”

Loki kept his eyes glued on Thor as he obediently climbed into bed and allowed himself to be tucked in. 

“Things will be different in the morning. You’ll see” Thor locked the window, putting the key in his pocket. “Goodnight, Loki”

-

Once he heard the click of the door closing, Loki sat up again. He felt close to panic-attack level again. He looked round the dark little room, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. He knelt up on the bed, pulling at the handle on the window, hoping to buckle it. He’d started to shake again. The window wasn’t huge, but he knew from experience that he could fit through it easily. All his strength seemed to have disappeared, but he wasn’t willing to give up just yet. He knew breaking the glass was out of the question though: he’d surely be caught. 

Footsteps sounded, and Loki let go of the window handle like it was red hot, plonking back onto the bed just as the door opened. 

“Thought you might need a drink” Thor placed a large glass of water on the bedside table. He stroked Loki’s face gently. “Lay back down. Poor old stick”

“Don’t pretend you care”

Thor chose not to take it to heart: he knew Loki must be hurting dreadfully. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“I do care. Now, I’m going to stay until you fall asleep”

Loki almost spat a remark about not needing a prison guard, but it didn’t quite reach his mouth. He gave in, utterly exhausted, and lay back down on his side, his back to Thor. He didn’t belong there. He wanted Tony so much. He wanted to be back at home in his own bed, surrounded by his own things. He wanted to be anywhere other that Thor’s flat. He wanted to be somewhere where he’d be believed. The life he’d spent the last few years building for himself seemed to have completely collapsed in the space of a day. He’d been forced to watch it crumble before his eyes, at the hands of his brother.

But he couldn’t hate Thor, not really. Because he did care, and he was there, stroking his hair gently and reminding him that everything would be ok. And in that moment, he was all that he had.

*

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I'm in dire need of a fluffy scene where Claire tries to read the lines on Jamie's palm and she ends up failing miserably.

Liv says: So this isn’t fluff, so to speak—but I hope it’s still fun! Set about 2-3 years before puir Frank the Mailman died in the Three Witches AU. No worries if you haven’t read it. This one stands alone! :)

Intersection: A Three Witches Story

Claire knew this was against coven rules. Like, totally outside the realm of acceptable witch behavior.

To dole out one’s magical talents—particularly at the county fair—was a bit manipulative (in regards to the customers), a bit sad (in regards to Claire). Still, she liked to think she was working for a kind of greater good. Ensuring the happiness of all mankind! And that was almost admirable, wasn’t it? Giving hopeful glimmers of adulthood to the stork-like teenagers, comforting the mopey singletons who trudged around, heads bent? She’d offered such assurances as:

“A new man will come into your life. A handsome one—with a huge prick! His name…I think his name begins with a ‘T’.” (This to the recent divorcee, clutching her naked ring finger like a burn. She hadn’t known what a “prick” was but was no less forthcoming with her money.)

Or this, to the bucktoothed 16-year old picking at his acne scars: “You’ll be the coolest person in college. Captain of the ultimate frisbee team!” He’d been disappointed at that one, enormous chompers clamping over his bottom lip. “Ho ho ho there, young man!” she’d said then. “Ultimate frisbee is cool where you’re going. The coolest cool.” And then he’d smiled, a patchwork of teeth and holes, which Claire hoped someone might find endearing. A nice and wholesome blind girl, maybe.

And then this, to the both of them: “For just $5 more, I can guarantee it! All you have to do is buy this magical rock and carry it with you wherever you go.” Nevermind that said magical rock was actually from Claire’s backyard. Nevermind that several of them were speckled in bird shit. Maybe some cicada guts.

But that was the thing about desperate Mortals. Metaphorically speaking, their whole lives were a succession of bird shit plops and smeared bug guts. So they didn’t even notice when it was covering their $5, not-magical rock.

“Yes please! I’ll take two!” the divorcee had cried, handing Claire a ten dollar bill. (Did she think this would bring two men into her life? Because that’s not how Claire’s bird shit rocks worked.)

“Um. Yeah. That’s sounds pretty sick,” said Beaver Bobby. “I’ll buy a rock.” He’d paid in all quarters but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

If her best friend Gillian were here, she would likely call this “an exploitative farce,” two terms she would’ve picked up from her beloved Word of the Day calendar.

“Claire,” she would hiss, “this is such an exploitative (Wednesday’s word) farce (last Friday’s word).” And then she’d pull out her Moleskin, update her word count with a self-satisfied tick. Her record, she claimed, was sixty words in a single morning, and Claire imagined a horrible plague descending upon their town, zombifying everyone until they could only grunt “verisimilitude.” Gillian thought an expanded vocabulary made her smarter but, really, it just increased her smart-assedness to a barely tolerable level.

Luckily, Gillian wasn’t here to offer one of her impressive synonyms because she’d bailed on their plans. If Claire could place money on it—and she couldn’t, with only $7 to her name, the very reason for this “manipulative/sad/exploitative farce”—Gillian was protesting GMO’s one county over. Perhaps arguing for the rights of beluga whales. Or, and this was the most likely, she was loitering at the Creamy Whip, breasts thrust at a very specific angle so that customers’ cones would find their shirts and not their mouths.

Psh! Now if that wasn’t an “exploitative farce” then Claire didn’t know what was. Gillian had mosquito bite boobs and a push-up bra more magical than her own powers.

But here was the thing: Claire wasn’t completely faking it. She wasn’t, so to speak, wearing a bra with three inches of padding. She could read palms, see futures unfurl, weblike, across strangers’ skins. Forks, divots, complex branches—each had such a distinct voice, that Claire had no doubt as to whether or not, say, Mr. Duncan over there would choke on a hot dog and die very suddenly. Or whether young Malva—that girl with the cotton candy and ruffled socks—would pop out a kid by the time she was 17. Claire, being a witch, knew precisely what would befall her clients by simply looking at their hands.

But of course, teenage pregnancy and death by synthetic meat logs weren’t exactly good for customer satisfaction. And so Claire would read Mr. Duncan’s palm, and she would see Mr. Duncan’s red face, gasping on a particularly troublesome bit of hot dog, but say he’d live until he was 85. A little white lie for a happy client. And a happy client meant A) money, B) a potential second visit, and thus C) more money. The $5 rocks weren’t scams, just for-profit business cards.

So she was lying, but not, y’know, totally lying. She’d deal with the prevention of hot dog-induced deaths later, when it better benefitted her monthly budget. (Because just as she wasn’t a complete liar, she wasn’t a complete asshole either.)

The fair had died down to a trickling of stragglers: mostly drunks, a couple of junkies who’d staggered into Nayawenne County for cheap-rate smack. Sighing, Claire stood to begin packing up, turned off the moody sound effects, gathered Gillian’s stack of Tarot cards (all hand-painted variations of herself: man Gillian; tree Gillian; Gillian with bigger-than-mosquito-bite boobs).

In the five hours since Claire had arrived, she’d made $120. Not a terrible turnout if one compared it to last year’s fair, when an angry swarm of Bible-thumpers had tossed her earnings into the funnel cake fryer. Sally Bain—or, as Claire called her, Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence—had rallied her troop of Jesus warriors and thrust crucifixes into Claire’s face, chanting things like, “Begone Satan!” and “This is God’s land!”

Which was kind of funny when you thought about it. If God wanted to claim ownership of Nayawenne—out of every other place in the universe—then he was pretty damn stupid.

Fortunately, Claire had suffered no further Bible-thumping, crucifix-wielding disturbances. Sally Bane-of-Her-Existence had fled town once she’d discovered her husband had fucked the organ player up in the ass. And in the church rectory, no less. (Such irony! Claire’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Ha.)

It had been a windy afternoon, and Claire’s crystal ball was now coated in a fine layer of dust. Though it was only for decorative purposes—for customer satisfaction!—Claire decided she ought to give it a nice shine, make it look at least halfway capable of revealing visions of tomorrow.

Witch Tip #1: Unbeknownst to Mortals, crystal balls were like kisses from a true love. Which was to say, not powerful in the slightest. The most a kiss could do was give you mouth herpes. And, at its highest power, a crystal ball would fly across a room, break a window and the pinky toe of an irritating significant other. Not that Claire had experience with either situation. Certainly not the mouth herpes.

Claire ripped off a paper towel and went to grab the Windex, only to realize she’d left the Windex at home. Had, by a stroke of poor planning, only brought the herbal tonic she sometimes had to spritz into her eyes when they got a bit cloudy.

Witch Tip #2: Seeing the future had its drawbacks. Your eyes would get all crusty if you did it too much. As if your body was punishing you with goopy morning blindness. Honestly, it was pretty gross.

Well shit, Claire thought. She spat on her hand and rubbed the ball, hoping the couple beside “Whack-A-Democrat” wouldn’t think she was, like, doing something sexual to an inanimate object.

But whatever the couple thought, they were watching her, whispering behind their hands and giving her darting glances. Oh God, Claire thought, Bible-thumper radar blaring. Did Sally Bain send them? Did she organize a sabotage via prayer? Was it possible to raise an army of vengeful Baptists an entire state away? (Claire wouldn’t be surprised. She’d heard of stranger things. Done some of them herself. See also: anally-fucked organ player before he was anally fucked.)  

But no, the couple wasn’t looking at Claire with the fury of God in their eyes—but fascination. The woman, a petite but sturdy thing, was shoving her partner in Claire’s direction. Making a not-so-obvious pointing gesture, like, Her. Her! that he seemed somewhat reluctant to obey. Still, he did, and soon he was striding towards Claire, long legs stomping up clouds of dirt dust, red hair matching the synthetic blood of a “whacked” Bill Clinton.

“Are you…” the man began, looking nervously over his shoulder. The woman pursed her lips, arched her brow like, Do it, you pussy. He shoved his hands in his pockets, defeated. “Are ye done for the day, lass?”

“I was just about to pack up, but I’ve time for another reading if you’re interested.”

“Aye…” he said, completely unconvincing. “Aye, I suppose I’m interested.”

“Well then, take a seat, Mr…?”

“Fraser. Jamie.”

He was huge. Like, mega huge. Like, he could probably eat her. He was also ridiculously attractive, which meant that if he did eat her, Claire would ask him to do it again. She most definitely would not mind being inside his mouth.

“So what’s it going to be this evening, Jamie? Tarot? Crystal ball? A pal—”

“My sister says as I should have ye read my palm.”

“Oh! Splendid. Is that your sister back there?”

“Aye, that’s Jenny.” Again, he looked over his shoulder at the woman, her eyes unblinking despite the tidal wave of dust. As if to explain her behavior, he said, “We just moved here from Scotland. Only been in Nayawenne County for a few weeks now.”

“Dear me,” Claire replied, and then cringed. Attractive, mega huge men made her nervous—and sometimes her nerves made her sound like a 50’s housewife. It was a problem, she now realized, she ought to fix. “I mean, like,” she continued, “bloody hell. That’s a long way.”

“Family orders.” He shrugged. “But yer not so close to home yourself. British, by your accent.”

Claire nodded. “I’ve been here for a while now. Packed my bags when I was 20 and moved for…” She floundered for a plausible explanation. “Well. A guy.”

This, like Claire’s palm reading, was not a total lie. She had, indeed, come to America for a man: Ray, one of her classmates, had sought her input on a new enchantment in ‘04. A healing spell—Claire’s specialty —prepared from some rare fungi found in the hills of Appalachia. But Claire had about as many romantic feelings for Ray as she would a toad. Too many all-nighters spent with his warty nose and her (she liked the think) perfectly attractive nose stuck in the same spell book.

She’d stayed, though, after that. Anything—even bumfuck Ohio—was better than going back to England, where every witch wanted to hex her…

But that was a story for another time. 

This story, right here, continued with a ripple of concern across Jamie’s face. Claire regarded him, wary, but glad Gillian wasn’t here to ruin their conversation with Words of the Day, beluga whales, or push-up bras. Jamie was, at the moment, only hers.

“He’s out of the picture now,” she said. “The guy, that is.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m just out of a break-up myself. One of the reasons I was none so unhappy about leaving Scotland.”

“Oh, well…” She looked down as if expecting two beverages to materialize, waiting to be held aloft. Instead, she grabbed her bottle of eye tonic. Lamely spritzed it into the air. “Here’s to being single then!”

“Aye, to being single,” he said, the mist falling slowly between them. Claire had never heard a proper guffaw before, but the sound that came from Jamie’s mouth was what she’d always imagined a guffaw to be. Warm, kinda strange, totally hot.

“So,” she began, getting back on track. “You said your sister put you up to this? Any specific reason for that?”

“Dinna ken,” Jamie replied, smiling a little beneath his (also) perfectly attractive nose. “I dinna question Jenny when she tells me to do something. She’s into this kind of…” He looked at the crystal ball, the cards, the rather tasteless turban sitting lopsided on Claire’s head. “Weel, whatever you call this.”

“How wonderful,” Claire said, giving Jenny another once-over. Adorable, really, when Mortals got caught up in the craft. One minute they were watching Oprah, swallowing her New Age-y drivel, and the next thing they thought they were gods. Practicing divinations, performing séances in the streets with Glade candles and getting hit by Aramark trucks. (She’d read about it in the paper once.)

“Well, I suppose we should get on with it then. Will you open your hand for me? Palm up, please.”

Jamie laid his hand on the table. It, like the rest of him, was huge.

The last man Claire went out with had also had large hands. He’d taken her to the theater and—there was really no other description for it—had swallowed her with his bulk. Sucked her face, handled her boobs like a hungry squirrel might stockpile acorns. She could still taste his buttery-saltiness on her tongue, the little bit of crunched kernel that had slid from between his teeth to the back of her throat. She’d coughed, choking, and when he’d reached to pat her back, he’d decided to take a handful of her tit instead. Just held onto it, leech-like, while the fugitive kernel slowly killed her. (Luckily, his other hand—the one not squeezing her boob—handed her the Diet Coke, and she survived.)

Jamie wouldn’t do that, she thought. His big and gentle hand would pat her back first, then return, lightly graze her tit as if by accident. It would, quite possibly, be the most artful tit-graze in all of human history.

And sitting here, trying to read Jamie’s palm, Claire realized she wanted his hand, right there, quite badly. To have his thumb teasing her nipple through her shirt, maybe traveling a bit lower. Slipping beneath the elastic waistband of her panties, to her crotch, which Louise at Louise’s would’ve waxed just for the occasion. The noises she would make would disturb the other viewers, but Jamie, with those big and gentle hands, would not muffle them.

“D’ye see anything interesting?” Jamie asked now, and the image of his hand on her tit, while fingering her in the 13th row of the Regal Cinema, vanished. Was promptly replaced by worry.

“Well, it’s funny, really…”

The true answer was: nope, nada. Nothing. Not even a flicker of Jamie wrapped around a toilet bowl, vomiting bad cheeseburger on a Saturday night. Jamie Fraser’s palm was like one of those ancient texts she and Ray had pored over, all bizarre hieroglyphs and nonsensical syntaxes. But while they had managed a crude translation, this was something entirely different. Jamie Fraser’s palm, Claire knew, would never reveal its secrets—no matter how hard she tried.

Which was why Claire swooned a little bit, and why Jamie had to reach over to keep her from toppling to the ground. His hand, though it did not brush against that sacred spot of her breast, did find the small of her back, stayed there a touch too long. Through her fog of shock, Claire thought: There’s some sort of time etiquette for this kind of thing, right? A three-second max before it veers from a purely platonic gesture into something kinda sexual?

“That bad was it?” Jamie said, smirking.

“Sorry,” Claire replied, leaning into him. She lingered over his face but found no indication that he was feeling the same way, or even thinking, Blimey! That just veered from a purely platonic gesture into some thing kind of sexual!

“Fine. I’m fine. Peachy keen as they say!” Claire cleared her throat to keep her voice from cracking. “It’s just—your hand is a bit unusual is all. I’ve not seen anything like it.”

“Is ‘unusual’ a good thing or a bad thing?”

Well, Claire thought, that depended on what exactly was being called “unusual”. Because what she was feeling was really fucking unusual, and what she was feeling was a bone-deep, stomach-fluttering ache. Like Cupid had shot his arrow straight up her ass, punctured all her gory insides and skewered her heart like a shish kebab.

“I dunno, really. I guess it means—”

“I’m special?”

“You could say that.” Was she blushing? She was blushing. “Mr. Fraser…”

“Jamie.”

“Right. Jamie. I’m afraid—God, this is a little embarrassing—I can’t actually read your palm. There’s nothing there.” She slid the fiver across the table, feeling too frazzled to consider spinning one of her lies.  “These things happen from time to time. I’m, uh, probably just tired. But you can have this back. I won’t take your money.”

“‘Nothing,’ ye said? You didn’t see a thing?”

“Afraid so. Nothing to worry about though. It’s not necessarily a bad omen…It’s—it’s hard to explain.”

For a man being given a very sincere and full refund, Jamie’s face was abnormally pale. The color had drained from his cheeks, and his hands—so incapable of leech-like grabs!—began to tremble. Two crooked fingers beat a nervous rhythm into his pant leg, and he quickly got to his feet.

“Keep the money, lass,” he said, “You can pay me back later.” And if he wasn’t in such a rush, Claire would’ve been able to confirm that she had, in fact, heard him say, “I’ll see you soon, Claire.” That her name wasn’t a tacked-on politeness, but something he’d said with the utmost tenderness.

And if Claire had been an upstanding member of the Coven Coalition— a studious practitioner of spells—she would’ve been able to hear Jenny and Jamie’s conversation from 50 feet away. Instead, she was forced to define Jenny’s smug whoop as if it were Gillian’s Word of the Day.

Jenny’s Smug Whoop (n):

1) a victory celebration, i.e. I told ye so, did I no’?!

2) proof of a mutual understanding of Witch Tip #3, i.e. A witch cannot see her own future (yet another palm-reading glitch). If, for example, Claire read a client’s palm, and her reading was filled with blips of blankness, then she had likely stumbled upon a deep intersection. Or, rather: a point in time where her future and the client’s were so intertwined—beyond family, beyond friendship—that Claire could not see the specific event due to her involvement and the aforementioned glitch.

And so there was one reason—one very momentous reason—that Claire could not read Jamie Fraser’s palm. He had a future, no doubt about it, but every second was marked by a certain curly-haired, British witch. (Refer to: a deep, ongoing intersection.) She, Claire Beauchamp—who was not at all an upstanding member of the Coven Coalition but who would certainly enjoy having those big, gentle hands in her underwear for the rest of her days—was Jamie Fraser’s future. You could, if you were of the romantic persuasion, even say they were soul mates.

The discovery of one’s soul mate has adverse effects on one’s respiratory system, and so Claire found it hard to breathe. She scrambled through her purse, found her flask, and took a hearty pull.

“I take it yer off duty, then?” said an unfamiliar voice. “Claire, is it?”

Claire looked up to find Jenny Fraser, that same smug wash of victory tugging at her eyes.

“Aye, but of course it is. I ken that already.” Jenny cleared her throat, expanded her chest like a sermonizing Sally Bain. “You’re Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, born October 20th, 1989 in Oxford, England. Parents, deceased—verra sorry for yer loss, by the way—and an uncle, missing in action. Yer also currently broke, by the looks of it, which is why yer selling wee pebbles covered in shite.”

Claire, utterly speechless, simply said, “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” through a mouthful of gin.

“Christ, to be sure. Sadly, Mr. FDR is a bit worse for wear. Got a proper skelping back there.”

Claire looked around wildly and found Jamie watching them—albeit, still visibly flustered—by the freshly bludgeoned Roosevelt.

“Did the Coalition send you?” she asked, frantic. “Am I in trouble? Because…Look! I’ll stop selling the bird shit rocks, all right? Just please don’t report me.”

Jenny shook her head, laughing.

“Nay, it’s nothing like that. It’s only—weel, it appears you’ve just confirmed something I’ve suspected for some time now. About you and my brother.”

Witch Tip #4: Magical beings—witches, wizards, fairies, vampires, etc. etc.—are everywhere. The old woman throwing Reese’s Pieces at the ducks could very well be a shapeshifter. Your random client at the county fair could have a witch for a sister.

“If you’re referring to how I couldn’t read Jamie’s palm, then yeah, I—”

But Jenny interrupted, happily offered her hand for shake.

“I’d say that settles it,” she said. “If yer going to make a lovesick fool of my brother, then I think we should be friends, aye?”

[rockacycle-blog]

Cycling journal: Tangier - Rabat

Hibernating all winter can seriously damage your productivity, and that’s what happen to me over the last few months in rainy and icy London. That’s why I felt a desperate need to escape the winter and do some cycling in Morocco getting just a little bit closer to Cape Town. I carried on right where I left of last year: Tangier, Morocco.

Tangier – Rabat day 1 Wednesday 8th of February

Today I left the hostel fairly late, let alone the fact that was I was already 5 days late I finally hit the road. My goal to reach Rabat in 3 days was more than reasonable. I would cycle for around 50k on the first day and do 200k on the following two. I have upgraded my old bike but I haven’t actually tested it until it was time to leave, so if anything goes wrong or doesn’t function properly I could end up getting stuck somewhere stranded with no help to find, but being lazy involves taking a lot of risks, this was one of them. It was a while since I carried that much weight behind me and I know that it takes getting used to it, so I didn’t dare to start cycling in Moroccan city madness. I pushed the bike away from all the chaos before I felt more comfortable to start cycling losing another half an hour of daylight that I already didn’t have much left of. The bike seemed to work fine and I actually have exceeded my expectations going way past Asilah where I originally intended to go on my first day. It was already dark when I found a good enough spot to camp. Its nice to sleep outdoor once again.

Day 2

I was woken up by someone outside my tent. I open the zipper to find some guy just circling my tent on a horse. I waved at him, he responded with a likewise gesture and strode away. Weird – I thought for a second but there was no time to waste since I had a long day ahead of me. I immediately noticed that there was something odd with the difficulty to move forward. I just recently installed a new dynamo hub that I wasn’t yet used to, so I simply assumed that that it was causing the problem. Once again, being lazy involves making a lot of decisions based on assumptions, that was one of them. The road that I was on since I left Tangier was taking a different direction so I had to take side roads that I wasn’t particularly thrilled about. For a second I tried to sneak on of them paid motorways that seemed to have enough space to cycle on the side but I was soon explained that it ain’t happening. Unknown side road it is! At least its by the ocean, but the ocean was nowhere near to be seen instead I was moving through the heart of what seemed to be endless slums. Everyone seemed to be friendly and were waving at me. Kids were very curious, they were coming out of every corner. Some of them were asking for money and to my annoyance they were easily outrunning me since I was moving so slow due to my “dynamo problem”. It was getting dark and I had no idea when the slum would end. Luckily I managed to find a little patch of woods that was sort of secluded and there weren’t that much rubbish lying around (unlike like every other peace of ground around you). I was so pleased with this discovery, no one could’ve seen me from the road and apart from the bunch of stray dogs wandering around no one really bothered me that night.

Once I stopped I realised that one of the brake pads was clamping my front wheel and making it harder to move all day long. I managed to do 100k that day, but with all the energy I have wasted I could’ve easily done twice as much.

Day 3

I was woken up by the rain drops hitting a top of my tent around 3am. I was so desperate to escape the rain back home without realising that it actually rains in other countries too. Man… how am I suppose to cycle now. I’m in the middle of this poverty-striving area and I’m certainly not staying here during the day, but at that time it was still tomorrow’s problem and the rain drops were really calming so I just fell asleep.

When I woke up at 9am it wasn’t raining anymore so I figured that its a good opportunity to find a better shelter at the Kenitra that was still 50k away.

It didn’t take much until it started pouring down again, I barely cycled for 5 minutes until I was forced to hide under some tree that wasn’t really protecting me from getting wet but it was better than nothing.

The same things happened three times until I decided that this is not working out so I’ll just gonna power through the rain all the way to Kenitra. By the time I reached the city I was soaking wet, the roads were flooded with rainwater so I couldn’t tell where any of the potholes were which caused me falling off several times.

I was happy to finally be there and was looking forward to finding a nice spot to get some food and drink loads of tea to get warm. I completely forgot that it was Friday, and Friday is the day when everyone goes to the mosque causing all the businesses to shut down. It was a challenge finding something and the rain was no help. I found some place but the tea wasn’t doing much, I was just that cold. I left the café feeling even more cold. I just wanted to get in my tent and change into something dry. Luckily i didn’t have to look far, some park just outside the city was more than perfect.

Day 4

I’m in luck, it’s not raining anymore, at least for a while. It looks like its gonna start pouring down any minute so I had to be fast. I’ve spent at least half an hour making some adjustments to my brakes.

Road to Rabat was nuts and despite seeing some local people cycling on it I wasn’t too keen on doing so all the way to the capital on that road. Once again I made an executive decision to take a side road that didn’t look promising but it wasn’t that long till Rabat anyway.

It wasn’t a good road and it slowed me down, but it was an interesting experience. At some point I was facing a long street with countless block buildings on each side. Some of them had windows, some of them didn’t . A dog or a random child would run across the road indicating that people do live here.

It started raining as I was approaching Rabat. By the time I reached the hostel I was once again soaked but it didn’t matter anyway, since I was just minutes away from taking a hot shower I was dreaming of for the last few days. Of the simple things…