#i should be kept high drunk and chained up at all times

[dinkdonkjoolian]

me (a very reasonable person/sar) genuinely contemplating suicide because of a minor inconvenience or having to actively restrain myself from lashing out at my closest and most beloved family and friends over insignificant and alltogether harmless mistakes/percieved slights against me. both of these things happen literally daily can somebody please just end it for me

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 05

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: ~12.450 Previous chapter: 04.

The view from my room was more pleasant in the morning, especially as the light protruded through the green mantle and gave me back the immensity that the darkness swallowed during the night. I had woken up in the middle of the morning, with the morning light hitting my face and my stomach churning from the absurd amounts of champagne the night before.

Indulging my technology addiction, I couldn't go long before looking for my cell phone. I scrolled through my inbox, revelling in the reactions to the videos I'd shared on my private Instagram account. Most of them were terrifying footage of the night at a club spent with both teammates and rival teams, Pulcini among them.

I remember meeting him in the middle of the crowd, still with his incredibly neat bow tie on his collar. I remember making fun of it to him and later undoing it as we danced.

The rush of sound and light from the club was intense. With each beat and beam of light that fell over the crowd and enveloped us in a blanket of warm bold light, I could feel the links in my mind's chains unravelling one by one. Champagne and cocktails freed me from morals and gave me the absolute pleasure of music and alcohol.

More memories of last night kept coming to me, the morning light irradiating them in all of their twisted technicolour. I remember having a narrow space to move, shoving against the crowd, and bumping into people trying to reach the dance floor. Nicola and Lin, two of my teammates (the first being the team’s head of communication and the second an engineer) were just behind me. At that point, most of the team had already got back to the hotel. I found Andreas while I danced. I felt his hot breath on my neck.

“I haven't had the chance to congratulate you, yet,” he said. The strong Italian accent rang in my ears. “Heard you might join me in WEC next year.”

I turned around to face him. His hair was half up, some strands falling on the sides of his face. The lights going around us fell on his face, illuminating the youthful features of the man before me. I remember the thirsty eyes, the glossy lips and the smell of whiskey and mint.

"Afraid of not seeing me in the grid, next year? You won’t get rid of me. I get off by denying rich kids in fast cars their victories," I parried. He snorted.

In no time, I had my arms around his neck in an awkward hug as my hips shook to the music. With my eyes closed and mouth wide open, I sang the lyrics to the song which name I didn't remember. His face was dangerously close to mine as we danced the night away. The skin of my neck can still remember the touch of his lips. I can still feel the grip of his hands on my hips, holding me firmly against him. My heartbeat accelerated under his touch. His lips burned on my neck, moving upward to meet my lips.

Half drunk, but otherwise in full control. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to be kissed.

And at that moment, it didn’t matter who was the man offering me what I desired.

A hand on mine led me to the toilets. I remember the door closing behind us, the beat that threatened to overwhelm us only an echo now. I remember his strong hands reaching for my waist, pulling me close to him; his lips hungry for my neck and his hands fumbling with the slit of my dress.

The shrill ring of the phone permeates my mind, cutting through my memories. My mother's name is displayed on the screen. On the corner, the clock showed me it was past noon. My flight is in a few hours.

“Are you awake yet? The flight’s in three hours. We should leave,” a pause. My head aching at the sound of her voice, so high pitched in my ear. “The flight coming here was terrible, mija; it seemed like we were flying inside a cement roller.”

“Mom…” I interrupted her, my voice coming out hoarse and tired. “I’ll come down to the lobby in a bit. Let me just have a shower…”

I put down the phone, shoving it in my bag while thanking the sober version of me that had the decency to pack before heading to the ceremony. Looking around, the only mess I had to clean was the clothes from the night before, left on a chair at the foot of the bed, and a few soaked cotton pads strewed across the dressing table.

An assortment of emotions makes me shake. With every step I took or any movement of my head, I could feel my stomach churn or a twinge of pain cross my head. To worsen and amplify the complaints of my body, the sight of the bed and the fresh air coming out of the AC made it hard to resist the temptation of just lying back down and closing my eyes again.

Walking towards the mirror, the image of my swollen puffy eyes, the impression of a sleepless night stares back at me. I comb my hair with my fingers, disgusted at the image in front of me. I was in need of a shower and a long night of sleep.

A soft knock on the door cuts through the silence, waking me from my trance.

My eyes fixated on the reflection in the mirror. Confusion took over as I tried to understand if I was imagining the noise or if someone was really at my door. Another knock. At that point, it couldn't be just a fabrication of my mind.

“Sorry to wake you, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice greeted me as I opened the door. Pulcini was on the other side, wearing a dark green shirt and Adidas training shorts. “I’m just picking up my phone. I think I left it here last night.”

“What?” I was confused; I turned around to face the bed and the nightstands. There was no sign of any phone and the bed, although messy, didn’t show any evidence of me having company during the night. “You were here? Did we sleep—”

He laughed in the face of my panic.

“I’m just messing with you, DiMaggio,” he took the phone out of his pocket and shook it in front of my eyes. A child.  “You were pretty hammered last night; I wanted to make sure you were alive.”

Oddly enough, if I ignored his initial stupidity and the panic that his joke had instilled in me, I couldn’t sense anything but concern in his voice, though I couldn’t put too much trust in my sixth sense, as my whole body was suffering the effects of the hangover.

Nonetheless, I let my barriers come loose.

“Yeah,” a tiny smile emerged from my lips. “I’m alive, Andreas.”

“Good!” His eyes took in the sight before him, his gaze dripping from my head to my toes. “That means I have time to ask why you look like shit. The shower’s free, you know?”

“Oh, piss off…” I mumbled, letting go of the doorknob and making my way back to the centre of the room, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the pain. “You saw I’m alive and well, why are you still here?”

“I agree to disagree on the “well” half,” he mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. His voice was so annoying.

I gathered the last of my clothes and threw them on the suitcase, which sat open on the couch. I caught a glimpse of my image in the mirror, the sad combination of messy hair, traces of mascara under my eyes and the short (and maybe a little too revealing) pyjamas, and found him behind my shoulder. His presence woke up memories from the night before, which I wasn’t quite yet sure were real.

I turned to him. The purple and red hue invaded my mind.

“I’ll ask again,” I stopped what I was doing and faced him. “Why are you still here?”

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about what happened last night,” he stated and oh.

He remembered it too. I was hoping he had forgotten about all of that. To be fair, he seemed drunker than me or, at least, that’s what I remember. The way he was looking at me told me that he remembered everything that happened, perhaps even more than I did.

I just shrugged. “Is there anything to talk about?”

“Oh, come on, Eva,” he took a step towards me. I took a step back. “You were drunk out of your mind so I don’t know how much you remember, but I still pretty much remember the way you dragged me to the bathroom last night. That seems an interesting topic.”

My mind was a mess. With each word he said, a new memory got unlocked, but none before that point of no return. Events seemed mixed up, a non-linear timeline where I was lost on my own. Even the very image of his face looked different now.

“Did we have sex or something?”

He huffed, hoarse and dry, shaking his head. “No, Eva,” I tasted the condescending tone of his words. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“What should I remember, exactly?” I shrugged, playing along, refraining from showing any emotion while my mind was unravelling itself, trying to find answers to the questions that appeared at every second.

“We were in the bathroom and you panicked and left me alone in the girl’s bathroom,” I bit my lip to not laugh. “I only saw you again in the hotel’s elevator, hours later, almost passed out.”

“And what part of that do you wanna discuss?” I turned my back to him, thinking that the subject might disappear the second he disappeared from my eyes. “Don’t get so emotional over a few kisses, Pulcini.”

“Eva, I had to help your friend drag you to your room,” the sound of his footsteps grew louder as he followed me around the room. 

Pulcini was the literal reincarnation of post-night-out anxiety and I didn't want to deal with it. I massaged my temples again, to no avail.

"What do you want with this? A pat on the back? I was just partying.”

“Eva…” Silence and a pair of disappointed eyes looked back at me.

Looking back, my anger wasn't aimed at the man in front of me, but it felt like it. My bad choices materialized in front of me while I still couldn't absorb reality as I normally would. His voice was too loud, his actions were too fast and shocks of pain rippled through my head as I tried to make sense of every word or tried to read the lines on his face. I needed a cool shower and a glass of fresh water, but mostly, I needed that man to leave me alone.

The intense gaze didn’t leave me for a second. He just stood there, exhaling noisily through his pursed lips. The poorly constructed memories that haunted me cut his face, revealing a mixture of the two sides I knew of the man standing in front of me.

"Leave me alone, please," I pleaded, defeated.

It was excruciating to try to deal with the hangover, the unwanted company and the scenes of the night before. I felt vulnerable.

Hesitating for a moment, he finally gave up on me and walked out of the room, the image of his hair disappearing behind the door he silently closed, his jaw tight and his head low.

I kept my eyes fixed on the door after he was gone. I couldn't think about what happened and what was happening, so my mind focused on trivial matters like the image of a girl in the mirror, just as lost as she seemed.

*

“Seeing this, I don’t think there’s much champagne left for me”

The message came as a reply to a photo I posted on my Instagram story the night before. Carlos’ profile pic and his Instagram handle were in front of the notification. In the photo, in which little else was noticeable other than abstract blurred lines, was me and my close group of friends. Nicola and I were leaning against the white leather couch, our legs entwined. Lina kneeled at my side, a raw-edged smile stretching her cheeks; her eyes barely open. The champagne in my hand was almost gone; the glass still held a few bubbles. Wide-angle lens. A purple shadow upon us.

A fraction of a smile grew on my lips as I opened the conversation.

The last message was from 2019. A message from me, congratulating Carlos on his first podium; a message that got no reply from him.

I looked back at the landscape from the window of the car. The fields were gradually being replaced by houses and the numbers to the left of the word “Madrid” on the blue plaques of the highway were getting smaller.

An empty water bottle sat on the dark seat of the car, in the space between me and Rio, who was talking to my mom about the plans he was making for his summer vacation. The sound of their voices and the murmur of my father humming along with the radio ricocheted through my head, still suffering from the hangover.

Although I was more than used to flying, having done so all my life, I didn't like doing it. There was always anxiety when I walked to the plane and I had to wrestle with the fact that I would spend hours thousands of meters above the ground, caged in a flying machine. Anxiety wouldn't let me sleep. Not even on a day when a few hours of sleep was all my body asked for.

There was so much to decipher inside me and I needed the comfort of home to reflect on those last few days. To think of the excruciating pain I had felt on Saturday and the agony in my chest as I trembled and cried leaning against some truck in the paddock — the perfect antithesis to the ecstasy of the day that followed, the screams of happiness that burst from my throat as I climbed to the top of my car.

I needed home and the comfort of the walls decorated by my drawings and photographs, the corridors that effortlessly trace paths to a safe space. To look back at what I had been through under the gentle gaze of the person I only could be at home.

My brother’s wife, Marjorie, was waiting for us at home with food, fresh homemade bread and two excited toddlers. We dinned together I headed to bed.

Somewhere around 7 AM, I was awakened by the sound of footsteps, a high-pitched voice and a hurried exchange between my mother and the owner of said voice, who I rapidly understood to be the florist my mom had hired to help her plan the party.

I jumped from the bed, disoriented. The room was filled with a yellowish hue — the soft kiss of the day waking up lazily.

Stretching out next to the bed, I tried to make out what the florist and my mother were talking about, but to no avail. I could barely hear my mother's voice, as the other woman's was overlapping hers, assigning tasks to random people I didn't know.

In a few minutes, I was in the hall. A handful of men walked around the house, frantically carrying boxes and bouquets to the garden.

My mother wasn't in the kitchen when I went to get my smoothie, nor did I meet her on the way outside as I was getting ready to start my run. I stopped on the porch for a few seconds, watching another group of men around the black van parked in our driveway, mentally preparing myself for the day ahead.

That run was my only moment of peace.

The day was long and my mother kept me busy from the moment I got up until bedtime. While the florist, a lovely woman in her thirties, spent the entire morning moving flowers around in vases, shifting them from one side of the kitchen to another, my mother dragged me out into the garden to give instructions to the workers on where to put the folding tables and chairs. They seemed especially excited about one particular task — placing a platform above the pool.

"I had less work in a few weddings," one of them mentioned. “There are way too many flowers.”

The preparations ended overnight. I fell asleep to the voices of the workers, still working in the backyard and, in the morning, those same voices woke me up for the day. When I went down to have breakfast, the entrance hall was already decorated with flowers; on the ceiling, a middle-aged man cleaned the skylight. I wished him a good day and went to meet my family on the back porch.

“These poor men,” I heard my father’s voice before I reached the outside. “Do you see what you’re putting them through? A man is hanging on our skylight, Luísa.”

I heard a distinct giggle. Marjorie was there. My suspicions were confirmed when I reached the outside and saw my brother and his family around the table, the kids asleep in the trolley.

“I second what dad is saying,” my voice startled my mother, who shifted in her chair abruptly before putting a hand to her chest and taking a deep breath. I laughed and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Feliz cumple, mama."

Rio and my father left after breakfast, taking the kids with them. There was still a list of criteria to be supervised and while my mother could commission anyone to do it, she had decided that she would be the one to make sure everything was as she had intended. She had to call the caterers one last time, re-arrange the flowers in the jars and make sure the musicians were practising their songs.

It didn't take much time. We got to the hair salon half an hour before the time of our appointment.

When we got back from the hairdresser's shortly after six, the vendors in black uniforms were scurrying around like nervous hummingbirds on crack. There were three of them running around, checking the tables and chairs and making sure that the tips of all their forks were facing down and that the bottom was exactly a fingernail's distance from the edge of the table. As my mother checked them one last time, this time alongside my father who had spent the last hour checking the labels on the wine bottles, I went upstairs to my bedroom. I had two hours until the house was full of guests.

After my shower, I did my make-up and sat on the bed, facing the dress hanging on the mirror in front of me, leaning against the wall. The dress billowed in the same light breeze that brushed against my bare skin.

The colour is so deep it's almost black. It reminded me of the sky just before it starts to rain, or the face of the open sea that stares at me as I dive in. And wearing it felt like a dive too. The satin slid against my skin like the cold ocean water would, hugging me and inducing a long shiver across my skin. I looked at myself in the mirror. My light hair fell in waves down my back, contrasting with the tanned skin and the dense colour of the dress. I slipped on a thin white gold chain and put in a pair of earrings, which gleamed beneath the strands of my hair.

I almost missed the knock on the door.

"Eva," I turned around to find Marjorie entering my room. "Oh, you look good,” I smiled at the compliment, “but I need your help, girl.”

“I’m not ready—”

“C’mon. I forgot your mom’s gift and I’m on thin ice since I got her that dress for Christmas and it didn’t fit,” she bent down near my mirror and took the heels positioned next to my mirror. “And I can’t drive in these ones,” she pointed at hers, “so I need Rio to drive me home and the kids are impossible. I think Olivia is about to fall asleep. The sitter will arrive in like half an hour?” She checked her phone. “Can you watch them?”

Marjorie laid the high heels at my feet and I slid my feet into them. “Breathe,” I told her. “Yeah, I can take care of them for a while.”

A nervous chuckle left her lips. “Oh. Okay. They’re downstairs.”

“With my mom?”

I turned to the mirror once more, and, above my shoulder, I saw her head shake. “With Rio and Carlos,” she answered. The corner of her lips pointed up when she saw my expression shift. “Oh, right, heard you two had dinner the other day.”

“Weren’t you in a rush to get going?”

She chuckled again. “This is worth getting scolded off by your mom.”

“What? Talk about your husband’s best friend who you had a crush on?” She rolled her eyes.

“That was in 2017. Those Renault colours made something work for me. Not fair.” Marjorie grabbed my hand while talking and pushed me off the room. We walked side by side, and before getting to the top of the stairs, she stopped me. “So, you’re okay? After the dinner?”

“We’re good,” I said with a gentle nod. She smiled.

“Good,” and then her soft smile changed into something else. Her tone shifted as well. “Because he looks so damn good today, I think you’d curse yourself if you were still mad at each other.”

“Marge, please…”

She shrugged and went down the stairs, fast-paced and focused on my brother, wearing a lean black tuxedo and standing next to the door, already open back, to welcome the guests. Grace was at her dad’s feet, tiny fingers bothering one of the vases in the hall; I knew those pretty pink flowers would catch her attention. And, in front of them, Carlos. His back was turned to me, the blazer accentuating the lines of the triangle build his muscles made up.

Olivia’s small hand ruffled the hair on the back of his head. I kept an eye on them as I walked down the stairs. My hand was on the bannister, as if afraid that such a sight would knock the ground out from under my feet. Carlos said something I couldn’t understand. I could only see his hand, huge compared to my niece’s chubby and tiny one, taking hers out of his hair. Within seconds, a thin sweet laugh echoed off the high walls of the hall. I don’t know what he said to her, but her head was thrown back and her adorable face turned into an expression of pure bliss.

“We can go, now,” Rio’s head turned as Marjorie’s voice rang out. Carlos’ did the same. “Eva can stay with them for a while.”

His gaze lingered on me as he stepped forward, heading to the end of the stairwell. At this point, Olivia had her arms extended in my direction. I took her out of his arms and kissed my niece’s blushed cheek. The subtle scent of his cologne, a dark musky scent, filled my senses when I approached him to take her.

“You look…” he trailed off, his eyes roaming my face and my body.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve never seen me before…” I raised an eyebrow, a smile dancing in the corner of my mouth that shortly became a small chuckle.

“No, I— I’ve seen you before.” He stuttered and a small pause followed. His gaze made me burn inside. “You look different. You look…”

“Good?” I provided helpfully. “I hope.”

“Yes,” he nodded with a smile. “Amazing.” He muttered.

I felt a thrill of pleasure at his words. We looked at each other for a moment. A moment. That is what it took to feel it again. The attraction was still there; it was not a thing of the moment. It was not the desperation. I could feel it, burning inside of me.

“You’re early,” I said, battling those feelings and my niece’s hand that was trying to pull on one of my earrings. Meanwhile, Carlos took Grace’s hand to follow me.

“My mom wanted to get here early, so…” he explained, his eyes taking in the changes in the house. The excessive flower arrangements and the caterers in the kitchen set up the dinner for the dozens of people arriving shortly. “Your mom really pushed herself…”

“Oh, yeah… You haven’t seen half of it, yet,” he snorted at my answer. “But she’s happy so it’s all that matters.”

“I agree,” his tone was calm and serene, eyes now glued to Grace. “You look happy too,” he looked up at me. “Happier.”

My eyebrow arched up as I turned to him, finding Carlos with a small smile and a blissful expression. “Compared to what?”

His head tilted to the side. “To the last time I saw you. You looked… different.”

“Different?” While he looked for an answer, my eyes met his dark iris for the fraction of the second it took me to lose and rebuild my defences. God. How easy it was to fall into those traps. Olivia twisted in my lap, stealing my attention, so I let her down to the floor and she immediately joined Grace, again pulling on the flowers of one of the vases. “How different?”

“Mad? Angry?”

“Sad. A bit… scared, maybe,” I suggested, and, as my words hit him, his jaw locked and his hand travelled to his pocket. “I’m not scared of you, I—” I rushed to say.

“I know,” a hit of a smile peeked out. “I get you, it’s… “

“Strange?” I suggested. His eyebrows were drawn together. “Not a bad strange. It’s just…”

He nodded. “We will need a bit of time, no?”

“Yeah. Just tiny steps.”

I forced a smile, triggering a reaction from him that broke me more than I expect. His smile came out as broken as mine, his eyes were so soft and his expression so light, so… defenceless… My shields were up, and I was trying hard to not allow my words and actions to mirror my feelings and emotions, but he was just… him. The dark haze over his eyes had lifted. I was so confused. So conflicted.

“I need to thank you again, for the other night,” it was the right call to change the subject and step away from him and the hypnotising gaze. “It was a big,” a loud giggle stole my attention and when I looked over, Olivia was holding a dahlia in her hand, the petals scrunched on her tiny palm. “Girls,” both of the twins looked at me before exchanging a look. “Come oooon. Leave the flowers alone.”

A small chuckle left Carlos's lips when both of them instantly looked at him, almost like waiting for him to defend them. “Tia Eva is right,” he said, scrunching down and wiping the petals of Grace’s hand. “Let’s hide this here and not do this again, ok?” He whispered, hiding the petals amongst the greenery of the vase. Olivia acted as his accomplice, helping him with the task and Grace, with both of her hands behind her back, just stood there looking at them.

That night had been the first time in a while I had the chance to witness their relationship. I knew Carlos was close to both of them, I’d seen pictures and I’d seen him with them at their birthday parties (the only event both of us refused to miss), but seeing them like this? God. I could feel my ovaries melt at the sight.

“You can’t do that,” I told him when he got back up. “Help them create chaos.”

“Oh, I avoided chaos. How do you think your mother would react if she saw this?”

“They will do it again.”

“You’re just worried they’ll like me more than they like you.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Sainz.”

He chuckled again. Large smile being lit by the refracted light coming from the glass door, a few feet ahead of us. Instead of keep walking there, and meeting our mothers standing on the other side of the door, he stood in the hallway; a large abstract painting on his back. Large red strokes over a deep blue.

“Shouldn’t you go say hi to my mother? And let me take care of my nieces?” I asked him. “It’s her party, after all.”

He shrugged. “I’m enjoying the company. And by company,” he pointed at the twins, to which I just rolled my eyes. “I’ll go there in a second.” The corner of my lips tilted up against my will. It was so easy to fall into his sweet talk and charming ways. Before I noticed, my defences were collapsing, again. “She won’t mind me staying inside for a little while, I’m sure. But going back to the subject, stop thanking me. I didn’t do more than what I should have done.”

“You did,” he shook his head, and I just gave him an eye roll as a reply. “You could have just… ignored me, after how I reacted to Rio’s news.”

Once more, he shook his head, but this time, his jaw was looked and his smile turned into a line. “Not again.”

My eyes dropped to the floor, the emotions blooming inside and suddenly taking too much space. Not again. I wish I could trust those words.

“Will we go back to the past every other sentence?” I asked him; eyes shakily travelling up, almost like they were afraid to meet his face.

Carlos moved on his feet, his right hand travelling to his hair. “I wish we wouldn't, but…”

“We fucked up this a bit, didn’t we?” A nervous chuckle left my lips and his curved slightly.

A small chuckle left his lips when his head tilted down. Looking up at me, he said, “maybe we should go say hi to your mom, then. And start this party.”

“Maybe that’s the right call, yes.”

“And give this some time… Like we just said we would.”

“Time. And some wine, too,” I completed. He smiled a bit more and his eyebrows went up once more; the funny expression drew a chuckle from me. “Just to lift the mood, nothing else.”

“Talking about it,” his hand travelled to the small of my back and I started walking in front of him, headed outside. Just the simple warmth and the light weight of his hand made all the cells in my body burn. The girls, noticing we were leaving, followed suit. “Where’s the champagne I asked for?”

“Are you already starving for champagne?”

“Three races without a podium… I think I’m going ill,” he joked and I stepped away from his hand to open the door and let the kids go outside.

Olivia ran to my mother and Grace, always more shy and reserved (and much well-behaved), just walked behind her, looking back at us twice, before I gave her a nod and in her rhythm, she walked her way to my mother. Carlos let me go through the door first and then stepped outside next to me.

“Well,” I resumed when he joined me. “The bottle it’s upstairs, I bet you can find a few drops of champagne in it.”

“Is it worth a try?”

I shook my head, laughing, “it would be a nice show to witness, but I think you can manage by just drinking some of what my mother picked for the occasion.”

“Talking of her…” Carlos said, under his breath. My mom, with her birth smile and open arms, was walking to us. The kids stayed behind, and Olivia was now showing Reyes her two hands full of petals. I refused to not look back and witness the destruction they had provoked on the vase.

Carlos caught my attention when I was about to go against my will and look behind my shoulder. His mouth was stretched and drawn back and just before my mom wrapped her arms around him, his lips formed an “oopsie”. I coughed the laugh I was holding back.

“Carlitos, you came!” She started, smiling wide. “I hope Eva was not annoying you too much.”

“Mom…”

“I wouldn’t miss it, Luisa,” he said, sending me an apologetic look before kissing her on both cheeks. “And no, no, she wasn’t. We were just catching up.”

“It’s so lovely to have you here, my dear. Both of you,” my eyes drifted to Reyes when my mom did the same. Both of them were sparkling. "Perfection."

"Mom, come on..."

"Evita, I didn't even know you were... talking," she gesticulated with her hands and I glanced at Carlos quickly. To the tender smile on his lips, the glistening eyes. My mom's hand landed on his arm, squishing it slightly. "And you look so handsome, my boy," she caressed his face with her other hand. "Make yourself comfortable. Pretend you're home."

"Believe me, it feels like home."

Her smile grew but mine felt heavier. This had been home for him, too. These people, this house… I took a couple of steps and joined Reyes, that welcomed me with a smile but kept looking ahead, at Carlos and my mom, casually talking. She pointed at something or someone, and then gently waved into the distance; When I looked ahead, I saw my dad standing next to the bar, on the other side of the pool. I gave him a little wave and Carlos did the same just seconds before. They walked down the stairs of the porch, down to the garden. My mom’s heels clicked against the stone path around the pool and I bet she made a joke about falling over because while her laughter flew on the wind, Carlos exchanged position with her and hugged her from the side.

Grace walked to the top stair, not daring to walk down alone. “Chili!”

Carlos looked behind, the sun kissing only one side of his face, stretching deep shadows on his portrait. In large steps, he walked up the stairs, “You wanna go see grandpa, too?”

She timidly nodded a yes, and turned to me, asking for permission. Carlos imitated her expression perfectly, almost pouting. A pair of begging eyes stared at me.

“Of course, you can go,” I told her, forcing my lips to hide the gigantic smile I knew I was on the verge to showcase. My niece clapped one and extended her arms, ready to wrap them around Carlos’ neck. “But hey,” both of them turned around, facing me, “don’t let her destroy anything else.”

“Promise,” he winked and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Vamos?”

For a moment I stood there, unmoving. That sight had awoken something within me, something I was not ready to admit that it existed. The warmness of his presence, the sentiment of belonging… It had made me realise how much I missed him, how much I wanted to reach out and just have his hand on me—his hand on mine—so I wouldn’t be so afraid. So I couldn’t be alone.

Seeing him walk around my backyard, my mother on his side and my dad casually waiting on the other end of the path, just like had happened so many times before, it hit me that, whether I liked it or not, he was where he was meant to be. I was where I was meant to be. And I…

God.

That was when the realization came home.

Standing there, looking at them, it felt like I had just come back to a place we should have never left and for a fraction of a second, the last three years had not happened. The feeling was just the same, perhaps stronger. I still cared. I still wanted him. I still needed him, in so many much more ways than one.

Reyes patted me on the arm. “The little ones really like him,” she motioned at them with her head. And that prompted me to look at them again.

They had reached the end of the path, and Carlos was now talking to both of my parents, polite and admirative, brimming with charm as he spoke to them. My father listened attentively, with polite nods. My mother just smiled. I think I smiled too. Grace, standing beside Carlos, staring up at him as if she too found interest in his words, was holding his index finger to keep herself upright. Whenever she released it, Carlos moved his hand, as if he was trying to figure out where the child was without cutting eye contact with my parents; if it took Grace more than five seconds to grab his finger again, Carlos would look down, still engaged in the conversation.

“Who doesn’t, right?” Reyes' voice caught my attention again. When I turned my attention back to her, I found a big smile waiting for me that added so much more to her words than what she dared to say.

I gave her a look. “Don’t start, please.”

“I won’t say another word, I promise,” she said, her smile unwavering. The expectations Reyes was holding us to were starting to mess with my head. To settle them, I took a deep breath. Almost at the same time, Olivia did the same. When I looked down at her, she was rubbing her eye and yawning sleepily. I picked her up. “It makes me happy to see you two together again.”

“It’s quite nice to have him around,” I gave in. “I promised you I would talk to him. We sorted out a few things.”

“Took you both long enough,” she simply said before patting my arm and caressing Olivia’s back and walking away from us, towards one of the servants walking around with a tray with empty flutes.

From my periphery, I caught Carlos’ glance. He was watching me. Us. I laid my hand on Olivia’s back and stroked it gently; her long breaths told me she was probably falling asleep. Looking up, again, he was still watching; a slight smile on his face. My eyes couldn't leave him, and like I couldn't stop a reaction from my body, my head moved in a gentle nod to acknowledge him and my hand lifted from Olivia's back to wave shortly at him. His smile extended and, lifting his hand from his pocket, he returned the wave. Then, Carlos put his cheek against his palm, mimicking a child sleeping, and pointed at Olivia.

I looked down.

With her mouth slightly parted, and her red curls all over my chest, she was indeed sleeping. After a thumbs up on my part and a polite nod from his, he turned back to my dad, perhaps going back to their conversation and I left the porch to lay Olivia down.

Their room was in the place my mom’s old office used to be. Two small beds side by side and too many toys to count. Olivia clung to my lap when I tried to put her down, tiny hands almost dragging me with her to the bed. I could give in if it wasn’t the dress or the hair, or the dozens of people that in a couple of minutes would be waiting outside.

Some of the noise crawled inside from the open window. Nothing much was happening. As I sat in the bed, stroking her back and waiting for the babysitter, I peeked outside. Some people were already scattered around the big backyard. Next to the bar, around one of the high tables, I found Marjorie—her garish ginger hair gave her away—with Rio by her side. On the other side of the table, holding Grace in his arms, Carlos.

Again, my heart skipped a beat.

Every other minute, a guest would arrive and naturally meet him there. A quick hug and an exchange of words, a couple of smiles and the guest would leave and meet someone else. And he would stay there, waiting for the next one. Like he was family. My family.

A duality of ideas struggled inside my mind.

The way he carried himself there like he was never left and nothing had changed… Natural and carefree, like nothing was weighing him down. Like life hadn’t passed by him and taken him out of our little world and into the limelight.

When I stepped outside, golden winks of light shone around me. The tables were decorated lavishly with yellow candles, and the centrepieces were overflowing with pastel flowers. Sitting down, I found him sitting in front of me, head down and turned to his phone. He raised his head to look at me, a single strand of his hair falling over his forehead. 

“I think you’re meant to sit there,” I looked over at the chair he had pointed at; my mom was sitting next to it. I turned to the card in front of my plate. Despite the dim light, and the cursive handwriting, I couldn’t understand how I had read “Eva” where was clearly written “Ana.” Just like that, I felt like a prisoner of my own mind, a puppet of my subconscious, finding a way to meet him without me realizing it.

“Sorry,” I told him, not even sure of what I was apologising for. “I just– misread.”

He laughed slightly. “I’m sure Ana wouldn’t mind the exchange.”

“Oh, my mom would.”

“You’re sure?” Carlos was looking to my right and motioned there with his head. Sitting at the centre of the huge rectangle table, there she was, too distracted to notice I had sat in the wrong spot.

“She will notice eventually.”

“You can stay until that happens, then,” a smirk danced on his lips. “Or until the others arrive.”

“And where are the others?”

“My sisters are just catching up with some people,” he pointed at Ana and Blanca, talking to a couple some feet away, “and Rio went inside to put Grace to bed. Marge is with him.”

Both of my hands landed on the back of the chair and his were now empty, his fingers intertwined in front of him. I tried to battle the urge to stay, but instead of turning my back to him and walking to my place, I sat down again.

“Just for a bit, then.”

He nodded, smiling. “A bit is just enough.”

Leaning against the chair, he looked around. There were three big ebony tables around the pool, satin tablecloths and fairy lights on the trees and over the tables. Over the pool, on the platform that had taken hours to mount, a string quartet played.

“It’s pretty here…” he said, his dark eyes sparkled under the light of the stars and fairy lights and his smile was easy, while he turned his head to face me. “Interesting, too… but then again, your family never does anything halfway.”

“Interesting?” I laughed. “That’s true. My mom’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“You didn’t inherit that?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

I shook my head, still laughing. “Not at all.”

Carlos took a sip of his champagne, eyebrows drew together but a smile already dancing on his lips. “Sure. I can see that.”

“Really?” My hands fell in my lap and I leaned against the back of the chair, forcing a way too dramatic sigh, that made him snort. He nodded. “That’s amazing since I feel like I'm always one step away from a disaster.”

Our eyes met for a second, “I certainly couldn’t tell.”

I smiled, feeling my cheeks flush and let my eyes fall to my hands. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the guests slowly sit at the tables and mingle. My eyes dragged across the stage, taking in the whole picture. The quartet, dressed in tuxedos and lace dresses, played my favourite songs. I smiled as the violin trilled its notes into the air. I could sense him stealing glances at me, but tried to keep my eyes on the musicians.

“Did you pick the band?” Carlos asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. My eyes made their way back to him.

“Why the question?”

“Just curious,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I remember you always had great taste in music.” A colour fitted across his cheeks when he spoke. “And your music taste… I remember always getting surprised when I asked you what you were listening to.”

“Always something weird,” I said with a large smile.

“You made me start listening to jazz in the morning,” I felt my heart tug and a streak of pain and true bliss running side my side through my veins. “I remember getting here one morning and you were making breakfast and listening to My Way, and you promised it was better than any therapy I could try.”

“I remember that, too,” I couldn’t stop my smile.

“You were totally right. It’s the best way to start my days.”

My mind drifted to how close we had been all those years ago when we would hang out from the early mornings to the last hour of the night. His eyes met mine and my heart nearly melted out of me at how handsome he looked under the lights. I felt a sudden urge to lean in and run my fingers through the waves of his hair. As if he could read my mind, Carlos' smirk grew and my eyes fell to his lips. God. A blush crawl up my neck as my mind went back to that intimate night, to the raw and genuine feelings.

It was dangerous to be alone with him. Especially because any small action he took was able to completely alter the chemistry of my being and manipulate my mind.

Before I could act on any tricks my mind was playing on me, I turned to the man walking behind me, with a tray in his hand and grabbed a flute from it and tried to distract myself with the feeling of the bubbles tickling my tongue. I curled my lips around the rim of the glass and sipped the champagne. It tasted sweet, with a hint of citrus peel.

“You two are being civil!” A high-pitched voice made itself heard. Ana was walking to the table, with a big smile and was way too excited. I and Carlos exchanged a look. When I tried to get up, her hand landed on my shoulder. “No, no, you look amazing there. I’ll find another place.”

“Ana, my mom—”

“She won’t mind,” she turned to our right, and looking over my shoulder, I could see the confused look on my mother’s face. “Luisa, you don’t mind if we steal Eva, right?”

My mother's expression softened as she saw Carlos sitting in front of me and a nod of agreement followed. Carlos and I exchanged a look.

"Thanks!" She said, sitting at my side and telling Blanca to sit where I should have sat. "So... what's going on here?"

"We're just talking," I said. Carlos was distracted shaking his sisters' boyfriends' hands. Ana's smile was capable of blinding anyone within a two feet distance. "Stop it... Come on, you almost sound like your mother."

"It's only fair I get happy to see my brother and one of my closest friends talking again," Ana explained. "You were talking, right? Not arguing, I hope. Because there's a certain... tension around here."

I could feel my cheeks flush at the mention of tension, knowing exactly what Ana was referring to. Carlos’s eyes were trained on me, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “No, no tension." He said to his sister, his voice smooth as silk. "Just catching up.”

"Just catching up?" My eyes raised from Carlos in the direction of the voice. Marjorie was standing behind him, Rio next to her. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Marge," Rio hissed.

"What? I'm just saying," she replied, her eyes still dancing with amusement. "Where are we sitting?" My brother pointed at the two places in front of Ana and Blanca.

Carlos leaned back in his chair, his eyes still trained on mine. "I was about to invite Eva to join us in Mallorca, next week."

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of Mallorca, a place where Carlos and I had shared one of the most memorable summers of our lives as teenagers. Carlos and I and Blanca, Ana and Rio, of course. The thought of going back there with him—them—, now, as adults, sent shivers down my spine.

"Really?" I managed to ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Carlos nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, just a little getaway. Enjoy the break."

"I have work," I said, forcing my eyes to leave him and look at Ana. Another second locked in his gaze and I would say yes. I needed distance. Time. "I have a lot of work."

"You can work from there," Marjorie said. "We're going, too. It would be nice, come on."

"We have wi-fi, you know?" Ana added.

I could feel Carlos's gaze on me, watching me carefully, as if waiting for my response. The thought of spending a week in Mallorca with him and our old friends made my heart race. It was a recipe for disaster, and I knew it. But the pull was too strong. I wanted to see him again. I wanted to feel the way I did that one night all those years ago.

"Okay," I said, finally giving in to the temptation. "I'll go."

Carlos's face lit up with a smile, and I could feel the tension in the air release. It was as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for my answer.

"Great," he said, his voice low and husky.

"Can't wait," I said, taking another sip of my champagne. "It's been too long since we've all been together."

*

The guests chatted over the slow music and the food, arriving slowly at the tables. The smiles and the beautiful dresses painted a beautiful picture, but what was supposed to be a happy evening, was tainted by a mix of melancholy that I could not get out of my head. It was like a fog, making me tire easily and making the voice in my head even more persistent. I could go over the things I should be celebrating — the food, the music, the people and so on. Yet, this sense of unease made it hard for me to join in the moment's happiness. The cause of my distress was seating right in front of me, looking absurdly handsome in his suit and tie.

I wanted to get up from my chair and take him with me. And tell him we were going down a path any of us would find happiness in. That we would find a way to break each other again. That we would make our families part ways again. And each glass of wine made it easier to construct the words in my mind.

It was a mistake, we shouldn't have had dinner. You shouldn't have come closer because now I don't know how to be two steps away from you without wanting to get that close again. I shouldn't have texted you, you shouldn’t have called me. You shouldn't look at me like that—

He was looking at me. Maybe even reading my mind.

What the hell is in you, Carlos Sainz? Why do you make me feel this way?

That look of his sent shivers down my spine. I felt naked. It truly looked like he was reading my thoughts. My heart sank and the feeling of it dropping down my gut got worse with each second. The world was silent and reality got darker. Everything in my periphery disappeared. It was all him, again. And as I felt my structures gradually falling apart, his seemed to grow stronger. He didn’t look away for a second. I didn’t either.

Mentally, I was cursing him and his presence, his charm that easily attracts anyone and makes them hover around him like bees around a flower. Only God knows the shiver that struck me when his tongue pierced his lips and traced the red, plump skin. That was when I broke eye contact and directed it at my brother.

“The bottle, please,” I asked.

Rio filled my glass, “Don’t you think you had enough?”

No. I hadn’t had enough to deal with everything, especially with his presence, which made my thoughts and emotions too tangible. I could feel the impact he had on me by just paying attention to the thump of my heart that skipped a beat when my gaze circled back to my brother’s left and found him looking at me. In the same way that I couldn’t focus on my food or the trivial conversation going on near me, the same seemed to happen to him.

It was shortly after we sang happy birthday to my mother and ate a slice of the cake that she let us leave the table. Marjorie followed and sat with me on one of the couches near the bar at the other end of the dance floor. We had a good view of the few people who were already dancing on the floor and of those who were still chatting, sitting in chairs that had not been assigned to them initially.

The platform over the pool was now clear (another band would start in a few minutes), so I had a nice view of the two men from where we were sitting.

“I’m pretty sure they are talking about me,” I said. Marjorie passed me a cup with some cocktail she had picked for me. I had a sip, but the flavour wasn’t as nice as she said it would be. “I won’t give it 10 minutes until they come here to talk to me.”

I was mistaken. A little over 15 minutes had passed when Sainz Sr waved at me, asking me to join them. Marjorie wished me good luck. She knew I would need it.

My father was having a whiskey and there was no drink in front of Sainz. The man, sitting in my mother’s chair, pointed to the chair next to him as my own. He pulled his chair a bit away from the table, shaping a triangle with our three chairs. My father had a big smile on his face.

“Although I already have an idea, tell me— what is my father bothering you about today?” I asked Sainz, making both men chuckle.

"Don't blame your father. We were talking about your brother and I noticed that I haven't been able to talk to you about the recent news," Sainz said. My father leaned his back against his chair and became an observer. I didn't hear his voice for the next few minutes.

Something Carlos and his father had in common was the way they communicated. They knew how to talk and conduct a conversation; they were educated, cultured and, in addition to knowing how to speak, they knew how to listen. Part of being polite was leaving some words unsaid or disguised between the lines until the right moment to uncover them arrived, or the person came to the conclusion by themselves. Having grown up with them, I had adopted some of their ways and the skill of knowing how to read what was purposely left unsaid. Over time, Carlos learned that there was no point in beating around the bush with me. His father, however, continued to approach me in the way he always had—namely, politely leading me to his topic of interest. While I knew what his main issue was, having already lifted the veil by talking about my brother, he started by actually congratulating me on the win and the season. Inevitably, we talked about Rio and his sudden, for me at least, switch to Formula 1. Then the conversation got to the point Sainz had been aiming for; his voice and posture changed.

"Without Fabrizio leading your team, what's the plan for next season?" What's your plan, Eva? He wanted to ask.

I looked at my father and then at the Spaniard.

"I think we're still figuring that out," was all I managed to say.

"Eva doesn't want to accept proposals for other categories," my father interjected. "I've been trying to get her to be willing to listen to the proposals and talk to the teams. I don't understand why she refuses."

"I have a team, I don't need another. I need sponsors to take the team higher." I explained. Perhaps there were one or two more lines of reasoning, but I didn't venture further.

From the look on Sainz's face and the heavy sigh the man gave, I realised my father had told him more than I expected. Although I hated not knowing what was discussed about me, having them discuss their kid’s future wasn’t anything new. My father had needed Sainz's advice in managing my brother's career and our family's motorsport path, so it was not surprising that he would seek advice from the man who had done so much for us and our modest team. Much less that he would ask him to help manage my career since he had been very successful where Carlos’ was concerned.

"If it's fear or insecurity you're feeling, believe me, we've all felt it," I focused on the deep voice filled with a strong Spanish accent. "We all had our first time. I had my first race and I don't remember much, but it wasn't as perfect as I wanted it to be. Maybe you should talk to Carlos. You must remember his first one better than I do." He let out a quick, husky laugh. I looked over at Carlos, sitting at a table nearby. "He was excited, but it must have been scary."

"I'm not Carlos," I said. "This isn't about my first race. I just want to make sure I'm not going too far, too fast. I'm inexperienced. I started properly racing at the age some drivers win their first titles."

"You've won a championship now. What difference does it make how long ago you started?"

"A few days ago I made mistakes that could have compromised a season's work because I was too emotional and aggressive on the track," I explained. "There’s still a lot I need to learn. And I’m doing it with this team. I’m growing with this team and I would love to see it grow with me."

"It's easier to regret something you didn't do than something you did. If it doesn't go well at least you know it's time for a change. If you stay one more year only in the Challenge with the same team, you won't learn anything." He paused, perhaps trying to give me room to speak if that was what I wanted. "I'm not saying you shouldn't stay in the Challenge. I don't know which teams have approached you, but if there's an opportunity to do another season, go for it. There’s no such thing as spending too much time in the car, especially if you feel the need to work on your race craft and gain more experience. But do it while taking small steps in other categories - Le Mans, WEC... Small steps. No one expects you to win a race on your first try. And as long as you enjoy racing, the result is nothing but a number. Looking at that number will make you feel better or worse, but it won't condition your love for the sport."

His words were kind and he didn't try to push me into anything. I could feel that he was honestly trying to help me. I just nodded. Carlos, on the other side of the table, was still looking at me.

"If you don't mind me adding," the younger man said, "you have a lot of potential. Don't waste it because you are afraid."

"I'm not afraid," I said, frowning. "I'm not afraid. If I was, I would have never started racing."

"You don't need to prove anything," Sainz, the younger one, added. "If you only want to race in the Challenge because you already know you can do it, you're wrong. You don't need that. Stop doubting yourself. Your performance in the last few seasons is clear enough proof that you are capable of moving up."

"I don't think Eva is doubting her ability," my father said, trying to appease the situation.

"It's not about ability, Alessio. She can't get better if she doesn't trust herself," he said.

If she doesn’t trust herself.

“Do you fear it, sometimes? Racing?” “There’s this thing my mind does, I think about the worst-case scenarios, all it takes is a single thing to go wrong and my mind and confidence just crumble.” “How do you enter the car when you’re not sure about anything?”

I had shared it with him, and now he was voicing it to the world.

"I’m right here,” I said. “Stop talking like I'm not."

"Just saying," the younger man continued. "There was a time I needed someone to tell me to move up, especially when the right opportunity came along and I didn't believe I was good enough for it. Sometimes people know we're ready before we know it. Fear is a human emotion — I don't want you to ignore it, but you can't let it control your life."

I looked at the three men and then at the rest of the people around us, whose attention had been drawn by Carlos’ intense rhetoric. He had been raised to have such a strong conviction and be able to defend his beliefs and stand up for himself, and that was one of the things I appreciated more about him, even when he was criticizing me for my choices or having difficulty making one. But this felt more like betrayal.

“Well,” Ana propped her elbows on the table. “I thought today was not the day for this kind of conversation, but…”

Rio ran a hand through his hair. He was standing behind Carlos, both hands on the back of his friend's chair. I looked at him. He looked away. Even though he was one of the focal points of this mess, he didn't want to get involved in the argument.

"I think it ended here, Ana. Don't worry,” I added. “I’m just still deciding what to do, nothing will be solved tonight.” I pushed my chair away from the table. "I need a drink."

*

The night air was getting colder and still, the clink of glasses and rattle of laughter echoed in the garden.  After a couple of drinks, Ana was able to drag me to the dance floor. I closed my eyes and immediately flashes of colours from our last night together painted the inside of my eyelids green, yellow and purple. I could feel the air shift around me as I stepped back into it and was soon caught up in the rhythm of our history. The roots of our friendship made us dance and sing together to the hits we knew so well. And then there was just us, as it has been many times before.

After a couple more songs, guests began to leave, in small groups at first and then in a stream until we were left with our close friends. My father started to redirect the remaining guests to the fire pit he had built during the pandemic. It constituted a nice area at the end of the garden that had demanded long weeks of hard work. The laughter began again as my father threw stories of a long and happy marriage onto the flames.

I stayed by the fire until the wood burned to red-hot ash. The flames had long since died, but the heat was still warm enough to make my face flush. I stared at my father and his misty eyes filled with memories as he told the crowd about meeting my mother for the first time. Catching a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Carlos staring at me with a burning intensity in his eyes. For the first time that night, he looked away as soon as he realized I'd seen him. I took a deep breath. We hadn't exchanged a single word after our exchange at the table. In fact, I tried to not be near him at all.

He was standing behind Ana and Blanca, who were sitting with their boyfriends on the benches.

The feeling of the fire warming my face was making me feel sick. I couldn't tell if it was the temperature or the weight of Carlos’ gaze falling on me, but I couldn’t physically bear to stay there another minute. The crackle of the fire softened as I walked away and I was able to breathe air that was free of smoke. The walk to the bar seemed like it was taking hours, although it probably didn’t take me more than five minutes.

Wine and whiskey were on display in elegant decanters. I could recall the feel of them in my mouth as I read the labels of the fancy bottles on the counter of the bar. The two men inside were starting to pack their things and just one of them stopped to answer my request. I left the second he handed me the green and fresh glass bottle.

I looked around. The band was arranging the instruments in their cases and different groups of workers were collecting chairs and grouping them in sets of three so that they could efficiently transport them to the van. The only place I could sit was on the couches under the wooden gazebo on the porch, where usually would sit a table used for our meals, especially in the summer.

The house was silent. I could see my nieces’ babysitter in the kitchen, looking over to the garden. It was late, almost four in the morning. I sat on the armrest of the couch, large enough to serve as a seat and high enough to give me a view of the garden above the fence that surrounded the porch.

I now had a pleasant view of the garden and the circle of orange light and the yellow veil of smoke that spilt across the night sky, while the colours of the red flames glowed like a sunset, flickering light into the thick trees bordering the garden. In a corner near the bar, the workers were taking a break, gathered in a semi-circle, chatting and smoking cigarettes.

“You're avoiding me,” Carlos' voice shook the silence and made me shudder with fright. I didn't expect Carlos to leave them and follow me. “Don't try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I took a sip of the water, directly from the bottle.

The porch planks groaned in time with the steps he took to reach me. I followed him with my eyes. “What’s going on? I thought we were okay.”

“We are,” I got up from where I was sitting and walked to the fence, facing the view of the garden and focusing on the warm orange circle on the other side, far from us, and the shadow of the people around it. “You should go back there before anyone starts looking for you.”

“Would you listen to yourself?”

“What?” I turned around, but it was too late. He was already standing next to me, looking devastatingly handsome in that tuxedo, his hair in disarray. He leaned against the fence, facing me.

He didn’t reply. Just shrugged, shaking his head while facing the dark wood under our feet. From here, I could hear the voices muffled by the distance and brought to us by the wind, not too cold despite the hour.

“My mother has a theory about dinner parties,” I said. “They are a nice way to get to know people and their stories. The truth comes out too easily, there's no way to hide what lies inside. That’s why she likes to throw parties like this one.”

“That’s no surprise. Everything flows easily with wine and good food.”

I just nodded. The soft wind picked up my hair. I looked over at him, just in time to see the wind do the same to his. The dark strands fluttered in the air until he passed his fingers in between them, settling his hair down.

“Is that what you are afraid of?” A pause. He looked at me too. “To say something you don’t want me to know?”

“No, not at all.” I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t like to share with you.

"Then what?"

I couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze roaming over me, pushing my secrets out of me. I didn’t know the answer because I couldn’t discern anything that was going on inside my head. The amorphous nature of our relationship has been the root of this constant despair in my mind, split between blooming affection and stale anger. His presence brought back this stupid and juvenile attraction; made me feel both weightless and strung tight in the most delectable way possible. But his presence now is also supplemented by the public's indelible claim on him - the way people behaved in front of him, talked to him, the way they almost worshipped him.

It brought back the chasm between us that I was trying, consciously or subconsciously, to sweep under the rug. It is almost painful to see how in the face of it all he was still so natural, so much himself. Even after all that time, he was still the 18-year-old that left home to try to make a name for himself and for all of the relief that brings me, it also reminds me of the loss, of pulling apart, of his hand slipping from mine.

Time went by and the distance between us grew bigger, but he went across that road and come out on the other side with no injuries. He was able to come back to our reality with no need to adjust to the changes time and he himself had inflicted on us. Meanwhile, I was having a hard time trying to understand my feelings and the nostalgia for the moments we didn’t get to live out. Once again, I was being selfish. I just wanted to see him struggle and have confirmation that I had some kind of impact on his life.

And on top of that, the way he had spoken to me earlier grated. “She can't get better if she doesn't trust herself”.

Lastly, I was truly afraid of something. I didn’t want to fall again because it seemed so easy, dangerously easy.

My eyes met his when I looked back at him. His hazel eyes focused on mine as if they reading my mind, or trying to. Everything around him disappeared; a mist was settling over the world around his figure.

“Don’t,” I said and he frowned. “Don’t try to read me. It’s creepy.”

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. “C’mon, Eva. Have I done something wrong?”

“Really need to ask?”

“I just want the best for you. But I know that whatever this is, it goes beyond that.”

I couldn’t force my mouth to stay closed and prevent myself from blurting out the thoughts blazing at the front of my mind. “I’m just afraid. I can’t do this. I can’t pretend things were always like this and maintain a friendship with you as if nothing happened. As if nothing happens every time you’re nearby. You were—”

“I don’t want you to pretend, we—”

“We is not a thing. There’s you and there’s me and they’re two very different people in different phases of life and I don’t need to drag you into my mess.”

“You’re doing what I did to you once.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I’m telling you I can’t do this. I’m not being a coward and just… abandon you with doubts and… a broken heart.”

“Eva, what are you—? Why?”

“Because you’re right. I don’t trust myself. I can’t be good for myself or anyone else. Also, I don’t trust you. I appreciate everything you did for me these past few weeks, but…” I pause. His eyes were getting darker as I spoke. “I can’t.”

Carlos stepped closer, his eyes drilling into mine. “What don’t you trust about me?” His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. Despite my best efforts to distance myself, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

“Myself,” I whispered. “I don’t trust myself around you.”

Carlos took another step closer, his body almost touching mine. “Why not?” His hand met mine, and the firm touch of his warm fingers stelled my shakiness. 

Gently, I shook my head and pulled my hand away from his. “I just—”

“You just?" He paused. The silence fed my urge to talk, but the words seemed to refuse to appear. "Eva, be honest.” His voice filled with insecurity and a pleading I didn’t expect.

My mind raced trying to find the right words to say, but it was difficult with his eyes piercing into me like that. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "Every time you touch me, I want more. Every time I remember... that night, I feel like I'm on fire." I paused, my eyes locking with his. "And I can't do this, I can't trust you."

I can't start this crossing and know I won't fall over.

“Is it that hard, to trust me again?”

I lowered my eyes. His tie, the unbuttoned blazer, the way his pants folded where they met his shoes, the dark planks. The tunnel vision widening.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded and then the boards creaked again as he started to walk away from me.

“Mallorca,” he turned back and spoke again. His voice made the silence go away. It rang clearly, but with an ounce of despair. Perhaps it was as difficult for him as it was for me. “Not for me—do it for my sisters.”

“I’ll try.”

ayooooo, as promised the chapter is here! posting today cause i'll be partying all night and i just know ill be too dead to do anything tomorrow. so, again, thank you for the support. you all have been amazing. i can't thank you enough for reading! a special thank you for the ones who reblog and leave comments or messages! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! summer break in mallorca is comiiiiiiing [yes, those dts and don't blink episodes live in my mind rent free] now, i have two questions: 1. would do like me to share the spotify playlist I've been putting together and listening to while writing? and 2. do you know those instagram au's some people do? I'm obsessed with them. they're my guilty pleasure. i was thinking about doing something similar between chapters. what do you think? thank you! all the love, bru 🤍

[shieldofiron]

Heaven's On Fire

Also on Ao3

They used to kiss like it was fighting.

Freshman year, both of their freshman years, and they were fifteen and hopped up on hormones and anger. It was the first boy girl party and Carver’d been bitching all night.

So when spinning the bottle kept landing on him, Eddie kissed him like a fight. Bit Jason’s bottom lip so hard it almost broke. When they had to spend seven minutes in heaven, they made it hell, rolling around in Denise Sandderson’s coat closet, making the wire hangers bang together.

It wasn’t even kissing, then. Wasn’t kissing when Eddie started dealing and Jason would come over to score and he took his first hit from a shotgun, his lips bruised by Eddie’s. They both got held back that year, both had something to prove to each other when Jason would strut around like big man on campus. As if he didn’t groan when Eddie sucked hickey’s just below the collar of his uniform, and Jason wouldn’t take Eddie’s hand and wrap it around his own neck, making Eddie squeeze until they both gasped. A dance only they knew the steps to.

It was just fighting, a new kind of bullying and bullying back where Jason would straddle Eddie’s lap and suck on his tongue like he was trying to rip it out.

It didn’t count, no way it could count.

It was after another boy girl party when they actually kissed for the first time. Chrissy had just broken up with Jason- long time coming if you asked Eddie- and he’d been bitchy all day. Eddie was just counting the minutes until everyone was too drunk to notice and he and Jason would sneak off behind the woodshed, or to a closet, like always.

But he didn’t show, even long after the party was almost empty and Eddie’s lunchbox was empty.

Eddie ought to take the cue that he should go home, but the house was just a few doors down from Jason’s house, and he’d noticed that Jason’s parents car was missing, which meant they were out at one of their Bible retreats or hunting trips, whatever they did that had Jason all alone.

He’s never been there, but he guessed from the light that was on, that Jason was up in his bedroom.

Halfway up the tree, he kind of wondered what the fuck he was doing. Was he really about to knock on Jason Carver’s window and say… what? Why weren’t you there for me to make out with? Sorry about your girlfriend except I’m not all that sorry, she should have dumped your ass long ago.

And while he’s hanging off the tree, wallet chain swinging in the breeze, Jason walks by the window and freezes.

With nothing else to do, Eddie tries to wave and almost falls the fuck out of the tree.

Jason makes this big dramatic sigh like it’s a huge imposition for him to open the window, “You ever heard of knocking?”

“Thought you wouldn’t want me to be seen at your house.”

“Yeah,” Jason snorts, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “This is so much less inconspicuous.”

He’s been crying, Eddie can see it now. Not cute crying either, like when Billy Hargrove has had a few and gets misty eyed. Jason’s face is puffy and red, uncomfortable looking.

“You ok?”

“Why are you here?” Jason spits back.

Eddie doesn’t have a satisfactory answer, so he feigns ignorance, “Chrissy came without you to the party, I thought you might be sick.”

“So you came over to where I was sick?”

“I’m… high?” He wasn’t really, a light secondary buzz off other people’s smoke. But it was plausible enough that Jason’s shoulders relax.

“Got any left?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Its Eddie’s own joint, which he offers on fingers splintered from the window frame after he flips into Jason’s room.

Jason doesn’t wait for a blowback, just goes to the other side of the room to light it, as much distance between them as possible.

“We broke up,” Jason says, his face a mask of anger.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. But I kinda am. Sorry, Jason.”

Jason takes a rough puff, and then another.

“She… uh…” Eddie sputters.

“She broke up with me because I’m… I’ve been cheating on her,” Jason sniffs, handing the joint over, “So.”

“With who?”

It’s only after a few moments of Jason’s pointed silence that Eddie gets it.

“Right, but that doesn’t count,” Eddie says with a chuckle, waving the joint in the air.

“Get the fuck out,” Jason roars. His cheeks have gone bright pink.

“I just meant-“

“I shoulda pushed you out of the tree.”

“You…” Eddie’s brow furrows, “Thought it counted.”

Jason just draws a breath, his nostrils flaring. The way they do before a fight and before…

Jason’s hand is at his jaw and his other hand is fisted in Eddie’s jacket. It’s like it’s always been. He crowds Eddie back against his little desk, and Eddie’s wondering why he never climbed through Jason’s window. Could have gotten him in his cute little bed with the blue comforter and…

Jason’s lips tremble against his, and it’s just instinct, Eddie pushes forward… but Jason pulls back, falling out of step with their regular dance. His cheek is hot when Eddie puts his hand there, and Eddie’s heart flips like a pancake in his chest.

He kisses softly, Jason’s upper lip, his lower lip, they part and Eddie explores tentatively, fascinated. Jason’s crying, Eddie can taste the tears at the corner of his mouth. He kisses them away, painting his cheeks with tiny pecks, cradling Jason’s jaw. Jason was soft and pliant in his arms, and it was like Eddie could feel him for the first time. The tension running under the surface, muscles rolling beautifully when Jason threw his arms around Eddie’s neck and melted.

Eddie’s hand fell to Jason’s chest and Jason yelped, springing back. His little blue polo had caught fire from the joint now smoldering threateningly at their feet. Eddie stomped it out under his boots while Jason whipped his shirt off.

When he finally looked up, Eddie was grinning and Jason was pale and bloodless, his blue eyes shining with hurt.

“I… just… can’t do this anymore.”

Eddie picked up the smashed joint and threw it into the wastepaper basket under the desk, “Do what?”

“… screwing around. It’s messing with my head.”

“You gonna get another girlfriend?” Eddie’s heart sank.

“Dunno.” Jason shrugs, looking down.

“What if… we did something else.”

“Like what?” Jason blinked.

Eddie reached out and grabbed Jason’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Not screwing around.” Eddie clarified.

Jason just blinks up at him, “You’re fucking with me. That’s not f-fucking funny.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away, so Eddie can tug him closer. Eddie sits on the edge of the desk and fits Jason between his knees.

“You’re really gonna fight me on this?” Eddie whispers.

“I just… can’t… you’re messing with my head.”

Eddie ran his fingers along the bridge of Jason’s collarbone, “I didn’t know… I thought it was just you trying to… fight me or something…”

“I…”

“Kiss me, again. Please, Jason,” Eddie smiles.

It wasn't like fighting. Not like fucking either. Turns out Jason could kiss sweet when he wanted, all trembling fingers and watery blue eyes. Eddie didn't fight anymore, he just surrendered to the dance.

---

For @dragonflylady77 to make you smile

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 11

CW: obsessive thoughts, drug mention

Intermezzo ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 12

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Yaletown Park looked more like a rocky desert than anything adjacent to the open hangout it was sold as, especially in the hollow glow of the streetlights. Caught between high-risers and vacant retail space, the few square meters of cobble only offered some trash or needles to pluck from the ground. If the grass patches shooting out here and there were ever kept trim in the first place remained a mystery.

Behind a strategically chosen planter sat a reserved man, smoking the second pack of the day and stewing in his jaded mood, still waiting for whoever wanted to stop by. All this was normal for Morris by now.

The evening had started promising, with frat boys strolling along the sidewalk and a few girls in tow; a view that was starting to become more and more frequent. He smiled joylessly, remembering how he met Amber on a night like this.

More than a year must've passed since then, he figured, trying to cling onto thoughts that wouldn't shock him with memories of someone he didn't have to think about anymore. At least when he was chased around enough.

"You're gonna sit there until I tell you otherwise!"

Goddamn. Not that it was easy for Belanger either, patrolling the streets to prospect the usual scum. No regret laid in avoiding each other, but since Morris was dependent on any signal to engage with the more casual clientele, he was stuck in place. 

That's what I get for my not so tight scheduling. 

As a fixer caught at the bottom of the food chain, and honest to god no agency or willingness to change his position, it was better to keep his mouth shut and head down. But with skin still in the game, did he have another option? For all he cared, they could make him do their laundry and scrub all crack houses of the state squeaky-clean. Anything else than ending up in Dutch's office with that thing-  

Another thought he quickly shoved aside, another problem to ignore till it blew up.

Except a lone hobo who threw up way too close to his shoes, nothing ripped Morris out of the daydreaming that kept his last sliver of sanity alive. The risk of being arrested on the spot or stabbed to death by someone who needed cash even more than him aside, the prize of it all was just...surviving.

"One day you wake up, and your whole life is spent in what?" Amber's life lesson was now sober reality, spot-on to the last detail.

Hearing her voice again used to pierce through his gut and leave him wrecked with self-hatred, although these feelings had died down in the time they spent apart. Not that he didn't try to distract himself from the distraction, oh no, he had several chances to drown out boiling memories of past love during the spring months, but this year it was different. Nobody was waiting at home. Morris couldn't let go, not this time, not since her...since him-

If Belanger didn't call right now, he would find a good use for all those narcotics in his pocket.

A break from it all, that's what he needed to work himself to the bone for. 

Wrapping his leather jacket closer around his body, Morris wished to disappear into it completely. Even the colorful August couldn't hide that it had gotten colder in the last days of an already far too chilly summer. 

Without any warning, his peaceful solitude was interrupted again. 

A figure stumbled blindly along the sidewalk. Morris' gaze followed them closely, how disoriented feet pushed each other forward and finally letting them flop down onto a bench near the park's exit.

Drunk or high, certainly. Care for another round? 10 bucks for a flat of fentanyl - dark green, quite popular at the moment. 

Still, Belanger didn't give him the go-ahead yet. Maybe he should make today's slow business hum: be proactive, independent. Write it on a resume, why not.

His stiff knee gave an audible crack as it was forced to stand straight, lazily stretching the sore muscles in his back and taking the first few steps towards his potential customer, Morris started to become flustered. 

Could be a setup, for all he knew. Something was off. 

The soon-to-be buyer was wrapped up in shadows, sitting quietly by themself and only rarely mumbling at the stones below their feet.

He approached until their shoes nearly touched, time to play offense: "You good?"

Nothing. Awkward, he wasn't used to making the first move like this.

Shoving at the motionless shoulders only made their head flop forward, and a forced sigh quickly followed it. First week on campus, probably, lost their friends and self-control only to aimlessly walk around the neighborhood.

"You definitely had enough fun for today, buddy," Morris scoffed, ready to turn around. 

Suddenly, he faltered. They had to rethink Belanger's strategy if he ought to stay here, passed-out freshmen were only good for catching unwanted attention and as long as Dutch didn't want to see his ass in jail, any cops on patrol should be avoided. Not that they lost sleep about the mass of catatonic bodies scattered throughout the city streets, just when they were seen in the wrong parts of town - the pleasant ones.

"Move," so he demanded, quickly lifting up their chin, nestled against the stiff collar of their windbreaker, with his fist. "You're gonna get me in trouble."

The hot breath against Morris' hand sent shivers up his spine. After nights like these, he felt mostly frozen numb, but the air coming out in labored and shallow puffs let his fingers tingle with newfound life.

Suddenly, the howl of an ambulance cut through the silence. Not for them, of course, it was surely headed east. As it took a turn and rushed past the unusual couple, Morris caught a quick glimpse of his vis-à-vis.

For less than a heartbeat, his body froze.

His mouth began to open and close like a fish on land, unable to produce a single word, whilst the prickle spread from his back through every inch of his body. A wonderful illusion bloomed under the blue-red-blue-red flicker and as quickly as it had reached both, it left them alone in the nightly glow of streetlights.

Morris didn't hear himself gasp, the rush of blood in his ears was too deafening. Now dead focused on the freckle-sprinkled skin, tousled dark hair and soft lashes, an inward pull kept him from blinking: the fear that he would be ripped out of his trance.

No dream, no wishful thinking. Morris would recognize this face anywhere.

"Elliot?"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About

Pete invites you to meet his friends from The Dirt and makes you promise not to flirt with any of them, which is a lot easier said than done, especially when Colson Baker acts like that.

Request: “Hey so I love all your writing and I just thought you should know that! But also I’d your requests are on still would you mind writing a youre Pete’s little sister but kells got a crush xx”

Colson x reader

Warnings: Drug use, Cursing

A/N: I know, Dom (Yungblud) wrote the song, but also I am the writer and I say that Y/N wrote it :) Anyways, enjoy. This is only part 1 of what is probably going to be a fun, cute lil series. Also thank you to the anon who sent this! You made my day(s)

Word Count: 2411

| ii | iii | iv | v |

masterlist

New York was lonely without your brother. He had been filming in New Orleans for the past three months, leaving you alone. You had some friends, but Pete was your best friend. You were only eight months younger than him and practically attached at the hip. You supposed going through trauma together would do that to people.

He facetimed you all the time from set, updating you on things in his life, showing you cool stuff from the set, and introducing you to his castmates. You had kept him updated on your music, playing him demos of songs you were writing and getting his opinion on them.

Him being away wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it definitely sucked for you. So, when Pete texted you that he was having a few friends from the movie over the night he got back, you were ecstatic.

Before you left your apartment to walk to his, he texted you.

You’re not allowed to flirt with any of my friends

You rolled your eyes as you locked your door, preparing a response.

I’ll try my best

Your phone buzzed seconds later.

I’m serious. I don’t trust any of them with you.

And I don’t need that kind of awkwardness in my life

Like if you date one of my friends and it goes badly

I don’t wanna deal with that shit

You chuckled at his chain of texts.

Don’t flirt with your friends because they’re dicks, got it

Don’t worry bro, I know the sibling code

 You came to find out that that was a lot easier said than done. When you walked into his place, everyone in the room turned to look at you. You recognized most of them from your facetimes with Pete, but you doubted they remembered who you were. One who did remember you was Colson, Pete’s new best friend. He made eye contact with you from across the room, a sly grin on his lips. You sent him a small smile, Pete’s text running through your head briefly.

You found your brother lounging on the couch, a huge grin on his face. He was definitely tripping on mushrooms. “Y/N!” He yelled. “This is my baby sister, everyone.”

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the room, grabbing a drink from the cooler, and taking an empty seat on the opposite couch. “I’m less than a year younger than you, Pete.”

You heard a snicker from the one of the guys, looking over to see Colson covering up the smile on his face. “But you’re still younger than me so it counts.”

Everyone went back to their own conversations, which you were thankful for. “Y/N, you remember Colson, right?” Pete motioned to the blond guy.

“Yeah.” You nodded, looking him up and down. His muscle tank exposed the sleeves of tattoos, which seemed to cover every inch of his skin. “Your hair was different, but yeah I remember you.” You opened the beer on the coffee table, taking a swig.

“You’re the musician, right?” He asked you, leaning back onto the couch.

You nodded, “Aspiring musician but, yeah.”

“Oh, she’s great. You should hear her sometime.” Pete butted in, grinning like an idiot at you.

You rolled your eyes but had a smile on your face. “I work primarily as a songwriter and editor right now, but I’m trying to work on putting out some of my own stuff.”

You felt a little intimidated talking to Machine Gun Kelly about music, seeing as he was one of the best in the industry, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in your work. “Well, if you ever want some help or someone to listen to it, I’d be willing.” He flashed a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

“Thanks, that’s really cool of you.” You bit your lip slightly, trying to hide the fact that you were totally breaking Pete’s rule.

Pete sent a glare your way to which you raised your eyebrow. You weren’t really flirting; you were just… making connections. “Anyways,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve been working on this sketch idea, Y/N, and I need your opinion.”

You nodded, letting him talk. “So, I was thinking like, there’s this guy with posters all over his wall. Like life size posters of a bunch of different people. And he falls asleep while doing homework and he dreams about them coming to life. And it plays out like one of those really bad commercials that encourage kids to stay in school and shit. Like the posters are telling him to study for his test, but then there’s this one poster that’s like, very sexy. And she’s just like, talking about hot dogs and everyone else gets really sick of it and one of the other posters tries to like, tear down her poster or something.”

Throughout his description, you got more and more confused. “Pete, that’s not funny that’s just fuckin weird.” His mouth hung open in shock. “Dude, seriously? The big punchline is the playboy poster girl talking about hot dogs until the other poster people get tired of it?”

“Yes.” Pete said, as if it were obvious. “That’s hilarious.” You glanced at Colson with a questioning look on your face. He seemed as unsure of the joke as you were.

“Pete, man, that’s not your best work.” Colson clapped him on the shoulder and you giggled at Pete’s disappointed expression.

“You guys are mean.” He pouted and you two laughed. “Ok, well, how would you make it funny?”

“I don’t know if you can, bro.” Colson’s laugh was contagious. When he laughed his whole body shook, his feet stomping and everything.

“What are the other posters?” You asked, trying to be supportive but knowing this wouldn’t turn out very good.

“Well, I was thinking maybe one is like a video game character. Like that lady from Wreck-It-Ralph. The mean one. And then like a snowboarder who is definitely high, and someone else, I dunno.” He shrugged, taking a hit from the joint in his hand and passing it to you.

“Okay…” You trailed off, looking at Colson for support. You brought the blunt to your lips, inhaling the smoke and bringing it down, letting the smoke leave your mouth slowly. You passed the joint to Colson, who gladly took it, a smirk on his face.

Pete looked between you two at the small interaction, a frown. “So, the posters,” he brought your attention away from the man again, “they’re all really serious about teaching this dude math. But the hotdog girl just keeps talking about hot dogs in like this really high-pitched voice.”

You watched the smoke fall from Colson’s lips, not fully paying attention to your brother.

“Yeah man, I think that sounds funny.” Colson told Pete, his eyes lingering on you for a little longer than they should have. “It could use some work but if anyone can make it funny, it’s you.” Colson punched your brother on the shoulder, but the look he sent you said the exact opposite.

You held in your giggle, taking another sip of your beer.

The rest of the night followed a similar pattern, you and Colson flirting and Pete trying to get in between you two. At one point, after a few more hits of weed and a couple more drinks, Colson brought out a guitar, insisting you play something for him. Where he got the guitar from, you had no idea, but you didn’t ask questions. Instead, you rolled your eyes, insisting that “if I have to play something, so do you.”

Everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to care about the noise, or too drunk. You started strumming, trying to remember the chords to a song you had started writing a few days ago. “There’s no lyrics yet, just a melody I came up with.” You blushed, feeling very self-conscious suddenly.

“Guess I’ll just free style to it then.” He chuckled as you started to strum, your fingers working the strings like they had your whole life.

The blond man closed his eyes, head nodding as you played and thinking of what to rap.

“Watch me, take a good thing and fuck it all up in one night. Catch me, I’m the one on the run away from the headlights.

No sleep, up all week wastin time with people I don’t like. I think, somethin’s fuckin wrong with me.

You smiled as he sang, watching his expressions change as he tried to think up the next line.

Drown myself in alcohol, that shit never helps at all

I might say some stupid things tonight when you pick up this call

I be hearin silence on the other side for way to long, I can taste it on my tongue, I can tell that somethin’s wrong.”

He opened his eyes, looking rather proud of himself. “I had some of those lyrics already, but I just changed ‘em a little. I really liked that.”

You nodded, “That was impressive.” You smiled, looking back down to the guitar when something hit you.

You began to play the same melody but pitched higher to fit your voice.

“Roll me up, and smoke me love

And we could fly into the night

You take drugs, to let go, and figure it all out on your own

Take drugs, on gravestones, to figure it all out on your own.”

You looked up to Colson, watching his expression change, his eyes wide. Pete had a proud look on his face.

“Pete, you are a sucky hype man. You did her no justice.” Colson hit Pete on the arm.

“Whaddya mean, I told you she was great.”

Colson looked over to you, a stupid smile on his face. “Seriously, that was fucking amazing. Like, we gotta write that shit out some day.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the blush from reaching your cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be cool.” You were trying your best to keep your cool as Colson kept his gaze on you, but you were completely freaking out on the inside.

A little while later, almost everyone was gone except you, Pete, Colson, and Douglas Booth, who joined your conversation not long after your jam session. Pete let out a yawn, directing your attention to the time.

“Jesus, it’s already 4am?” You asked, a frown on your face.

“Why, you got somewhere to be, darling?” Douglas asked you, your face scrunching up from the nickname.

“I have a writing session at 11 am tomorrow. Or, today, I guess.”

Pete reached out to hit you in the head, playfully, which you dodged. “Go to bed, dummy.”

You shrugged, “I’m gonna be dead at it anyways, might as well keep the party going a little longer.”

Douglas rolled his eyes, patting your shoulder. “Be that as it may, I am ending this party and going home. Goodnight, guys. It was nice meeting you again, Y/N. Good to see you guys.” Douglas and the guys did that little hand slap and hug thing before he left.

“I love you both, but I will also be going to sleep. And you should too.” Pete stood up, stretching his arms out before giving Colson a fist bump and leaving to his bedroom.

Once your older brother left, Colson moved to the couch you were on, his arm falling over your shoulders. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “And how can I help you Mr. Kelly?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m assuming Pete gave us both very similar talking to’s, given the glares you’ve been receiving all night.”

“You mean the “don’t flirt with my friends” talking to or the other one?” You tilted your head, a sly look on your face.

“That’s the one.” Colson laughed through his nose, an adorable smile on his face. You were both considerably high, but you still knew exactly what you were doing.

You moved closer to Colson’s body, “Well then I guess we’d better not do this.” You said quietly, leaning into him. “Or this,” You grabbed his jaw, inches from his face.

“Or this?” He whispered, connecting your lips. You smiled into the kiss, tasting the weed on his tongue. You adjusted your body so you were facing him, his arm that was once around your shoulder now wrapped around your waist.

His other hand grabbed your leg, pulling you up so you were straddling his lap, and your arms wrapped around his neck. His lips seemed to fit perfectly around yours, and you did all you could to keep yourself from moaning into the kiss as his hand began to travel up your leg.

Realization hit you like a brick wall, and you pulled away, your breathing heavy. “Sorry,” you muttered after a few seconds. You climbed off his lap, smoothing out your shirt. “We shouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t have done that.” You smiled awkwardly down at him.

He nodded, the same realization hitting him. “Yeah, that’s not the best idea. Sorry I wasn’t really thinking.”

You shook your head, cheeks still very red. “No, no, no don’t apologize. It was fine, it’s all fine.”

He nodded, looking down awkwardly. “I should get going.” He stood up, landing a little too close to you.

“Why don’t you just sleep here? Pete won’t mind and it’s a lot easier than going home.” You bit your lip awkwardly, taking a few steps back.

Colson scratched the back of his neck. This was a very different demeanor than he had before, and you found it very cute. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.” You moved towards the guest bedroom, a guilty smile on your face. You moved your hand to your lips, feeling where Colson’s lips had graced you minutes before.

You came back to find Colson laying on the couch, one hand behind his head. “We don’t have to tell Pete about that, right?”

You shook your head, a small smile still playing on your lips. You put the pillow behind his head, watching his eyes as he watched your lips. “Stop looking at me like that or I’ll do something else we can’t tell Pete about.” You said quietly, watching him grin. You pulled the blanket over him, leaning down to be level with his face.

“I kind of like the things we can’t tell Pete about.” Colson chuckled, leaning forward to connect your lips again.

[yutahoes]

Punch

pairing : bodyguard! Yuta Nakamoto x rich girl! Y/N

genre: angst, fluff, childhood friends au

word count: 2.7k words

summary : Yuta has his eyes on one girl. A person he cannot have. 

a/n: based on this ask. you’ll probably guess that I intended this to be an angst fic so the ending is kinda off but I still hope you’ll like it anon.  

“Can you please act like a proper lady?” the mother of the house scolded which only made Y/N sip her soup loudly. “Y/N!” she shouted, which made the younger girl flinch. 

The oldest sighed loudly, closing his eyes. “Can’t we just enjoy our meal without shouting?” The younger girl snickered. “And Y/N, please listen to your mom. Act like a proper lady.”

She rolled her eyes at that. It’s not like she’s not an obedient child, she listens to what they want. She just hated how they put all this pressure on her to be a proper woman when it’s not what she wants. The disadvantage of being born into a rich family. 

Her right wrapped fist hit the punching bag before her left fist hooked to hit its side. The door opened and she swings a punch, only to hit her childhood friend by the shoulder. “That is one weak punch.” Yuta teased, fixing the wrap of her right fist. “Why do you have to practice boxing when you have your bodyguard?” He whispered while fixing the other wrap. “I’d rather break all my bones than let someone lay a finger on you.”   

She laughed. “For someone so strong and muscly, you have such a soft spot for me.” She swing another punch and he quickly dodged it. Yuta held her wrist, gently pulling her to the side but Y/N kept on coming to him with punches. She hit his shoulder once but he didn’t flinch making her repeat the punching.  

Yuta stepped backward, laughing at her attempts. His foot reached the edge of the mat at the same time as Y/N landed a punch on his chest. He fell down on his back, dragging Y/N with him. The girl grinned, “I think I just knocked you down.” 

She sounded so proud of herself that it’s comical. Yuta held both her arms, pushing her down to the mat. Him, hovering above her. “The first rule is to never put your guard down.” He can feel her warm breath against his lips. Her fruity smell arousing his senses. A loud heartbeat, he wasn’t sure if it was hers or his, ringing on his ears. 

Yuta stood up as if he’s on fire. Y/N chuckling while lying down on the mat. He reached a hand to help her stand, letting go when she stood up. “Luckily, you will always be here for me.” The side of his lips curled up. 

He didn’t know when it started. Maybe it started even before he realized it. Since his parents work with her family, he became her first friend. When she went to high school, she refused to have bodyguards following her every move so Yuta, being her classmate, became her personal bodyguard. The main reason why he bulked up. 

But it should end now. He can’t be her personal bodyguard forever. Because from the little girl he first met when they were six years old, Y/N had grown to be a pretty woman. And he’s just a guy. A guy who is attracted to the person he needed to guard. 

-----

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said, holding her shoes while running outside their mansion and into the car. Yuta laughed, closing the door behind him then entering the driver’s seat. “Is mom mad?” 

He shook his head, adjusting the rearview mirror to watch if she’s comfortable in her seat. She was putting on her sandals, the skirt of her dress hiking up her thigh that made him cough. “If she asks, just tell her your piano class ended late.” 

“But I don’t have piano classes.” 

“Exactly.” 

The girl smiled. This was one of the things she liked about hanging out with Yuta. Her parents believe him more than her and he’s good at making up excuses. 

It’s not her fault that she enjoyed watching the boxing match on TV and she forgot about the party that her mom kept on reminding her. Honestly, she would rather just stay at home and practice her boxing skills rather than stand in that posh party and act like her mom’s Barbie doll. Why is this the fate of a chaebol’s daughter? 

The car stopped at the entrance of a posh hotel, the valet already opening the door for her. “Are you coming up after parking the car?” she asked but Yuta just shook his head while reminding her to keep her slippers on the side so he can hide them in the trunk. “What if I get bored?” 

Yuta chuckled. “I’ll be drinking coffee in the lobby.” She grinned before getting out of the car and closing the door behind her. 

The elevator ride is boring already but when she came inside the venue, the party made her yawn. Her mom scolded her for arriving late then smiling at her friends which she greeted with a fake smile on her face. She introduced her to one bachelor after another, obnoxious jerks that she knew since she’s a kid. “Didn’t I told you to wear makeup?” Her mom scolded and she hissed, closing her eyes. She’s pissed off that she’s hungry and her feet are aching real bad. She just wanted to go home. 

Maybe she can make a run for it and go to Yuta in the lobby. 

But her mom held her arm, whispering that she should stop being a brat. It wasn’t until her dad said that they should go home since he’s almost drunk that a smile crept on her lips. She almost hurried outside the hotel, grinning when Yuta opened the door for her. “You look like you had fun.” 

She rolled her eyes at that, “I almost died of boredom.” He chuckled before she got inside the car, Yuta opening the front door for Y/N’s dad. 

The car was quiet that surprised him. Normally, her mom will keep on scolding her for her behavior at the party. Maybe she was being obedient today. “Yuta, your dad told me about your family leaving.” He saw movement from the rearview mirror and shrugged it. “Let me know if you need anything.” Yuta nodded, thanking the older man. 

“We know some doctors in Japan. Maybe we can help.” The older woman from the backseat claimed but Yuta just shook his head. He already feels bad about his family moving so suddenly, he’ll feel worse if he let them help his ailing grandmother. This was a decision that his parents had been pondering for a while and when their employer agreed to let them go back to Japan, he can’t say no. 

The car stopped in front of their mansion, the couple getting out of the car but the girl refused to move and even closed the door of the car. She was glaring at Yuta, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re leaving?” 

Yuta sighed. “I can’t find the right timing to tell you.” She rolled her eyes once again. “I’m sorry but grandma is already old and she wants us to go back to Japan.” 

“Can’t you stay?” 

“I can’t, Y/N.” He hissed. “My parents are already old. They need me more.” 

The girl pursed her lips and he cautiously met her eyes from the rearview mirror. “When are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Already?” Yuta nodded. The sooner, the better. “Morning?” Again, he nodded. Y/N pouted, squinting her eyes at him. “Can you wake me up before you leave?” 

He smiled, laughing while he turned to her. “You can wake up by yourself.” But she shook her head. “I’ll wake you up tomorrow. Promise.” She grinned, even repeating that he needed to wake her up before leaving the car. 

Yuta sighed, leaning in his seat while taking a silver chain from inside his pocket. His thumb tracing the heart pendant. This was supposed to be his gift for her but seeing as how the other guys from wealthy families gave her diamonds and expensive things, he hid it for months. A knock on the window startled him, hastily putting the necklace in his pocket. He rolled down the window to reveal his dad, smiling at him. “I’ll just park the car.” 

He waited for him outside the mansion as he returned the keys, closing their door in the process. “You know you can stay if you want.” His dad started that made Yuta shake his head. It was his decision to come with them. He can’t stay here and be away from them. They needed him. “I’m sorry, Yuta.” 

“What for, dad?” 

“I should have worked harder and maybe our family is wealthier.” He claimed that surprised the younger guy. His dad is thinking about these things? “You wouldn’t have a problem loving her.” 

A smile crept on Yuta’s face. Of course, they know about it. Everyone does. Except her. 

“It was your mom who found out. You even worked part-time jobs just to get her a present and I felt bad.” Yuta shook his head. They’re the parents he wished for. He doesn’t want anything to change. “Did you at least tell her your feelings?” 

Once again, he shook his head. “It’s just a one-sided crush, dad.” The older tapped his shoulder. “This will pass.” But even he had a hard time believing the words coming out of his own mouth. 

He promised to wake her up and although he’s in front of her room, he can’t have the courage to knock on the door and tell her that they’re leaving. It’s just a crush. He kept on telling himself. This will pass. With a heavy sigh, he put down the necklace on the floor and went downstairs. 

“Did you wake her up?” Yuta smiled, shaking his head. "That girl, really." The older woman was about to leave when the younger stopped her, saying that it's fine. His mom stared at him in worry.

Yuta went inside the cab while her parents thanked the other couple. This is it, he thought. His goodbye to her. His thumb grazed against her smiling photo as his phone wallpaper. His parents both looked at him when they went inside the car, asking if he's alright and he nodded then closed his phone. 

As the car started moving away from the mansion, his phone lit up with her name. He's a coward. He shouldn't be her bodyguard. He closed the phone, removing his sim card and breaking it in half. 

Yuta's goodbye to her. The love of his life. 

The last few years were so good to Yuta. His uncle sent him to a university in Tokyo where he took a course in business administration and start a small business of his own. He met a lot of good people, nice girls from his line of work but sometimes he would trail to thoughts of her. Her smile, her eyes. 

Whenever winter comes, he would think of her grinning excitedly at the thought of snow. When spring comes, he finds himself smiling at the cherry blossoms. Wanting her to see them with her own two eyes. Whenever summer comes, he wished she’s here with him and eating delicious foods at festivals. When it’s autumn, he would dream of them walking under the shedding trees and holding each other’s hands. Then the cycle repeats itself. 

He missed her more as time pass. 

Can he even see her again? Why can’t he fully say goodbye to his feelings for her? 

“I heard there are pretty girls at the party. We should definitely check it out.” One of his business partners claimed, referring to a party happening to a famous hotel in Tokyo. “Maybe this is your chance to forget about that girl.” 

Maybe it is. He should focus on forgetting about her. Maybe this time, he can finally say goodbye to the thoughts of her. 

Surprisingly the more he stayed at the party, the more he was reminded of her. Is this how it feels like being the ‘Barbie doll’? Just standing, smiling, and greeting people when you want to go home and just rest. Seeing how some creepy rich old men were walking to where younger girls are, he thought that these chaebol’s daughters should really have a bodyguard of their own. How is she? Did she find another bodyguard?   

Yuta excused himself outside to get some breath of fresh air. This is dangerous, he kept on thinking about her. He’s failing his mission. “Y/N!” someone called that made him turn to the owner of the voice. A guy in simple shirt and jeans, very different from the semi-formal attire in the party, was looking around the garden. “Y/N, your mom is going to kill me.” 

He really said her name, didn’t he? Before he can walk to where he is, he heard a small sound behind the bushes then some movement. Curious, he peeked behind only to get punched in the face. Hard. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Is he hurt that much? Why is he seeing her? “Yuta?” 

“Y/N!” the sound got closer that made her pull him to hide behind the bushes. 

“What are you…?” She put a hand over her mouth to cover his voice. Their distance so close that he can feel her warmth and the fruity smell that he always associated with her. A loud heartbeat ringing in his ears but now, he’s sure that it was his. 

When the guy went inside the party, Y/N breathed hard in relief. Her head lay on Yuta’s shoulder, catching her breath. “That was so close.” 

He lightly pushed her, moving to the side to create a distance from the two of them. “What were you doing?” 

“Hiding.” she said with a grin. “He’s going to return me to mom and introduce me to some Japanese hotshot." he rolled her eyes while fixing her skirt. "I don't even know how to speak Japanese, I just passed class because…" She lightly glanced at him, her eyes widening in surprise. "Your lip is bleeding." 

Yuta touched his bottom lip, a bright red tint appearing on his thumb. "Maybe because of your punch." She repeatedly apologized, handing him her handkerchief. "Have you been practicing your punches?" 

"I'm training to be a boxer to join the Olympics." 

"Seriously?"  

The girl squinted her eyes at him. "I'm stuck with that lanky guy who can't even land a punch. How am I supposed to protect myself?" 

Yuta laughed then pulled her down in an attempt to hide her from the guy looking for her. "Why are you stuck with that guy anyways? Your dad knew better." 

"Well, my bodyguard left me without even saying goodbye when he promised me..." 

"I'm sorry." Yuta whispered. "Saying goodbye is harder than staying with you." He breathed heavily. "I'm falling deeper for the girl I'm supposed to protect. I'm scared I might hurt you." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

She rolled her eyes at that. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because I'm a nobody and you're way out of my league, Y/N." 

"You're stupid, Yuta. I didn't even sleep that night and waited for you to knock on the door that morning." She lightly punched his shoulder, earning a yelp from him. Tears were streaming from her eyes that startled him. "I even went to Osaka to look for you." 

He held her cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He mumbled. “I can’t get you out of my mind as well.” He held her in his arms, her necklace hanging loosely from her neck. He traced the heart pendant, smiling at her. “It looks good on you.” 

She punched his shoulder another time, surprising Yuta. “Don’t hide from me again. I’ll kill you, Yuta.” 

The guy rubbed the spot she just punched, “I don’t think I can be your bodyguard anymore. Let me just guard your heart instead.” Another punch and he just chuckled, pulling her in his arms again.

Yuta smiled. Mission failed. 

He really can’t say goodbye to the love of his life. 

[ashes-in-a-jar]

And I Owe it All to You

Hello! This is a fic I wrote based on @speakerunfolding 's wonderful Jonmartin scottish cabin comic which I couldn't stop looking at.

I wrote this while watching Dirty Dancing for the first time in many years. Quite an experience xD

Summary: It's a night in for Jon and Martin in the cabin and they decide to pop out the wine.

Rated: T

Word count: 2.2K

Tw: alcohol, drinking and being slightly drunk, minor injuries

Maybe it was the fact that neither of them had gone out much in the past few months. Maybe the Fears prefer their avatars lightweight. Maybe Scottish alcohol tended to be stronger than English alcohol. But the sparkling wine they bought on a whim at the village store shouldn't have had the effect on them that it did.

Having emptied two cups each (Jon was actually drinking out of a mug, since they found only one wine glass, and he conceded the honor of feeling classy to Martin) they have already become giggling messes over some dumb joke regarding one Peter Lukas and a computer that refused to boot.

It wasn't even that funny. But there they were, acting like complete fools leaning against each other on the couch, legs propped up in a completely uncomfortable position on the small living room table (dangerously close to the now nearly empty bottle), holding their cups precariously in one hand and holding hands with the other.

And enjoying every moment of it.

The giggling subsided. They took a moment of comfortable silence to regain their breath and enjoy another sip.

"Can't believe he didn't know he could just u-unplug and replug the whole thing. Even I know that." Jon's speech was ever so slightly slurred, his leftover wine sloshing in his cup.

Martin hummed and then snorted.

"Jon, you barely know how to do that either. I had to teach you how to open new tabs in the same internet window for christ's sake."

"It was a new laptop! All of the buttons were in the wrong p-place." Jon protested weakly, starting to hiccup.

"Sure."

"Prick." Jon nudged him fondly. "You underestimate my vast knowledge of 'modern' things."

Martin snorted again. "Modern, you say?"

"Yes Martin, what do you take me for?"

"An old geezer." Martin tousled his hair gently. Jon leaned into the touch. Then, the words sunk in.

"Hey! Why do you and Georgie keep thinking that? I can know pop culture!"

"Oh yeah? Tell me, what do you know?"

"Uh..." Jon struggled to straighten himself, which resulted in actually sliding further off the couch. "Um...I know S-Star Wars! And uh, Matrix? I think. I've seen it once. Oh! That, that dinosaur movie! And... Titanic?" He finished unconvincingly. 

Martin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Jon? You're just naming movies now.  And not even new ones. Did you actually watch any of those?"

Jon avoided his gaze "I... I may have fallen asleep during uh, during some of these?"

Martin gave him a long look. 

"Yes alright, I fell asleep in all of them."

Martin huffed "Thought so". 

Jon gave up trying to salvage his dignity, taking a final long gulp from his mug, a small drop trickling down his chin. Martin swiped it away, absent-mindedly licking his finger, not noticing as Jon hiccuped, his face heating up considerably. 

"I-I did like the Princess Bride though— that was a nice film, if a bit sensational." 

"Hang on. You watched the Princess Bride? And liked it?" Martin asked, incredulous. 

"I'm allowed to like things, Martin. B-besides, Georgie made me watch it. Said it was a- a core staple of cinema history o-or something."

"Oh yeah? Did she make you watch those other movies as well?" Martin asked casually, swirling the liquid in his cup. 

"Unfortunately yes. She would cruelly  shake me awake when I finally managed to get some shut-eye for once in my life. I-it's not my fault the only times I could sleep normally were during those, those damn films! She woke me up for that ridiculous scene with the, uh, the bullets in the Matrix. And that lifting scene in that unseemly dancing movie."

"What lifting scene?" 

"That movie with all of the dancing? Th-the one where he lifts her at the end in the middle of the crowd with that song? At least, uh, at least I think there was a lot of dancing, I wasn't actually, hmmm... Focused at the time." 

"Oh my god Jon, do you mean Dirty Dancing? You fell asleep during Dirty Dancing?" Martin's delighted incredulity was plain on his face. 

Jon scrunched up his nose. "That's the name of the film? Good thing I fell asleep then."

"Jesus Jon. That's incredible, good on Georgie! Heh, at least you woke up for that scene. It's iconic, you know." 

"Yes, yes." Jon waved at him dismissively, reaching unsteadily for the wine bottle. Martin gently took it away from Jon and with a much steadier hand, poured the remaining bit of wine into his mug.

"Thank you Martin," Jon mumbled into the cup. 

Another warm silence fell on them, lulling Jon into a half drunken stupor. He nearly threw his cup in the air when Martin's words startled him back into awareness. 

"I can do that scene you know, that lifting part." He was looking intently at his glass. 

"R-really?" Jon hiccuped. "How?" 

"I… I had a boyfriend who wanted to try it. So we did. Turns out that I'm good at balancing large things that aren't stacks of paper."

Jon hummed. He suddenly imagined very vividly Martin lifting someone else in that way and felt a pang in his chest. What was that?

Another beat of silence. 

"Do. Do you want to try?"

"W-what?" 

"Do you want to do that lifting scene with me? I'm sure I could lift you." Martin suddenly sat up, his tone excited and anticipating. He looked at Jon. 

Jon shifted. "Uh, I-I guess it's fine? Sure."

"Okay! Let's do it then!" Martin got up on his feet, swaying ever so slightly. 

Jon looked up at him surprised. "W-wait, now? Shouldn't we wait? You know, to be less uh, inebriated? Don't you need to see the scene again for a reminder?"

"Mmm. We don't have reception so I can't exactly watch the scene again. But, but I'm pretty sure I can do it now, definitely sure! Come on." He held out his hand expectantly. 

Jon took it, stumbling only a bit as he got up. Martin took out his phone . 

"I might even have the song saved. Let me check."

A moment later he gave a whoop of success and the song began to play, filling the main space of the cabin with its soft, if slightly tinny sound. 

Jon stretched, releasing the tension in his muscles. "All right Martin, where do you want me?" 

"You need a bit of a running start, and then you need to jump high right as you reach my arms, so stand over there." He indicated towards the door of the bedroom. 

"Right." Jon stumbled only once as he made his way towards the designated spot. Martin moved across the room stopping right near the kitchen door. 

The song kept playing calmly in the background, slowly building up towards the upbeat chorus. 

Jon looked at him again "I dunno Martin. A-are you sure?" He suddenly felt a bit more fuzzy than he did sitting down. He hiccuped again. 

"Please Jon, you're thin as a rake. Have a little faith." His face wore that determined look that Jon couldn't help but love. 

"Alright, as you wish." He grinned, proud of his clever reference as he took his stance. 

Martin rolled his eyes as well as his sleeves. "Steady on Westley, this is the part."

Jon felt a rush of excitement as he caught Martin's enthusiasm. "Ready?" He asked, bouncing a little on his feet in preparation. 

"Ready." Martin crouched a little, holding out his arms. 

As the chorus neared Jon, with a wild drunken energy, took his running start, jumping up as he reached Martin, grabbing on to his shoulders for support. Martin firmly gripped Jon's hips, bent his legs and with a strained grunt lifted Jon in the air as the song reached a crescendo. 

Jon was flying. 

He laughed giddily, stretching out his arms in elation. 

As Martin continued holding him in his strong grip he looked down at his beautiful boyfriend. Despite the exertion, Martin looked up with the softest expression as the song kept playing for them in the background. 

For a moment everything was perfect. 

And then Martin leaned backwards a bit too far. 

In hindsight, they should have known this would happen. While Martin was better at hiding it, he was as drunk as Jon. And Jon's already impeded balance certainly didn't help. 

As they went down, Jon idly wondered if they could also recreate the rest of the dance if they practiced. And then he hit his nose on the floor. 

After a moment of stunned silence the pain rushed in and Jon grunted. 

Turns out that while most of him was protected from the fall by Martin's soft and sturdy body, his knee also missed the mark and crashed into the floor as well.

Muffled by Jon's body above him, Martin squirmed. "Ugh, Jon, are you okay?"

When Jon didn't respond, Martin groaned and picked himself off the floor, lifting Jon in the process. 

"Oh my god, Jon! You're bleeding!" 

Jon's face throbbed. And so did his knee. His hazy drunken state began fading away as the pain sharpened. 

"I-I think I hit something." 

"I'm so sorry Jon! God, where are the tissues?" Seemingly having sobered up considerably, Martin picked Jon up and carried him bodily into the bathroom. Jon allowed all of this to happen as the shock of the fall dissipated. He let Martin easily lift him onto the sink counter as he shoved a towel into his hands.

"Hold it against your nose while I... Jesus, your knee too?" He stepped back now hurriedly lifting the stained pant leg to reveal the damage. 

"God, Jon I'm so sorry. Hold still, I'm going to find the first aid kit. We shouldn't have done this. This was a complete disaster." 

He kept muttering irritably as he walked away. Jon sighed and pressed the towel to his throbbing nose. His foggy mind still felt as though it was trying to catch up to the recent chain of events. He spoke slowly, attempting to convey himself with clarity. 

"Martin, it's fine. Honestly, I think we both know I've had worse-" 

"You nearly broke your bloody neck! God, where's that goddamn kit." He shouted from across the cabin as Jon heard the rattling of drawers being forcefully pulled open. 

"Martin, please I-I'm okay. It's just a little bit of bruising. It honestly already feels better." 

And it actually did. In the chaos after the fall, they both forgot Jon's... situation. Jon watched as the cut on his knee slowly closed up, leaving only the drying stain of blood behind. The pain in his nose was slowly vanishing as well. 

By the time Martin came back holding the bag, Jon already put down the towel and was tentatively poking at the previously bruised spot. 

Martin stopped in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of emotions Jon couldn't parse out. He smiled at Martin hesitantly. 

"See? Good as new. No harm no foul, I say."

Martin let out a long suffering sigh and took the towel out of Jon's hands. He quietly dampened it in the sink and stepped closer to gently pat at his face. 

Jon looked at him. This close he could practically count his faded freckles, follow every line and trace every mark that was so beautifully Martin. He let himself smile. 

"I must say, I'm quite impressed by your strength, if we weren't so inebriated, I'm sure you could have kept me up there for quite a while," he said quietly, enjoying the fluttering touches. 

"It wasn't because I was drunk." Martin muttered. 

"Pardon?" 

"I said it wasn't because I was drunk that I dropped you," he said a little louder, oddly flustered. "I was looking at... At you. You just looked... I dunno, happy, I guess? I just never seen that expression on you before and it..." He trailed off, concentrating intently on Jon's knee, finishing up cleaning up the blood. 

"M-Martin, look at me. Please look up here." Jon gently tugged at his shoulders to pull him up. At this height, sitting on the counter, he actually came face to face with Martin, seeing his blush and ruffled expression right in front of him as opposed to slightly above him like he normally did 

He lifted his palms to bracket Martin's warm cheeks. 

"There you are," he whispered and leaned in for a quick kiss. He then leaned back slightly. "You know that I'm perfectly happy. Here with you. Y-you know that, right?" 

Martin looked at him for a few moments, then smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. Now, help me down so we can clean up the wine stain, which I'm sure is growing on the carpet right now."

"Wha- oh," Martin said as he turned to see the fallen glass that apparently toppled during the mayhem. 

"Yeah. Let me down?" Jon said again, holding out his arms. 

Martin turned back to him, a teasing expression on his face. "As you wish." 

Jon groaned and allowed himself once again to be pulled, secretly enjoying Martin's burst of giggles as they both walked back into the crime scene that was their drunken night in. 

All things considered, it was a pretty good night. 

[write-r-die]

Man’s World - Part 2

ENEMIES TO LOVERS - After a solar flare ended the world as we know it, former spy August Walker becomes the most terrifying of the many warlords who pop up across the US. He leads his militia from town to town, taking what he wants and all killing those who resist him. And now he wants Lilah. And one way or another, he’ll have her.

Masterlist

August didn’t know what possessed him to save that girl. Maybe it’s just that he didn’t like killing women. Maybe he was impressed with the unique mix of bravery and stupidity that led the vaguely ethnic twentysomething to shoot at him, only to fail spectacularly. More likely, he was just bored. Life after the flash was hard and violent but painfully predictable. 

He thought she was pretty when he carried her from the city despite the bangs, but in the sunlight, he was far less impressed with her appearance. 

To be fair, she wasn’t well. Standing in the command tent before him, she wavered on her feet. Her clothes were burnt around the edges and her feet were bare. The enormous sunglasses she wore didn’t help her appearance, either.

“The Boss just spoke to you,” one of August’s lieutenants said from somewhere behind him. “Speak,” he commanded the girl.

People who try to shoot me always end up dead. That’s what August Walker said to her. What the fuck was she supposed to say back?

“Speak?” Lilah parroted, doing her best to sound confused.

Jack looked like he wanted to smash his head into a wall.

August kept his eyes fixed on the girl as he spoke to his soldier. “What did you say was wrong with her?”

“Concussion,” Jack answered. “Doc says she’ll be right in a few days.”

August hummed. He didn’t raise his voice or take his eyes off Lilah when he commanded the others in the tent to leave with one simple word: “Out.” 

Lilah’s expression grew more and more desperate as each person filed out until finally, they were alone.

“Are you a whore?” he asked simply.

Lilah was physically taken aback by his question. “Am I . . . ?”

August’s eyes roamed up and down her body. She looked a mess now but he could tell she cleaned up well. One of his many talents was the ability to sense a woman’s figure through her clothes, however unattractive those clothes may be. And he sensed Lilah’s figure was exquisite. Her face was, too, when it wasn’t smudged with ash and blood or half-hidden by ridiculous sunglasses. 

“Are you a whore?” August repeated.

Lilah couldn’t speak for a moment, too shocked by his bluntness. “No.”

August’s blue eyes raked over her one more time, his gaze unbearably intense. He might as well be licking her. “That’s too bad.” He turned back to the maps on the table.

Lilah cleared her throat when she grew uncomfortable with the silence. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“No.” The warlord continued to study his maps as if he wasn’t interested in her enough to even look up. Maybe that was a good thing, thought Lilah, considering how it made her feel when he looked at her.. “What did you do? Back before the flare hit.”

“Umm . . .” Funemployed? Was that an answer? “I was a camp counselor during the summers when I was in college.”

“What activity did you teach?”

She cleared her throat. “Archery.”

“Archery,” Walker repeated. “You should have used a bow and arrow instead of a gun to shoot me. Maybe then you would actually have hit something.”

She was silent for a long time. Her throat was painfully dry. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would’ve left you behind on that sidewalk if I wanted you dead,” he said flatly.

“What do you want, then?”

He wanted to fuck her. 

After she’d bathed and changed and gotten her shit together, of course. August lifted his eyes from the table to give her that intense look again; that was answer enough.

He looked over Lilah’s head at Jack and subtly nodded towards the entryway. And just like that, Lilah was dismissed.

***

The people August Walker ordered to leave the tent start coming back inside the moment I’m dismissed. Pretty sure they were listening.

On my way out, I pass someone vaguely familiar but for the life of me I can’t remember who he is. “Hey,” I say anyway. I stop walking and so does he. 

He nods once. “Lilah.”

“Mr. Kewlani!” His name comes out in a shout not because I’m surprised to see him but because I’m happy I remember his name. 

He lived next door to me growing up. The only things I can really remember about him from childhood is that our dog pissed on all his plants and killed them and he hated us for it, and that he was condescending because of how smart he was. I’m not at all surprised that August Walker recruited him.

“Good to see you.” The fifty-eight-year-old physics professor doesn’t look pleased or surprised to see me. I can’t blame him for it, since we never talked or got along, but I feel slighted.

“You too.” I think to ask him about his wife and daughters, but they’ve been dead for years. One of the daughters was killed by a drunk driver before the flare, and his other daughter and wife succumbed to the strange plague that came immediately after. Lots of people did.

“Come on,” Jack says. He starts walking before I register his words and I have to scramble to catch up with him before he disappears into the tents.

“Where are we going?” I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way back to the tent I was in before.

He doesn’t reply. He stops in front of a big white tent - the sort people rent for outdoor events like weddings or parties - and pulls open the flap. It’s packed with army cots and outdoor recliners that have been flattened for use as a bed.

“Any open beds?” Jack calls to a woman nearby.

She pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth and uses it to gesture to the other side of the tent. “The one over there by me is free.”

“Great.” Jack turns to leave but I grab him by the arm.

“Wait, what?”

“This is your tent now,” he says, peeling my hand from his bicep.

“That’s it? No tour? What about - ?”

“Stiva,” Jack calls to the tooth-brushing woman again. “This one’s eggs are scrambled. Deal with her.”

And then he’s gone. 

Stiva finishes brushing her teeth and looks me up and down. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a high ponytail. That, coupled with her cargo pants and tank top, make her look like the single generic woman in any action film. 

She must be smart or talented or important. August Walker only recruits useful people: doctors, engineers, plumbers and handymen, craftsmen, teachers, horse trainers and stable hands, architects, tailors, former military, and other things like that. And of course, prostitutes. I’m fairly certain Stiva isn’t a prostitute, though.

“What’s your name?” Stiva asks.

“Lilah.”

She looks me over again and seems to approve. “Stiva,” she replies. She walks me over to the other side of the tent and stows her toothbrush in a plastic box beneath her cot. “That one’s yours,” she says, nodding toward the one beside hers.

I sit awkwardly on the edge. There’s barely enough space between the cots for me to squeeze my legs in.

“You look star-struck,” she observes.

“Concussion,” I reply. “I’m pretty out of it.”

The thirty-something woman shakes her head. “No. I meant starstruck from meeting the boss.”

Now I really am confused. “What? How did - why do you know that?”

She rifles through the few personal items she has stashed under her cot. “I heard that some idiot with bangs tried to shoot the boss. I haven’t seen another grown woman with bangs in years so I assume that’s you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Are people talking about that a lot?”

“Not really,” she says, shrugging. “I only know cause I fuck Sy sometimes and he gets chatty after.”

“Sy?”

“He’s the boss’s right-hand-man,” she explains, frowning. “Nobody explained the chain of command?”

“If they did, I don’t remember it.”

“Did anybody even teach you the camp layout?”

“No. But I’ve been unconscious mostly so they never had the chance.”

She grunts and turns back to her cot. Finally she pulls out a french press and two cracked mugs. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.”

We go to one of the cooking fires at the center of camp for hot water. One of the cooks gives us some coffee grounds to use on the condition that Stiva make her a cup, too. 

She looks me over, smirking, as we wait for the brew to steep. “You’re the boss’s new girl,” she says, half a question.

“Not yet,” Stiva says before I have the chance to reply. “If she was with him, she wouldn’t be out here slumming it with the rest of us.”

The water blackens and Stiva pours us each a mug. She thanks the cook before we turn back the way we came.

“I thought you said people weren’t talking about it,” I whisper to Stiva.

“I said they weren’t really talking about it.”

“So I’m supposed to fuck August Walker,” I say after a long silence. It’s not a surprise but I don’t like the fact that everyone in camp seems to know. Even as we walk back to our tent, I feel eyes on me. The camp seems big enough that one new person shouldn’t be so obvious.

I finally ask the question I’m most afraid to have answered, “What if I don't want to sleep with him?” I swallow hard. “Will he . . . Is he the sort of man that can take no for an answer?”

“I’ve never thought about that - what would happen if someone said no to him. No one has ever said no to him for anything except maybe Miss Ally,” she says contemplatively. It takes a beat for her to respond to my question. “I don’t think he’d force you into anything. He’s a dick but he’s also a gentleman, you know?”

I do know. “I don’t know. I’m almost positive my body is the only thing he wants from me. Not my professional expertise or know-how.” And who’s to say he won’t dispose of me if I don’t serve the one purpose I’m here for?

“I mean, can you do anything?” asks Stiva. “Anything useful?”

“I taught archery at a summer camp in Maine,” I offer.

She looks ambivalent.

“Why?” I ask, slightly embarrassed. Being an archer sounds cool, but until the flare happened, it didn't have much of a real-world application. “What can you do?”

“I’m a surveyor and a cartographer,” she says. “Used to work in real estate. Help builders figure out boundaries for new projects.”

“Oh.” 

“But people here do all sorts of shit. There’s a dog breeder who used to raise pit bulls to be guard dogs for famous people; now they’re attack dogs for the boss. And there’s a twelve-year-old girl in our tent who’s a violin prodigy.” Stiva shrugs. “They keep anybody the boss might have a use for.”

“August Walker likes the violin?” I ask.

“Not as far as I know,” she says. “But he wants to preserve society and culture and all that for after.”

I follow her back into the tent. “After what?”

“After we settle somewhere for good.” She sits heavily on her cot. “The boss wants to make a new world in his image. Supposedly he’s got it all planned out.”

“That seems a little psycho.”

She stretches out on her back. “Sy told me that he used to be a doomsday prepper or something like that. He’s been waiting for the world to end for a while.”

I’m familiar with some of those rumors. August Walker was supposedly a would-be terrorist planning to cull the world’s population. Supposedly a bunch of powerful people were part of his cell - world leaders, even. As far as I know, they never put any of their plans into motion; the solar flare did their work for them.

***

Later in the evening, when the boss called for one of his usual girls from among the thirty-nine prostitutes in the camp, he imagined he was fucking Lilah instead of her. It made him furious, which made him rough. The prostitute would have more bruises than usual tomorrow.

He repaid her for the discomfort with an unopened bottle of tequila and a pair of diamond earrings stolen from a dead woman’s jewelry box during the last raid. That, coupled with the two orgasms he gave her, seemed more than enough compensation.

She left the tent late at night - he never let his women sleep there - and August was alone with his thoughts, which soon turned back to that stupid girl.

He wouldn’t give Lilah anything when he fucked her - and sooner or later he would fuck her. His favor would be more than enough compensation. She wouldn’t sleep in his tent, obviously, but he imagined her having a little tent of her own somewhere nearby so he could call for her whenever he wanted. And no one else would be allowed to fuck her.

He had a girl like that for a few months but he grew bored with her. When she asked his permission to leave camp and strike out on her own, he gave it willingly. She had the back of her hand tattooed with August’s mark before she left. It was essentially a guarantee of safe passage. No one would fuck with somebody associated with Walker, and if his men ever came in contact with her again, they’d know not to kill or hurt her.

Now he wanted someone like that again. That and more.

Someone who belonged exclusively to him not because the other men in camp were afraid to touch what was his, but because she didn’t want anyone other than him.

The last girl was an escort with a moderately successful OnlyFans account. She was essentially a prostitute. August liked that Lilah wasn’t. 

Seducing her would give him something less mundane to do in his free time.

***

They try to integrate me into camp life over the next week. All in all it goes pretty well, but when they give me a bow and arrows to practice shooting, it becomes abundantly clear that the concussion has fucked up my long-distance vision. I can’t shoot shit. I don’t know if I’m going to be nearsighted forever or if it will clear up as I heal. Miss Ally is displeased. 

It’s obvious that she is equal in rank to Walker, but on the civilian side of camp life. I get the impression they’ve known each other for a long time. She’s the only person in camp who doesn’t refer to or address him as the boss or just Boss. Always Mr. Walker. It’s still a respectful address, complete with a polite honorific, but just the fact that she uses his name seems oddly intimate, like maybe she knew who he was before he became one of the strongest warlords on the continent.

I don’t see Walker much. Meals are served in a huge clearing and most people eat together, so Walker is obliged to make an appearance most days, always at dinner. Most of us sit on the ground or in folding chairs but not him. He sits on a pale blue armchair that I think is made of velvet. The legs are gold and the back and arms are scalloped. I think it belonged to a woman before it became his throne.

The first time I see him at dinner, he keeps an eye on me throughout the meal, even though I’m nowhere near him. We make eye contact at one point. He smirks at me and takes a deep drink of his wine. 

The second time I see him, he ignores me. Well maybe not ignores, but he doesn’t pay me any attention. I don’t know why but it annoys me. 

Near the end of the meal, he crooks his finger at one of the prostitutes. They leave the clearing together, presumably to go off somewhere and fuck, and I’m almost offended by it. Then I come to my senses.

He’s a warlord, and true warlords have concubines. A lot of them. Just because he wants me doesn’t mean he wants me, exclusively.

For all I know, he’s got a girl from every settlement he raided. Maybe he keeps them as a token of victory.

That pisses me off. Men objectifying women, just like always. It may be the apocalypse, but I’m still a fucking feminist.

Walker doesn’t make an appearance at dinner again for two days. I’m filling my plate when he joins us on the third night. I know without looking that he’s here; the sudden quiet tells me all I need to know.

Things slowly start up again as I heap chicken and instant mashed potatoes onto my plate. It’s only when one of the cooks gives me a forceful tap on the shoulder that I look up.

“What?” 

“He’s looking at you,” the woman says through her teeth. She swings her head toward August Walker. He lazes in his blue chair like a king at a feast. When we lock eyes, he smirks at me, then motions with his forefinger for me to come to him, just like he did with that prostitute the other night.

I don’t move.

“What are you doing?” the cook says. “Go!”

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me.” I’m not a hooker or a dog. I won’t just come running at his beck and call.

The cook looks at me like I’m an idiot. 

It’s a dumb issue to take a stance on, especially when it seems my survival is contingent on letting him fuck me.

I seek Stiva out in the crowd. I haven’t made it halfway over to her before that kid - Jack, I think his name is - intercepts me.

“Boss wants a word.”

They’ve set up what appears to be an old Ikea office chair next to Walker’s surrogate throne. He gestures for me to sit when I get close enough. I flop down, making the chair groan.

Walker studies me for a long moment. He looks amused but pleased, too. All I can think about as his eyes rake over me are how blue they are and how the color of his chair accentuates them. “How have you been, Delilah?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No.”

I shrug. “I can’t complain.”

“That’s it?” he asks, bemused. 

“What else should there be?”

Walker takes a deep breath through his nose and settles back in his chair. “I know for a fact how unstable your town was. I did my research. Most of it was already in disrepair, and the crime rates before the flare were . . . high. Here, you have a roof over your head and three meals a day.”

Not really a roof, but . . .

“I had a roof over my head before.”

“What did you have to do to get it?” he asks, voice gravelly and low.

“I’m not a prostitute,” I say defensively. “I told you that.”

“I’m not necessarily saying you are.” 

“Necessarily?”

He leans back in his chair. “You’re a survivor. You did whatever it was you had to do to stay alive in that shithole.”

Now I get it. “And you think I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay alive here.”

He sips his wine in reply, his gaze never leaving mine. He doesn’t speak when he’s done, just swirls the purple wine around in his glass.

“You’re not eating,” I observe.

“I hardly ever eat the plain food,” he says. 

I remember Stiva saying that there’s a hipster chef who forages for his ingredients somewhere in the camp, and that he cooked for the highest-ranking people. He was one of those chefs that foraged for his ingredients before that was necessary. I think I followed him on Instagram back before the flare.

“You ought to join me,” Walker continues. “Something tells me you appreciate a good meal.” His voice is like liquid sex. He’s a terrifying, ruthless warlord who’s done things so horrible I can’t even imagine them, but damn if he isn’t the handsomest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The pretty ones are always assholes.

I level my gaze at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

He actually throws his head back and laughs. It’s booming; conversations pause and heads turn at the unfamiliar sound. He has the sort of laughter that would be infectious if he weren’t so scary. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he finally says. 

“I won’t just spread my legs for a good meal,” I say, but it honestly depends on how good the meal is. 

Walker is exasperated. “Is sex the only thing you think about?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No,” he agrees. “You’re rude, but you’re not an idiot.”

“You’re an asshole.” The words fall out before I can stop them. I slap my hand over my mouth like some idiot in a movie, as if that will undo what I just said. Why did I say that?

He’s going to hit me. Or shoot me. He’s going to do something to me and it won’t be good. Lilah, you stupid fucking idiot.

“No one speaks to me the way you do,” Walker says to me. “It’s refreshing, frankly.” His tone changes. “But don’t push it, especially when there are other people who can hear you. You won’t like the consequences.”

Walker downs the rest of his wine and stands. A handful of men scattered around us rise, too, and move toward him. His entourage, I guess. For a moment I think they’re each going to grab a limb and haul me away to some torture chamber or old-fashioned stockades, but they barely even glance my way.

Walker smiles wolfishly. “I’ll send someone to fetch you before dinner tomorrow. Find something nice to wear.” And off he goes.

[rulerofstars]

do you write in modern!au? i have an idea about an angst of him confessing/proposing to his s/o but because they were too shocked, he thought he was being rejected and he left them, (cutting their contacts off and such) then they meet again after some time coincidentally and they got to talk about it and his s/o got to finally answer him (sorry if its too long!)

Le quattro Stagioni

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x (Fem) Reader

Genre & Warnings: Modern AU, angst, fluff, swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word count: 4,950 words

Angel: I am so sorry this took so long, anon. Thank you so much for requesting, I hope you enjoy this one. Play the songs in order upon seeing the little hearts (♡) that I’ll put, but only if you guys want. All the love.

Songs:

Two is Better than One by Boys Like Girls

Back to December by Jake Coco (or TS)

You and Me by Lifehouse

The tepidity of June danced along the slightly cool breeze that blew a few strands of your hair away from your face. Numerous messages from Hanji made your phone go almost crazy and overwhelmed by the bombardment of notifications. Several questions about what would you wear, what time will you go, or should they pick you up.

A sigh escaped your lips upon opening your apartment door, the cold feeling of being alone grazed your cheek, sending shivers down your spine even though it was summer. Walking to your room, you grabbed the makeup pouch on top of the dining table along the way, replying to your friend’s messages.

Tonight is a special one. After five long years, a highschool reunion is initiated and organized by a few of your batchmates, and the venue is at a small garden event place—where everyone experienced their first prom when in third year. Your lips formed a smile upon the memories brought by the sudden reminisce, it was your first everything.

♡

Highschool is a period where people often experience every kind of shit an individual has to go through to enjoy their teenage years. We get drunk, we smoke—well not everyone, but a majority has tried taking one drag and regretting it afterwards, we lie to our parents, we cut classes. It doesn’t always happen to everyone, and not every single person can relate, but the point is, highschool brought us to situations we never knew we could get through. It introduced us to unfamiliar feelings, it gave us the chance to quench the curiosity that formed within the depths of our minds.

It doesn’t always happen to everyone in high school, but in your case, you fell in love.

Being friends with Hanji allowed you to become one with their own circle, too. The ever so responsible Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit—Hanji’s best friend, and you didn’t know if they noticed but there’s something else in the man’s eyes whenever he stares at Hanji, and of course, Levi. . . Every single one of them had their own idiosyncrasies, and it wasn’t hard to get along with them, especially with the man with the jet-black hair and slanted eyes.

As a transferee from another school, you chose to go along their group, because being with them makes you feel at ease. They weren’t intimidating at all, Levi was, at first, but their warmth and how they welcomed you in their circle will never be forgotten by your heart.

Everyone has their own “partner in crime”, except for Erwin who could ace high school on his own, but he did help anyone who needed a hand, and because of his duties as a class president, he doesn’t always have the chance to mingle with you guys. And so every time you had afterschool shenanigans, Mike and Nanaba would have their own little world, Hanji would be blabbering their rants to Moblit, sometimes Erwin too, if he’s not too busy with his responsibilities, and you are often left with Levi. It’s not that you hated it—you never hated it.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” He asked, one day. It was three months after being friends with you when he first held your hand, just because an over-speeding car almost hit you while you were walking your way towards our house. His hand felt nice on yours, and the concern that dwelled in his eyes was enough to make your frail heart dance with the crispy, orange leaves.

It was in the final term of first year when the attraction towards him grew into a little crush and little did you know how he became more fond of you than he did with the others, too.

“Do you want me to get you soup?” The busy cafeteria was filled with hungry students, lunch time only allows you to have your break within an hour. Yes, fuck school, but thank God the canteen wasn’t so far away.

“Yep,” You answered, while waiting outside of the line as you waited for Levi to finish ordering your food while you held his bag, and the utensils.

“Go find us a chair, I’ll come to you.” His bored eyes darted onto yours, nodding his head, insisting that you should go and sit. Hanji and the others found you soon after being separated for a while, they sat anywhere but the seat in front of you. Because, it’s Levi’s spot if it is across yours, and nobody can change that.

The unexpected bond of you and him had grew into a light sense of puppy love, and you really didn’t have a clue about what you were feeling, but it did feel right, he felt right.

“Do you like Levi?” Nanaba interrogated you one time when she and Hanji had a sleepover at your house, and a sleepover isn’t one if you would not talk about crushes and such. Apparently, something is really going on in between her and Mike, and she talked about how it all began in middle school. Hanji, apparently, is too caught up with fictional creatures like Titans, and they spoke about not having time for crushes.

“Yeah, do you like him? Because he liiiikes you,” They teased and you brushed it off, avoiding the question by changing the topic immediately.

“Don’t be silly.” You laughed.

Of course, of course you did.

He is the snowflakes of your winters.

It was the autumn of sophomore, when you first went into Levi’s house, along with your friends, of course. You met his lovely mom who welcomed you warmly and cooked the nicest food you’ve ever tasted outside of your house, and then you met his uncle who acts as if he’s always drunk and calls Levi a little runt.

“Tch,” Kuchel showed you his baby pictures, and you stared at his annoyed face, picturing if he had not cut his long, dark hair. Maybe he could tie it into a manbun? “Mom, stop that.” You laughed, amused how he managed to snatch the album away from the grip of his mother as he ran towards his room while everyone giggled because of his reaction.

“That brat was never the friendly type, we’re glad you were able to adopt him to your group,” Kenny snorted. Behind his harsh words were a sense of gratitude, you knew that Levi’s uncle may appear as harsh at first, but he was kind, and you were pretty sure where Levi got his attitude from.

Kuchel patted the top of your heads before sending you off that day, thanking you for how well you treated Levi, “You take care of my son, okay?” She said, and it might have appeared as usual to others, but not to you. You’d never forget how she looked into your eyes the moment she spoke, as if she was pertaining to you.

What you thought was puppy love had bloomed into something deeper, something stronger, more serious, and bigger than the both of you.

-----

It was the spring of junior year when you first made out. His room was dimly lit, the curtains were closed, his bed was soft, his tongue on yours—and how you wrapped your arms around his neck just to pull him closer to your body.

The seasons flew by quickly, you knew how well your heart and mind begs for him, and he is well aware about how a single touch of you could make him falter. You weren’t dumb, and it wasn’t that hard to figure it out, what was hard was to admit.

“What do you feel about me?” You asked, staring into his eyes and getting lost within the ardor the dwells upon his irises whenever he looks at you. “Do you love me, Levi?”

You would never forget how his ears turned red at that moment, placing soft kisses on your face while holding you in his arms, never ready to let go. “Tch, what do you think?”

“I think you do, too.” You smiled, pressing your lips against his and closing your eyes, feeling his warm breath on your face, his long eye lashes against your skin, and the scent you’ve grown fond of for years.

His eyes trailed to the necklace he gave you at prom, tracing the cold silver chain that rested upon the smoothness of your neck, “Then why’d you ask?”

And he would never forget how your eyes gleamed when he told you that, as if every star in the universe exploded and the smithereens fell onto your face. “I’m right, then?”

“Mhm.”

“I just want to hear you say it,” You pouted, kissing on his forehead and studying the cosmos in his eyes. You have always wondered how his eyes looked so pretty whenever you stare at them, never had you noticed how it only dazzles that way just because he is looking at you.

“I am in love with you.”

And it’s just a matter of time when the both of you realized that “you and me” was meant to be an “us.”

Everyone knew about your relationship when you were in high school, you were a power couple, lowkey but sweet. You never fail to capture almost everyone’s attention whenever you do the slightest things, hold each other’s bags, when you give him your food, when you share food, when you share a smile, most especially when you took every breath away at your first dance in prom. The relationship was private, but it shook everyone’s world. You kept things to the both of you, leaving people extremely curious about it.

The graduation was emotional, almost everyone was crying while they hugged their friends. And tears were flowing from your face, too, while Hanji and the others enveloped you into a group hug.

“I’m going to miss you all, oh my God.” They cried.

“There, there, it’s okay.” Erwin shushed them, earning a glare from your brunette friend.

“Shut up! You’re lucky you’d be going to the same university as Levi and Mike!”

You shook your head at them, spotting your boyfriend and walking towards where he is. A small smile formed on his lips upon seeing you approaching.

“Hey,” You smiled, kissing his cheek. Good thing, the lipstick you’ve used is waterproof.

“We made it, huh?” He kissed your forehead, and seldom are the times that he is willing to be affectionate in public. You closed your eyes for a while and caressed his cheek gently.

“We did,” You grinned, reaching out to his palm and intertwining your fingers together. “Hold my hand?”

He let out a light chuckle, and you swore, you fell in love a bit more. “Always.”

While you are the flowers of his spring.

♡

Just like how high school was, college flew by quickly. After years of being emotionally, physically, and mentally drained, you couldn’t believe how you managed to reach the last year of suffering. You wouldn’t lie, but the pressure and the amount of knowledge you’ve compressed into your brain made you doubt yourself. The path towards reality was extremely horrifying, and you felt like you couldn’t take it. You doubted your own capabilities to the point wherein you almost didn’t believe in yourself anymore.

It was the winter of senior year when Levi asked you one question that almost made your heart stop.

The snow fell from the empyrean that day, the heater felt useless because of the extreme cold that crept upon the spaces of your apartment. Your boyfriend was there while you burned your eyebrows trying to work on your final requirement.

You wouldn’t lie if you would say that the stress that had been introduced to the both of you didn’t put a space between him and you. Numerous quarrels have made you stronger, but this. . . it was as if you’re aware that you are drifting apart, and you weren’t doing anything about it, and fuck how it scared you. You wouldn’t lie if you were to say that the love wasn’t as warm as it used to, it wasn’t as fluttery as before, and you understood that it could be because of college. But the thought of letting go of the man that you love just because you are so damn scared of opening up teared your heart to pieces, and so you made your mind.

“C-can we talk?” You asked, approaching Levi who sat on your couch while scrolling through his phone. He nodded, standing up and following you to the dining table where all of your papers and laptop sat, while you shivered underneath the sweater that you stole from him.

“I have to tell you something,” Your hands gripped the hem of the sweater tight, while your boyfriend lean against the backrest of the chair.

“Yeah, me too.” The coldness of his voice added to the ice that formed because of the freezing weather. Was he this cold or were you not used to anymore?

“I-”

“Marry me.”

The ice struck your core like a billow enraged with fury and no mercy. You couldn’t speak nor react as your stared at him while time remained suspended in the frost. Your mind could not process his question, and confusion glazed your eyes while your heart pounded like crazy. The grip of your hand against the hem of the sweater weakened while you couldn’t believe what you just heard.

You thought he’s calling it off. You thought he was going to break up with you, you fucking thought you were done. But you are so taken aback that you can’t even talk. You sat frozen until seconds turned into minutes. You were sandwiched in the conundrum of stress, pressure, anxiety, and doubt.

“I see,” The words that left his mouth struck you in a different way as you watched his body walk out of your apartment. You wanted to scream, to punch yourself, to hurt yourself for not being able to function. You are trembling, but not because of the cold. A part of your soul shivered upon trying to understand what just happened.

“O-oh, my God.” You whispered, rushing outside without even bothering to put on more clothing. Winter’s kiss felt like a ghost on your skin as you sat in the middle of your snow-coated staircase, seeing how he had already gone.

Trepidation slowly crushed your heart as hot tears trickled from your eyes, down your face. Realization crept in the depths of your system as you understood that what caused you to be terrified never involved anything about the future, you’re not crying because he left, because whenever he does, he always comes back to you. What scared you the most, was how he felt before leaving. It felt like goodbye.

-----

The summer dress fitted your body perfectly, putting on a small smile while staring at yourself in the mirror. After some time, you finally finished getting ready. Pink stained your juicy lips, and you topped it off with a gloss. A spritz of perfume, earrings, mascara, everything felt like complete but deep inside, you knew that something was missing.

Your eyes darted on your neck, that is why, feeling nothing around your neck was weird, because you were so used to wearing the necklace that he gave you back when you were in high school. Sighing, you found yourself opening one of your drawers and taking out the necklace once again, you never threw it away, how could you? You just stopped wearing it. Cold and pretty, it sat on your skin. It never looked weary despite how old it was, because you took good care of it. You took good care of the presents Levi gave you.

Memories of how you broke down and how Hanji and Nanaba hugged you so tight while you sat in the middle of Levi’s empty apartment tore a piece of your heart once again. How you begged Erwin and Mike to help you with finding Levi, but they were clueless, too. It hurt so much, he left without a word, cut everything off, he was gone in the wind, and never in your life had you been so confused, so hurt, desperate for answers, desperate for chances.

Before thoughts of him could fill your mind, you forced yourself to think of something else. It has been six months since then, but you would be lying if you were to say that you don’t miss him. Because in reality, you fucking do.

A doorbell woke you out of your daze, “Coming!” You shouted, double-checking everything before heading out the door. Various thoughts filled your mind upon seeing the staircase that was once buried in deep, white, snow.

“Come in, girl!” Nanaba shouted from the backseat, and you smiled upon seeing their bright faces. In the front was Mike, and Moblit’s in the passenger seat, Hanji and Nanaba sat next to each other in the backseat, squishing you in a tight hug once you got in. You missed this so much, it has been so long. You never imagined that you could cherish a friendship like this, one that could last long. One that is worthwhile.

The garden is filled with various decorations inspired by the summer. Flowers of different kinds greeted your vision, every decoration turned the same, old, and boring venue into a decent one. You smiled at every familiar face you’ve encountered with, grinning awkwardly whenever they asked you about Levi, and your heart ache. You sought for answers, and they were never given to you.

“Where’s Erwin?” You were curious about the blonde man’s whereabouts, he’s probably busy with work. He immediately got into a company after graduating. You were in their graduation, and Levi wasn’t there. Thoughts of how you panicked that day filled your mind once again, how you cried to Erwin and Mike, telling them how you’ve ruined Levi’s life. But they were comforting, telling you how the man could have transferred when in the final semester in the last minute. Still, everything’s just a possibility, you didn’t know.

Hanji scrolled through their phone, “Probably late because he’s busy,” They answered, looking at you to check if you are okay. Their hand caressed  the exposed skin of your shoulder, sending comforting warmth to fight against the cold of the night. “I’m sorry if everyone’s asking about. . .” They trailed off, and you smiled at them, assuring them that it is okay, even though it’s not. How the fuck will it be okay?

Nanaba hugged you from the side while you were sitting, you leaned your head against their shoulder, letting a few tears fall from your pretty eyes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just how they knew you. . .” She whispered, caressing your back, “You’re (Y/N) of Levi.” A bitter laugh escaped your mouth as you chewed on your bottom lip.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” You giggled, forcing the tears to stop. Mike handed you a glass of water that he fetched from the mobile bar, and you thanked him, carefully drinking from the cup. “Thank you, for being with me.”

“Always.”

Everyone had fun with games and such, the food was great, you had to go back to the buffet table two times, not minding your diet for the night. It was in the middle of the program when Erwin came, nodding at the men and hugging you girls.

“What did I miss?”

“Everything, dude. Where the fuck did you came from? Narnia?”

The spotlight is suddenly on Erwin, shocking the man who is currently eating the food Moblit got for him while he was gone, the Microphone person, Oluo, decided to interrogate Erwin, being the class valedictorian of your batch. People laughed when he was forced to take one shot of pure tequila before making a short speech first. You weren’t sure if Erwin was one of those who organized the event, but he did told you that he was added into a groupchat by a person from another section—you think Nile was the name.

Erwin was indeed, super late when you realized that it is time to for the most fun part of every prom you had in high school—the party portion. The man ate first before he joined your group’s rowdy-ass partying, you had fun as if you were back in your teenage years, except, you had unlimited alcohol this time. You’re pretty sure that either Hanji or Mike would come home late because those two doesn’t know the word limit.

Amidst the part where everyone’s being wild, from disco music to cheesy ones that you actually danced to when you were. . .

♡

A few couples filled the dancefloor, as others went to the mobile bar, ready to get drunk. It was one of your favorite love songs which played, as if it’s mocking you for not having your long-time partner. It’s mocking you for being single, fuck, you don’t even know if you are single or not.

Your boys formed a circle, they always do this every time a sweet song plays from the blasting speakers, mimicking a cotilion, but jumping to the part where everyone switches partners by forming a circle. You get partnered with Mike first, making funny faces to him like how you used to when you were young, and as he twirled you around, you found your self in the gentleman’s arms—Moblit, he told you how pretty you looked as he let you spin, passing you onto Erwin.

His eyes darted on the necklace on your neck, smiling upon the sight of the familiar jewelry, “You look beautiful tonight,” He told you, swaying you along the rhythm of the music. Your lips formed a slight smile, knowing that the reason of his stare is because of the necklace. “Don’t even think about teasing me, Erwin I swear I’ll punch-”

“Woah, easy there, I won’t do that to you.” He laughs at your glare, this man is probably drunk, you thought. While the two never knew their limits, Erwin’s a fucking weakling when it comes to alcohol. He twirled you around with so much force that you ended up not being catched by Mike and so you closed your eyes and braced yourself for the impact, but you didn’t fall.

Warm hands caught your frail body, whoever it was wrapped their hands around you, and between the the searing touches of this stranger, you felt yourself froze, feeling the familiarity of the unfamiliar touch. The clean, musk scent that had you enticed and whipped for years is recognized by your system.

There’s something about you now. . .

His warm hands embraced you like he used to while you get lost within the music that you first danced to.

I can’t quite figure out.

“I missed you.” He whispered, and you couldn’t open your eyes. You buried your faces within his chest, and how you also fucking missed it.

While various emotions filled your core, the tears that failed to escape your eyes before the party started, found their way back into your tear ducts. You didn’t know what to feel, how to feel, what to think, you are once again clueless while you let yourself drown within his touch.

Everything she does is beautiful.

But one thing is for sure.

Everything she does is right.

You are glad that he’s back.

He is the chill that makes you shiver when autumn comes by.

“F-fuck you. . .” You cried, sobbing onto his shirt and gripping onto the fabric. Levi’s hands caressed your back, pressing you closer, harder onto his chest. Fury crept upon every crevice of your heart, but you can’t let him go, you’re scared to let him go.

The love that you have for this man is so tremendous, that you can’t stand to hate him. Slowly, you felt yourself being pulled away from the crowd of dancing couples, distance made the music sound so soft, and the only sound that blasted you to bits was the sound of your heart beats with his.

“I hate you, I fucking hate you, how dare you—how fucking dare you!” Your fists came in contact with his hard chest, the feelings you have kept to yourself for six fucking months blasted like a waterfall. The force was too much, and you let yourself get carried out. Just this once.

His soft eyes never left your tipsy state, you were perfect. Still perfect.

Levi gladly took every punch you threw, every curse you spat, every slap you gave, because nothing could ever deny the fact that he deserved it. He was so fucking dumb, as Erwin and Mike told him.

“Leaving after proposing? Are you a sick fuck? Who does that?”

He received words from his friends after knowing what happened between the both of you. Curses, advices from Erwin, words from Hanji, the disapproval of Moblit, Mike’s punches, Nanaba’s disbelief.

“How d-dare you leave me! Y-you told me you won’t leave me. Fuck you, I-I love you. . .why did you leave me. . . Y-you know that I hate it when you leave me.” You sobbed, not knowing if you should continue hurting him or if you should go and hug him.

Levi’s lips pressed softly against your forehead, holding you tight, under the unforgiving solstice of the night.

“I almost failed my major. . .” He whispers, hugging the vulnerable you, while he buried half of his face onto the crook of your neck. And fuck, how he had missed this, how he fucking missed everything about you. “I never told you, because I know how anxious you were. . . I don’t want to become a burden.”

Your breathing was unsteady as you choked on words you could never say because of what he just said, your grip on his shirt tightened as you felt more tears streaming down your pretty face.

“I felt us drifting apart. . .and fuck, it scared me, (Y/N),” He paused, breathing deeply and running his fingers through your hair. “And when you asked if we could talk, I thought you wanted us done. So I asked you to marry me.”

His warm hands found their way to caress your tear-soaked face as he brought his face closer to yours, staring deeply into your eyes. “And I really wanted to marry you, baby. Fuck, I even had the shitty ring with me that time. . .” He gulped, biting his lip upon seeing the pain in your eyes. He could feel how fast your heart beats, he could feel the ache you’ve gone through for six months. “But I freaked out, And I really thought I. . . I already lost you.” He closed his eyes, he couldn’t bare seeing you cry because of him again.

“Erwin told me that I don’t deserve you, and I realized that really fucking don’t.” The cold wind kissed your skin, contrasting the heat that his body radiates. Steel grey eyes you have fell in love with years ago and until now darted on the silver necklace that sat pretty on your skin, and how it made his heart pound faster that it does. “But I am in love with you. . . The six fucking months, I’ve spent all of it trying to make myself a better man for you.”

His eyes, the gloss that reflected the beauty of the moon stared into yours once again. It’s been a while since you’ve seen the way his eyes look more pretty whenever you stare at him, because it has been a while since he last saw you.

“And whatever decision you are going to make, I will accept.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss on your tear-stained face once again. “I am in love with you.” A small smile formed on his lips, as if he was already assuming that you’d leave him, and you hated that smile, you hated everything.

As if you fucking could.

“Marry me.” You muttered.

Gone was the fragility that dwelled upon your starry eyes, every doubt, every question, every ounce of fear that once settled deep inside your heart vanished along every meteor that crashed into the abyss of nothingness. Gone was the hate, gone was everything else except for the both of you.

‘Cause it’s you and me, and all of the people, and I don’t know why, I can’t keep my eyes off of you.

He nodded at you, speechless upon your sudden question. And he knew that this is right, he is sure. He is sure of you.

“I’m sorry.” His kisses sent butterflies and made you grew flowers on every inch of your body as he carefully slipped a ring on your ring finger. “I will make it up to you.” His words are coated with finality, and your heavy-lidded eyes felt warm once again, his slender fingers wiped the corner of your eyes before the tears could stain your face once more.

“D-don’t you leave me again.” You choked, admiring the ring that he got you. It fitted perfectly on your finger, just like how your hand fits perfectly with his.

“I’ll stay with you, always.”

“I never stopped loving you, Levi.” Your soft voice was melody to his ears, as the summer night reminded you both of how everything started. How you first met, how you first held hands, how you slowly fell in love, how you first made love, how you both thanked the cosmos for leading you to each other’s arms.

“I’ll never not love you.”

And you will always be the warmth that completes his every summer.

[wakatvshi]

You should do a continuation of the previous fic where Bert repays her for giving him a bj

okay done and DONE. this was so much fun to write and god i hope you guys all love it. literally dreams in this fic okay. there was someone else who asked for dom reader so that’s also here!

warnings: smut, creampie, vaginal sex, light bdsm, f!dom, face riding

wordcount: 2096

note: a continuation of this fic

Securing the ties on Bertholdt’s wrists you didn’t try to hide your smile at his whines. “We both know you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” Running your nails down his outstretched arm you watched the goosebumps rise on his skin and his muscles twitch. “I’m just making sure you’re a good boy tonight. You’ll get to touch me later. I promise.” Pressing your lips against his for a few seconds you pulled back, running your thumb over his now wet lips. “Feel okay?” 

It took a few seconds for him to catch up to what you were asking, you’d told him you were going to tie him up earlier but that was before you’d had him naked and your mouth on his cock again. The amount of time you spent on your knees for this man today had to be a new record. While he tugged on the restraints your eyes roamed his body. Tall, lean and muscular, you could never get enough of seeing him. A layer of sweat covered his body and his cock stood proud between his legs.

Rubbing your thighs together to give you some sort of stimulation you noticed he was looking at you again, his face and chest bright red. So long together and he was still so shy, if you’d told anyone half the things you did with him they’d never believe you. You’d grab his hand in public and he’d turn red, you’d love to tell them how red he turned when he begged you to peg him. Your pussy was throbbing between your legs and it was taking everything inside of you to not just crawl onto his lap and sink down. 

“Good.” You looked back at his face and he was nodding quickly, “They’re good.” Green eyes trailed over your body, stopping on your thighs where you were still putting pressure on yourself. “Baby please.” His whine was so pretty that even if you wanted to just make him lay there and look at you, make him watch you play with yourself you couldn’t do it. 

Stepping towards him, you ran your hand over his chest, feeling his muscles twitch under your fingertips. “You should be thanking me for earlier.” His breathing was loud and you weren’t surprised to hear the small whimpers just from this. Bertholdt was always so responsive to your touch. “I was on my knees on that floor for you and I didn’t even get to cum.” Trailing your fingers along the v of his hips you stopped before you got to his cock. Biting the inside of your lip you looked back towards his face where he was watching your hand, his eyes following every movement, waiting for you to touch him. 

“Everyone thinks you’re so pure.” You continued your trail down his body, your hands moving over his thighs, “What do you think they’d say if they knew you wanted to get caught with my mouth on your cock? I think if we’d been caught you’d have cum right there, god imagine if it was Porco who caught us? He’d never let you live that down. 

“Y/N please… god please.” Letting out a small laugh you ran your hand over his thigh, the same man who had left your scalp still hurting from pulling your hair earlier was begging like this. You loved the duality. 

The thought of denying him crossed your mind but you could feel the slick between your legs when you took a step and needed some kind of relief. “Fine, since you asked so nicely.” 

The excitement was clear in his eyes when you moved to straddle him, bracing yourself on his chest you both took in sharp breaths when you felt his cock slide against your soaked pussy. You’d be better at teasing him if giving him that blowjob hadn’t had you wet all day already. All you wanted now was to feel him. But you weren’t giving in that easy. And he didn’t want you to either. As much as he’d beg for it, you knew him. He liked it when you made him wait. 

Raising your eyes to his you moved your hips, his cock sliding against you again. “You want to be inside?” You had to stop yourself from moaning as you slid your pussy against the shaft of his cock, you wanted so badly to just have him inside of you but you’d wait. It would be worth it. “God you’re so hard, maybe I should just do this. Use your cock like this, without even letting you inside.” 

He threw his head back against the pillows and his arms jerked at the ties that held them in place. You’d make a good choice with tying him up. Leaning forward you ran your teeth against the column of his neck before biting down on his collarbone, preening at the sounds that left him. 

He was jerking his hips under you, trying to get more friction, the slide of your cunt was probably driving him crazier than it was you. Sitting up you ran your nails over his chest, stopping only to pinch one of his pert nipples, a giggle leaving you at his yelp. Another time you’d give him more attention there but you needed him inside you. This was supposed to be teasing him but you were driving yourself crazy. 

Grabbing his slick covered cock you pumped him once, before sinking down onto him. You wanted to keep your eyes open, watch him as you took him into your tight heat but your eyes fell closed as you sunk deeper. His cock filling you impossibly deep, his size always taking you a few moments to adjust to. You could feel his legs shaking under you as you finally took all of him. 

He was panting now, and his arms were pulling hard against the restraints that held his arms. He liked touching you, his large hands would be all over your body if you’d let him. That was probably the worst part of this for him, not being able to hold. “So big.” You muttered as you started moving your hips, “You fill me up so good baby boy, so good.” 

His hips jerked up hard, a reaction from the praise and you gasped, your nails digging into his chest. Taking a second to catch your breath you pushed against his chest, “Behave or you don’t get to cum at all.” Though the idea of letting him pound into you was tempting but you were in control. “Say it. Tell me you’ll be good.” 

When he didn’t reply you clenched around him, smirking as another groan leaving him and he started fervently nodding, “I’ll be good. I promise.” His eyes opened, half lidded as he took in the sight of you sitting on his cock, “I will.” 

That was all the confirmation you needed. Raising yourself up you slammed back down, a string of moans and whimpers leaving your usually quieter lover. You’d never get tired of this feeling, your hips moving as his cock stretched you and hit inside you. Every nerve on fire as you rode him. The room was filled with the sound of moans and skin hitting skin, the slick sound of you sinking down on his cock until your thighs ached. 

He wouldn’t last long, you’d been teasing him too much. Usually he could last forever, he’d have you cumming twice before he could, but you’d been playing with him too much. You’d had your hand and mouth on his cock earlier and stopped every time he got right on the edge, you wanted to make him fall apart and you were. His hands were balled into fists where they were tied up and his chest was heaving, eyes closed tightly as he let you ride him. Let you take everything you wanted from him. 

“Close. I’m close, I’m so close.” He was begging you, begging you to let him cum. “Y/N.” He always sounded so good when he said your name like that. 

He was lucky you were getting close too, the tightness in your stomach building as you finally gave up on telling him to keep his hips still. You weren’t even sure he knew he was moving them, short jabs and thrusts that were doing just enough to push you over the edge. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” A chain of swears left you as you felt your orgasm hit, your pussy clenching around him, trying to get as much pleasure as you could as your slick covered his cock. 

That was all it took for him, his hips stuttered and you could feel him spilling inside of you. Moans leaving him as you kept moving your hips, you wanted him to feel everything, you wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left in him to give. Under you he was a mess, his hair was sticking to his forehead and his eyes were tightly closed. He was covered in sweat and his face and chest were flushed. God if you thought he could go again right now you’d keep at it. 

When his moans started turning into whimpers you finally took pity on him and slowly slid off his cock. Your cunt clenching around nothing, you not totally ready to be empty yet, but you knew you needed to let his hands free. Standing on shaky legs you took a moment to get used to the feeling of his seed leaking out of you before you untied his hands. You expected him to let his arms rest but as soon as his hands were free he was grabbing you, pulling you back towards him. 

Yelping you looked down at him on the bed, he looked tired, his eyes half lidded but his large hands were still on the inside of your thigh, pulling you closer. “Bertholdt! What are you-” He pulled you again and you had to catch yourself on the wall when you realized he was trying to pull you on his face. 

“Want to taste.” His voice is slightly slurred, he was sex drunk and he wanted more. “Let me.” You felt a new blush on your face but let yourself be properly pulled onto the bed and over his face. 

As soon as you were seated over his face he pulled you down, his large hands holding onto your ass and keeping you in place as he tongued your swollen clit. A high-pitched moan left you when he started sucking. Holding yourself up against the wall you let his tongue explore your pussy. You could feel his tongue deep inside, you clenched around his tongue when you realized that right now he was tasting the way his cum mixed with you. 

When he pushed your hips you took the memo and started moving your hips, the wet sounds of him eating your pussy and you riding his face filled the air and you were getting lost in it. Your hands moved up your body and pinched one of your nipples, your body going into overload as your own actions and the feeling of his tongue reaching so deep inside you started sending you over the edge again. 

You came with a scream and if it weren’t for his hands holding onto you, you’d have collapsed against him. His tongue kept working, tasting everything you’d given him as you whined and tightly held onto the bed frame. Your body was shaking and you could tell he was getting tired but he didn’t stop until you were sure he’d tasted all of your mess. 

Bertholdt finally stopped and tapped your thigh, helping you down from his face. Your body not really wanting to help him at all, you wanted to just curl up next to him and sleep. As soon as you were properly on the bed you looked over at him, his mouth and face still wet from eating you out. 

“I owed you.” Slowly leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. Running your tongue over his lips you tasted yourself and reached back up for him, “We need to clean up.” He muttered against your lips, his eyes fluttering shut when your hand went through his hair. 

Pulling him against your chest you shook your head, “Lay with me for a minute. We can clean up later.” You were happy when he relaxed against you, “You deserve to nap first.” A soft laugh left you when he pressed a kiss to your shoulder where his head rested. 

[blueprint-han]

ex.

↪ so many what if’s. who would give you those answers?

— where in you stumble into your ex at a friend’s wedding, and the subsequent conversation leads to new hope blooming in your relationship.

pairing: chan x reader

genre: ex au; angst with a fluffy ending.

⇥ warnings: themes/mentions of break up/make up, mentions of alcohol, please let me know if I miss a warning. please note that i, by no means condone any toxic relationships. this fic here with bang chan and Y/N is NOT an example of a toxic relationship or an implication of bang chan’s actions in real life. please take it as fiction.

word count: 3.3 K

type: one shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

↯ note: I decided to merge your request with the prompt because it’s angst and guess who’s the queen of angst? You !! 😌 This was picked up from ex, as you can see and again your url ~vibes~ so uwu hope you enjoy it, this is my first time writing angst tho so please go easy on me. <3 Love you mom <333  ⇥ dawn.☀️

The dance hall’s fairly crowded when you take another shot of your martini, drowning in its essence as you make a desperate attempt to disconnect yourself from your vicinity. You wanna believe you’re drunk, though it’s not true in the slightest — you can still feel, hear, see everything around you clearly — the alcohol’s clearly not having its effect today. You wish, oh so dearly wish it did, because the man standing about two tables away from you really doesn’t deserve the attention you’re giving him right now.

The last thing you’d expected when you entered the hall to attend your friend’s wedding was to stumble right into the one man you’d been trying to avoid for the past two months. At that very moment, you cursed all the odds for making you face the man of your nightmares, the one who broke your heart.

Bang Chan.

Sure enough, just like when he’d dropped the news on you, all the butterflies in your stomach drop dead one by one, gloom and desolation taking over. The mere sight of him is enough to send you into a frenzy of confusion — you feel the flutter in your heart to know that he’s doing okay, but you can also feel that pit of sadness, anger and heartbreak mixed to wash over as one of the most conflicting feelings ever.

“O-oh, hi there, Y/N.” Chan had waved a hand and bowed down, but you shakily nodded your head, not bothering to give him any words of acknowledgement as you stumbled into the hall. How is it that you didn’t notice him until half the wedding was over? How could you forget that he was supposed to attend, because he was the bride’s friend alike? 

Was it wrong that part of you still wished that you could be standing next to him, watching him as he introduced you to his friends, calling you “his girlfriend”?

You wondered what the look on Chan’s face would’ve been when you left his greeting hanging in the cold air like that. Was he broken on the inside too? Or did he simply not care? He’d been the one to end it, after all. He looks smart right now — adorning a luxurious black suit, his brownish hair slicked neatly to the side and parted. The delicate silver chain you’d given him on his birthday is oddly still on his neck — you promise yourself to not think about it much, because you know it’ll give you hope — and hope’s a dangerous feeling, at least for you.

When the music starts blaring through the speakers and the couple start dancing together, you sigh, straightening your posture from where you’re leaning against the shot table. Your friend has the prettiest smile plastered onto her face — it comes naturally to her, you figure, seeming as to how she’s married to the love of her life right now. They both seem lost — almost peaceful — as they stare into each other’s eyes. Soon, more and more couples join, until the whole hall is filled with everyone dancing on their heels, twirling and smiling and dancing gracefully. Everyone except you, of course.

You sigh, fixing the hem of your swan-white dress. Way to go for your mood to be ruined — all because you happened to stumble upon your ex boyfriend, and thoughts consumed you as a whole. Was it so wrong of you to wish that you could go back in time and change his decision? You’d moved on from this — you’d told yourself you’d moved on a month ago. You wiped him out of your memory — all the things that reminded you of him — but what if you’d only patched up the wound, not healed it in the slightest? What if the person who held the key to repair your broken heart was held by a person who you’d let go, and by all means, couldn’t reach out now?

So many what if’s. Who would give you those answers? He surely hadn’t, when all he did was just break it out to you over a meeting at the park that he’d fallen out of love with you. 

You never understood what happened. It just started with the less frequent messages and meet ups, the excuse of always being busy, and that slowly morphed into him ignoring you for days, until one day he broke the news and ended it, on good terms. Or at least you thought so.

You sigh again, asking the bartender to lend you one bottle of the drink — which he does without question — before you walk over to the staircase that seems to lead to the terrace. Away from the risk of your eyes landing on him and your thoughts going all over the place again. If only you could walk away from the pit of emotions in your heart the same way. If only.

When you kick the almost rusted door open, the fresh blast of cold air that hits you makes you sigh in relief. You tuck several strands of hair neatly behind your ear, walking to the edge as you glance at the view. Leaning against the concrete, you let the lights coming from the night cityscape blur your vision, along with the faint, distant echoing of horns coming from the roads fill your ears. It’s a distraction, after all.

You pop open the cork of the bottle, letting the fizz bubble down before pressing your lips against the rim. One gulp, two, you then gaze up at the night sky. Rinse and repeat, until the whole bottle is almost finished. You ignore the void in your heart, filling it with the essence of alcohol and ignoring the feelings bubbling in it right now. 

Chan was like a drug — so addicting and so hard to get rid of once you got into the habit of consuming it regularly. You wanted to reach out and hold onto those memories you shared with him — he was the first person where you let your heart do the talking, and all it took was a look at another person to change lanes, leave you alone in the dust of your crushed heart — only to come to the disappointing note that you’d lost those memories forever. They existed merely in a place you couldn’t reach, couldn’t see, but could only recall. It was pure torture to you, but you’d ignored it all for so long, certainly you could ignore it again.

“Need a refill?”

Your head snaps back in the direction of the voice. A familiar, one soothing voice that now brings pain to your heart, now threatens to bring back the wave of emotions you’d kept at bay. 

Your eyes meet the hazel brown orbs, and not diverting from their strong, fierce gaze; you scoff, turning back around to stare off into the distance. 

Chan frowns, tilting his chin as he tries to soothe the burn from your two reactions. He doesn’t back away though, because now he maybe understands what you felt like when it all fell apart, when he wrote your ending with a shaky hand.

He walks front to where you’re leaning against the concrete, silently drinking out of the glass he holds in his hand.

Should I say something? He thinks. He should, right? When you ended it, you did end on peaceful terms, even though your reaction felt like you were more affected by it. Even after three months, he still feels the warmth that flowed through him whenever he looks at you — you who clearly don’t want to speak to him. He feels crazy now, for wanting to let you go. 

You hadn’t even bothered to curse at him that day — just looked at him with eyes that honestly pierced through his soul, and hurt him more than any of your words could’ve. But maybe that was what he deserved, right?

“Why did you come here?” You ask, swirling the almost empty bottle in your hand. Oddly enough, you don’t feel like walking away, feet frozen in position. You’d ended it on good terms, didn’t you? You’d promised to each other you’d be good friends.

“I noticed you were alone.” The man feels himself say.

“Didn’t you bring your girlfriend along? Isn’t she alone right now?” You counter, taking another sip of your drink. Again, the alcohol is having no effect on you. Why did your tolerance have to be so high when you needed it to be low?

“I-” He takes a deep breath, tilting his head to either side to relieve the tension in his neck. “Broke up with her. About three weeks ago.”

You only chuckle. Somehow, your feelings are strong when he’s away, but when the cause is right in front of you, somehow they fail to make an appearance.

“Did you come here so you could win me back?” You ask, straightening up as you avoid Chan’s firm gaze on you, and his face goes gloomier and gloomier with every statement you spew at him. But then again, who could blame you for being angry? You had every right to.

“No.” He shook his head, fixing his position so his shoulders are about an inch away from yours. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m alright.” You say, softening at the edges at his concerned tone. You don’t know why you’re listening to him and not going back into the hall, but your legs are still frozen in place, something in you, your heart, doesn’t let you move.

Why do you feel like it’s your first time meeting him all over again?

He’s your ex, a part of your life you’re supposed to forget. Instead, you’re here, reminiscing it with the very person who left you in the first place. The situation you’re bound in is so weird — you almost don’t know what to do — but nonetheless, you just stand there, ignoring the slight flutter in your heart — just like the first time again.

“How are you doing?” You give yourself the liberty to ask him that question — just to know how he’s doing. Just another way for you to answer your countless what if’s, another method to try and fill the void in your heart.

Chan sighs, straightening up himself before looking at you. “I missed you.”

At the simple admission, you soften around the edges some more. It was wrong, so wrong that you were giving him to permission to get into your heart again — but what if you never wanted him to leave in the first place? 

Hope — the dangerous feeling — starts resonating through your chest. It’s the tiniest emotion, one you can’t quite sense, but still feel. You can feel yourself grow warm, feel his gaze burn into the side of your face as he awaits a reaction.

“I-I don’t know what to say to that.” You reply, tucking some of your hair behind your ear again, before curling it with your index finger. You don’t look into his eyes yet — you’re not so brave to do so — focusing your bored, almost sad gaze as you count all the lights flashing at you on a skyscraper. Anything to distract you from this feeling.

Chan notices your stare, and sighs again. He’s battling himself too, right now. Should I say it? He thinks.

“I-I’ll be honest and confess to you, okay?” Chan turns to face you properly, while you bite your lip, waiting for his next words. Oddly enough, you feel more nervous now than you felt that day when Chan ended it with you. It’s so weird to feel it all over again.

“I’ve missed you and… I truly regret what I did that day.” He runs his hands through his chocolate brown hair, which seems to look particularly soft today. It reminds you of when you’d casually back hug him when he was working, pecking the back of his neck as you’d comb your fingers through his hair. 

“Chan, no.” You feel your voice crack, the sadness overflowing out of its cup, spreading to all your senses as you close your eyes, letting out a single tear. 

“Y/N…” Chan places his hand on your shoulder. You don’t flinch.

“Y-You l-left me.” You feel your brain cloud over, having no control over yourself as the words start spilling out of your mouth, piercing Chan’s heart bit by bit. “Y-You l-left me when I thought you’d stay… And you left me alone.” You feel his thumb rub against the bare skin of your shoulder, and this time, you stare up, looking straight into his eyes.

“I loved you,” You stammer, inhaling deeply as you take note of Chan’s expression. Surprisingly, he’s crying too. The rims of his eyes are filled with tears, his whole face goes red as he tries not to violently sob. “I love you.” You correct yourself.

“But you left me. You left me when I thought all I had was you and - and, what? Three months later, you tell me you miss me? Is this because your girlfriend broke up with you? You wanna win me back?” You spew, slamming your hand against his chest as you shake in his arms. 

He wordlessly pulls you into his embrace, and you don’t complain — you don’t know if it’s because of your brain being cloudy and your eyes being all itchy from crying, or if it was because you missed his hugs, but you feel yourself clutch onto the material of your shirt as you cry, cry and cry until you feel like your tears don’t remain.

“I’m so sorry…” Is all he can say, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he tries to comfort you.

“I hate you, Chan. I hate you so much.”

Something in him shatters when he hears your words. He wordlessly mouths “Alright.” and doesn’t bother controlling his tears anymore, letting them flow down his cheeks and settle into your hair, not bothering to hold back the sounds of brokenness he makes either.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He pulls away, holding your chin to force your gaze into his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, it was so wrong of me. I regret it now, so much.” He curls his lips inwards, and watching him cry is soul-crushing. You should be hating him for leaving you, screaming, crying, but you hate yourself for reaching up to rake through his hair, sliding your hand down to his soft cheek before gently swiping your thumb against it. Wiping off his tears.

“We’ve already forgiven each other, right? It’s okay.” You take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Leaving him behind seems hard enough, but seeing him cry in front of you seems impossible. Are you still in love with him?

“I’m still sorry.” He mutters softly, gazing into your eyes as he takes hold of the hand that rests on his cheek. “I was so horrible to not know that I had you beside me all along, and instead I turned my back at you and left you. It was so wrong of me.” he breaks into tears again, and this time, before you can pull him into a hug, he grabs both your hands in his own. Holding them in between each other. 

Yep, you’re still in love with him.

You look at him, absorbing all his features, and suddenly you’re thrown back to the first time he ever asked you out. It seems all too familiar — all too real. You find yourself holding your breath once again, waiting for what he has to say. He rests his forehead against your grasped hands, sighing brokenly as he speaks up.

“I won’t ask you to accept me again, Y/N.” He says as a matter of fact. He understands that the things that happened may not allow you to let him into your heart again. “I won’t ask you to date me either, because I know what I did isn’t that simple to forgive.”

Chan feels so stupid now. You were there for him all the time, yet he left you for someone else. You were beside him to help him when he felt desolated, but somehow he became a cause for your desolation. It shocks, confuses him and makes him seethe in turmoil.

“But,” he begins, holding his breath. “I still want to try. I wanna try being the person I couldn’t be when I was with you. I-I wanna change and win you back, b-but…”

“But?” You ask mindlessly, totally overwhelmed and dazed out by his honest words, the newfound emotion thrums to your chest. It’s love, for sure. But it isn’t that special kind of love, at least not yet.

“But I wanna do that only if you let me. It’s your choice, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen as you try to grasp his words, noticing how his warm hands holding onto yours still, only grow warmer and tighter. 

“I r-really love you Y/N, a lot. And… well, I know you may not be able to make this decision soon. But please, just give it a thought?”

You shake your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you look up into his eyes again. They’re red and puffy by now, but they’re still gorgeous, they still remind you of the time you’d gently kiss over his eyelids whenever he cried like that.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head in deep thought, before tucking your bottom lip under your teeth and nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay…?” He asks, hopeful. You can almost feel his nervousness in the way his palms sweat, but you simply smile.

“We won’t date yet.” You said. “But I’ll allow you into my heart one last time. Don’t break it.”

And at your acceptance, Chan beams, feeling more tears roll down his eyes as he pulls you into a hug. This time, you don’t spare any restraint, wrapping your arms around your waist as you press your cheek against his chest. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Chan keeps mumbling and repeating, to which you only shush him gently, telling him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to thank him.

He still does. You only smile to yourself, and for the first time in three months, you feel somewhat at peace. There’s a long way to go — you have to adapt to this relationship, let your heart join back bit by bit and build each other’s confidence again. But you’re certain you can do it together. This story deserved a happy ending, and you were going to give it one, no matter how hard you’d have to try.

“Hey guys!” You hear someone walk through the door, immediately parting away and clearing your throats. 

“Yes?” The both of you say at the same time, tensing up and then laughing at each other. If Chan’s tears were crushing, Chan’s giggles were truly healing. The way his eyes would scrunch up into the cutest crescents and his dimples would make an appearance always made you want to peck his cheeks. Now wasn’t the time though.

“Dinner’s being served, so Y/F/N told you to come downstairs.” The person at the door says, immediately running downstairs, as if to not interrupt your moment any further.

“Alright.” You laugh, taking Chan’s hands in yours as you intertwine your nimble fingers with his long, slender ones. “Let’s go shall we?” You don’t bother picking up the alcohol bottles, because you’ll be coming back here with your friends later anyways — they can be tended to later.

“Of course,” Chan pulls you along with him, running to the door — both the ones that lead to the diner and the ones that signified your new start.

Curse at me all you want, as long as you let it all out, and we can go back to how we were.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here !

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (1) || atz

The sounds of the waves crashing against shore, the white sea foam like clouds of the sky.

Salt touches your tongue as sea spray catches the light of the sun, casting a beautiful rainbow across your cheeks.

Seagulls circle in the clear blue expanse above, their cries ringing out for miles.

Rain lashes against your arms and droplets clings to your eyelashes. They resemble tears.

Lightning splits the darkness of the clouds and thunder akin to cannon shot rolls overhead, but there is no fear.

You smile wide, eyes closed, but then something in your chest weighs you down.

Suddenly, you’re yanked into the depths, water filling your nose and lungs and all at once, you cannot breathe. The weight in your chest drags you down, down, down, and no matter how hard you flail and thrash about, no matter how desperately you reach for the surface…

There is nothing but darkness.

Drip, drip, drip.

Your eyes flutter open softly, like a new butterfly’s wings. You’re lying on something wet and rough beneath your body, and to your horror, when you instinctively try to rub your eyes, your hands are bound together by a coarse, thick rope.

Right in front of you is a puddle of water and drops of water keeps falling into it, forming tiny ripples. You try to sit up as your eyes instinctively follow its path, up the grime ridden stone walls to the crack in the ceiling were rainwater seeps through. A spider lazily weaves its web in a corner and for a moment, you’re spellbound by it.

Crack!

You flail backwards at the deafening sound of a thunderclap, but your hands are tied together and you’re sent crashing to the ground painfully. Luckily, the ground is wet so the fall isn’t as painful as it could have been, but you still feel a tenderness in your hip where bare skin got dragged across uneven stone. You suck in a breath.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Sit up again.”

Exhaling carefully, you roll onto your back, ignoring the pain of the small rocks digging into your side, and finally heave yourself up with a haphazard effort of numb limbs. Your bound ankles come into view, along with dirty, calloused bare feet. They’re tied with a thick red cord that there’s no chance you can cut through or untie, and when your mind finally screams at you the obvious, your heart stops.

“You’re in a prison.”

Your head snaps to the right, metal grills lining the tiny window in the room. To your left, the only exit secured with heavy metal bars, kept locked by three iron chains, each with a metal padlock at the end. Whoever locked you up here wanted to make sure you had no chance of escape. Before you can think any further, the sound of chattering and clanking metal wrenches you back to the present.

“-some woman down here.” The sound of heeled boots echoes down a flight of steps. There’s a soft squeak of leather and the man curses. “Damned stairs, what was that bastard Arthur thinking, holding a public execution today? Justice calls, my ass. He probably just wants to get rid some whore that heard his mouth running when he was drunk-”

“Quiet, Mannon!” Another voice, higher and hushed this time. “You never know if someone could overhear you! The governor will have you hanged!”

“Ha!” A derisive snort. To your mounting horror, their footsteps seem to be drawing nearer to your cell. “As if his men are going to lug themselves here to check on a mere prisoner. Lazing about in their offices all day, doing nothing but paperwork, afraid to get their hands dirty- Oh, she’s awake.”

Your face jerks upwards, but seconds later you flinch away from the light of the torch in the men’s hands. Slightly disoriented, you try to regain your bearings. That’s when the shorter and slightly rounded man pulls out a set of key from the pocket of his crimson uniform, moving towards your door. Your hope bubbles in your chest like a warm spring.

You watch, fascinated, as the chains slither away from the bars, landing in heaps on the floor. The man that resembles a bamboo stick draped in an ill fitting uniform steps forward and with a quick swipe of a pocket knife the ropes fall from your ankles. Warm blood rushes to your feet as if it’s the first time and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” You say gratefully, but the men simply stare at you, one unsympathetic and stone cold, the other won’t quite meet your eye. The portly one shakes his head, hand reaching down for the cord that binds your hands behind your back and tugs you to your feet carelessly.

“Don’t thank us for dragging you to the gallows, girlie.” The man snaps, unceremoniously shoving you forward. Before you fall, the other man catches you by the shoulders, steadying you. He’s warm.

“Mannon, stop doing this, alright?” His voice echoes somewhere far, far away, as if you’re underwater. You don’t register what he said.

Gallows?

“Yes, gallows, the place where people get hung, idiot.” A voice in your inner subconscious rings out, surprisingly clear even through the white noise that had filled your mind from panic. The insult manages to slap you back to your senses.

“Idiot?” You repeat to yourself under your breath, almost offended as the two guards pull you out of the cell and march you up the stairs with your hands tied behind your back. This laughingly pales in comparison to the actual trouble you are in.

Then it hits you full force.

You are walking to the gallows. Walking to your own death.

There’s a moment of serene peace for a moment, then you’re panicking, trying your best to recall what exactly has led you to this. What had you done to be deserving of the death penalty? You wrack your mind desperately for some some sort of answer, some sort of reason, but nothing comes forth except a blank, white canvas where your memories should be.

Where are your memories?

Fear floods through you like a tidal wave, rising and sweeping throughout every corner in your mind. It’s so real it’s palpable, clawing at your throat and stealing the breath from your lungs. There is nothing in your memories, no smiling parents, no first birthdays, no new pretty dresses, no favourite foods, nothing but white noise and the sound of waves crashing against shore.

How old are you? What did you eat yesterday? Why are you here?

Who are you?

You can’t even begin to fathom the answer to that one question.

“Hey, move it.” The rounder guard behind you shoves the small of your back forward, your bare feet dragging along the cobblestones of the street. The sky is dark and grey, as if weeping for all that you cannot remember and you see the townspeople peering at you and whispering to each other from tiny cracks in the doors and windows, no doubt wondering who it is unlucky enough to suffer the wrath of the official of the town. But there is not an ounce of recognition, only sympathy. Nobody cries for you, nobody tries to stop you as you take one step after another to the gallows. Nobody knows you.

You are alone.

Suddenly everything becomes so real to you. The feeling of cool rainwater as it trickles down your cheeks, the stone against your bare feet. The crisp cold air of a storm. The colour of the rain clouds. In another few minutes, you will be completely devoid of all sensation.

“I refuse.”

Like any thunderclap, the sound is deafening, it makes your eardrums ring and if your hands weren’t tied you’d clap them over your ears. But most thunderclaps don’t split buildings or cause massive screaming and mayhem.

“The official’s building!” The skinnier guard cries out in horror at the sight of the roof on one of the larger buildings on a hill collapse in on itself. There’s another ear splitting boom, and in the next second, your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of a round shape flying through the air before in plunges into the already collapsing building.

“Pirates!” You hear someone scream, his voice cracking with desperation and fright. “Pirates at the harbor-” His voice is abruptly cut off just as the clanging of a bell fills the air.

“Hurry, Philip! We need to get there!” The guard, Mannon, yanks on his partner’s arm and without a second glance back at you, they sprint down an alleyway, pulling sabers from hip sheathes.

You blink.

You’re free, just like that.

Your eyes dart around for something to free your hands with, but there’s nothing and you can hear the sounds of screaming getting ever closer. Townspeople are fleeing into buildings, doors being slammed shut, candles being extinguished, bolts drawn. From where the official’s building, you hear the click of several heeled boots pacing down the street in double time.

Between them and the pirates, you’d pick the pirates.

So with your hands bound behind your back, you dash down the same path your two captors took.

The sound of cannon fire fills your ears and there’s smoke everywhere. Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other, one step at the time. There’s another earth shaking boom and suddenly the ground next to you explodes. You bite back the scream in your throat and continue running, you can’t afford to fall now. There are people all around you, dressed in the distinctive red coat of the law authorities here or in a motley array of tunics and breaches, both hold weapons, and both are dying.

As you move forward without looking back, there’s the sound of clashing metal, musket fire, screams of the wounded or dying. A man suddenly falls in front of you, blood pooling like a blossoming rose across the white of his undershirt, matching the vibrant red of his uniform. You leap over the corpse and turn back, staring open mouthed at his unclosing eyes, still wide in his shock, the slack muscles in his cheeks and jaw unmoving.

He’s dead.

You look up, almost instinctively. There’s a young man standing there, a long spear in hand. He’s wearing a sandy brown shirt over a white linen tunic and long, white pants that only accentuate his height tucked into knee high leather boots. His eyes, a soft brown beneath matching curls, meet yours for a split second.

Then you run.

You sprint as fast as you possibly can, feet flying over fallen swords and broken planks. You cannot stop. Through the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder, you can finally smell it.

The sea.

In the harbor three ships are docked. One, with the emblem of a crimson rose embroidered onto its flag, has had its mainsail torn to shreds and the deck peppered with holes. Majority of its crew lie dead or unmoving, and even as you watch one of the last gun crews are blasted into the sea by a round cannonball, which shatters upon impact with the deck to form tiny, flying pieces of shrapnel that take out the gun crew beside it. The other ship, presumably a merchant vessel, is looted bare as its crew watches helplessly. Pirates heave chests of salted fish and silk cloth onto the third vessel.

The third ship is a large, ocean going vessel. Above its three sails on the mainmast flies its flag. A plain black design with the word ATEEZ in bright, bold orange, you immediately know this is the pirates’ ship. The harbor is chaos, clamoring of two sides to get the upper hand, but you can’t stop now. Taking a deep breath, you dash forward.

A blade narrowly misses your neck as you continue running with all your might, sliding under the business end of a swinging club. You barely feel the sting of your skin tearing as a stray musket ball nicks your upper arm, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a drug. You feel something warm and wet soak into the fabric of your sleeve, but like hell you’ll let that stop you now. By sheer dumb luck, you finally reach the gangplank of the pirate ship and dash up it, the wood creaking beneath your feet. They might be bleeding after that mad dash through town, but you’re here.

Now what?

Fighting is still going on all around. Pirates work in small groups to fight off boarding officers as they try to swarm the pirates. You hear a voice shout out “Fire in the hole!” over the din, and the five subsequent explosions send the boat rocking from side to side.

You’re still not safe.

Glancing around desperately, your eyes fall onto a small hatch in the main deck. Dodging the end of an ax on the path of its back swing, you leap for the trapdoor. Thank heavens you’re barefoot, because only with your toes you manage to nudge the bolt open and pull the hatch open. It’s stairs, leading down into the gloom of the storage hold, and from what you can hear, relatively quiet.

You’ll take your chances.

With a painful grunt, you take the stairs two at the time and your legs give out at the last moment. You crash to the floorboards just as the hatch closes over your head, throwing you into darkness except the faint shafts of light coming in from the cracks in the upper deck. Your ankle throbs with pain, but you don’t have time to worry about that. You frantically drag yourself behind a few barrels in the corner, out of sight of anyone coming down the steps and huddle down, praying for the ship to sail as fast as possible.

As if the gods were listening, you hear someone above deck shouting commands. “Weigh the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Wooyoung, fire the retreat flare!”

The voice is deep as the ocean and has an unmistakable air of command. You hear the pirates scrambling to carry out the orders, footsteps thudding across the deck and from the screams and splashes next to you, they are tossing the town officers overboard too. Not a second later another massive boom rocks the ship side to side, you knock your head on the barrels and a bundle of sackcloth falls onto you.

“Oww…” You mutter under your breath feeling something warm trickling down your temple, but then suddenly you hear the same, deep voice issuing commands again.

“Raise the gangplank, make way!”

There’s a sudden jerk of movement as the wind fills the sails. You gasp as you are almost thrown forward, barely regaining your balance at the last moment as the ship begins moving away from the harbor. The furious cries and jeers of the town officers fade away, replaced the sound of the sails beating in the wind and the lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

Home, your mind tells you.

As if all the fight has left you in a single moment, you slump back against the wall, the energy thrumming in your veins evaporating like steam, leaving only a sore ache in your limbs. You should really tend to the cut on your head or find some way to free your hands, but the overwhelming exhaustion crashes over you. The sackcloth is really warm, and you need to be properly rested before you can think of a plan.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a few seconds.” You tell yourself as your eyelids slide shut and your breathing slows. You sink into a deep sleep.

It feels like you’ve barely closed your eyes when a voice shakes you out of your slumber.

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 6

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

EXTRA WARNINGS - this chapter is pretty much unrelenting whump and the violence and consent issues (past) tags strongly apply. I have put more detailed (spoiler heavy) warnings at the bottom so if you’re particularly sensitive to that stuff and want to scroll down to check before you read you can do so.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue     Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

In a tavern just outside of Leovan the crowd roars another! And Roman laughs and gamely starts to play another jig. He’s been playing for hours and he drinks in the attention happily, even as the cheers of the crowd become a ringing in his ears. The night is long and his throat is raw and his stomach empty and it’s harder and harder to keep his eyes focused, but his hands are steady on the strings. He sways in place, sweat dripping into his eyes, but it doesn’t matter- the crowd adore him. They sing and dance and laugh along, and after each set they call another, another, another until the room is spinning and his throat is bleeding and the audience’s laughter had turned cruel and high and lilting and-

Roman woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it.

The underground room was still pitch black, the humidity still cloying. At some point during his fitful sleep he had slumped to the floor, Lucius’ ill-attempt at binding having come loose enough to allow him to slide his arms down the length of the pipe. He was awkwardly sprawled at the base with his wrists still pinned above his head and his legs twisted underneath him. He tugged experimentally at his binding and got a sharp spike of pain down his shoulders and spine for his trouble. Whilst he had wasted time sleeping, the silk had become sodden from the moisture of the room and shrunk tight against his wrists, making even Lucius’ knotwork impossible to pull apart.

Not that it would have made much difference if he could get it loose.

Stay here until I come back with your transport.

Grunting with pain, he managed to untangle his legs out from under him and sit up. He pushed himself up on his knees as best he could, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, but gave it up quickly as the pain lacing down his shoulders intensified.

This was bad.

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think, but the heat was making it almost impossible. The black of the room kept swirling back in to crowded tavern, the rush of water into the jeers of a crowd…he could feel the raw burn on his throat and his mind scrambled desperately for another song-

Except it hadn’t happened like that. He shook his head furiously, his hair flicking sweat into the room, trying to banish the tavern from his mind.  He had already started traveling with the others by the time he sang in Leovan and if he’d tried to perform so late into the night Virgil would have come stomping down the stairs to tell him he was being ridiculous and to go and get some sleep.

Or Patton would have sat up listening, playing bodyguard, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open and sweetly suggested that the crowd might want to be getting home to their own families.

Or Logan would appear, pocket watch in hand, demanding he finish within a set time frame in order to allow for optimal sleeping hours.

Roman could almost hear the lecture, relief at a chance to escape the crowd mingling with exasperation at the scholars ridged scheduling.

In the dark Roman glanced over to where he thought the door should be.

The only sound was the gentle hiss of water.

He tried pulling at the rope again.

***

“Hey! It’s you!”

The man blocking Roman’s path back to the ballroom was clearly drunk. He stumbled towards Roman, half leaning on the hallway wall for support, a big dopy smile on his face.  “I saw you- I saw you back there – wow!”

“Thank you friend.” Roman smiled brightly and took a step backwards, but not quickly enough to prevent the guy from grasping onto his sash.

“You’re so pretty.” The guy breathed, his eyes unfocused but his grip firm, “I saw you lookin’ at me when you were singin’.”

Roman squirmed. He was almost certainly better trained than his admirer, and he had had a lot less ale, but he was also shorter and skinnier. With the man pressed so close in the narrow hallway it was almost impossible to find the leverage he needed to push him off.

And. This was a nice place. And by the quality of the man’s clothing he was an honoured guest not a servant. Roman had been the one to convince his new companions to accompany him to the local lord’s house for the ball, he had wanted to give them to a chance to relax whilst he performed. He didn’t want to get himself, and them, kicked out by causing a scene- not when he was half hoping they would allow him to continue to travel with them even though the job he’d been hired for was done.

“I look at everyone-” he said, smile fixed and polite ”– engaging the audience is actually very important for-“

“Shush.” The man whispered.

Roman shushed. Grinding his teeth in frustration.

His assailant brought one hand up to paw at his face in a clumsy attempt at seduction, thick rings knocking against Romans jaw. His other hand released the bard’s sash to grip his wrist instead.

“Kiss me,” the man breathed, the stink of ale on his breath making Roman gag.

Face burning with mounting frustration and embarrassment, Roman attempted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but the man twisted his head at the last moment to meet his lips with his own.  Pressing Roman back against the wall with a slobbering assault as he attempted to pry Roman’s lips open with his tongue.

Panic flickered in Roman’s belly and then just as quickly dulled. It was generally easier to let these things run their course.

And then, suddenly, the pressure on his mouth – and wrist and chest - was gone.

Roman blinked open eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Patton with an expression so furious Roman had to fight the instinct to cower.

“What.” Patton snarled “Do you think you’re doing?”

“I di-didn’t mean to-“ Roman started.

“Well?!” Patton roared and Roman realised he wasn’t speaking to him – but rather the rich man who appeared to be rapidly sobering up in Patton’s grip.  The warrior held him by the scuff of his neck, his toes just scraping the floor. When Patton shook him, the plethora of chains around his neck clinked together musically.

“Roman,” Patton asked, his voice still shaking with an anger that made Roman draw his shoulders up instinctively “do you…know this man?”

“Well…no.” Roman glanced at the chains again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his heart rate started to return to normal “I think he might be the mayor though Pat, put him down!”

“I don’t care if he’s the King of the elves! Did you want to kiss him?”

“Well no, but – but its fine! These things happen!”

“You call yourself a Prince and this is how you carry on?”

Wait. What?

Roman blinked, feeling strangely hot in the cool hallway.

Patton wasn’t supposed to say that. Patton was supposed to ask what he meant. And Roman would backtrack and feed him some lines about people often feeling entitled to performers time off stage – which was not untrue – and Patton would look at him wide eyed and tell him that would never happen again –

“You’ve been told over and over, to keep yourself to yourself.”

- that Patton would stand guard at every performance from now on if that’s what it took.-

“If you insist on putting yourself into these situations, don’t come crying to me when the inevitable happens.”

-And Roman would be so elated at the implication that they were to keep travelling together that he would almost forget to feel embarrassed at the situation.-

Patton’s lips narrowed into a thin disapproving line, “Don’t be naive. You are far better off alone, Romulus.”

“Dad?” Roman whispered.

“He doesn’t look much like the Prince.”

“Oh, like you’ve seen him.”

“Well he’s meant to be handsome right? This guy’s not winning any contests.”

Roman opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Three men stood around him, illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. For one wild moment elation flooded through him - his friends had found him after all!

And then their conversation registered and he scowled. Disappointment robbing him of a witty comeback to their insults.

Still. Let them travel almost non-stop for three weeks, spend a night standing out in the middle of a field whilst an old woman sang at herbs, march for five days through a forest - including a detour through he thickets brambles known to man- and then follow that up with an entire day wandering around the city, have two panic attacks and be left to sleep tied up in caller. And then see if they looked their best.  

With the gag still in his mouth, Roman’s attempt to covey this sentiment were mercifully muffled.

“I don’t know.” The biggest of the three stepped forward, grabbing a handful of Roman’s hair and yanking his head back painfully, abruptly cutting off his complaints. “I can kinda see it.”

“Be careful Niki,” the one who had first spoken whispered, he was holding the lantern and keeping well back from Roman. “His nibs thinks he’s got devils with him.”

“In here?” Niki cast a glance around at the iron cage of pipework that covered the room. “If he does they’re not coming out.”

“Still.” Lantern-boy whined.

“Well let’s test it.” Niki grinned down and Roman spitefully and released his grip on his hair. In one quick movement he had produced an iron dagger, not unlike Roman’s own, and pressed the flat of it to Roman’s cheek.

Roman stared at him.

“There you see? If was possessed he’d be screaming.” Niki said smugly and pulled his knife back, twisting it slightly as he did so, leaving a shallow cut along Roman’s cheek, making him wince.

“Careful,” lantern-boy said meaningfully “he’s still the Prince’s brother.”

“Oops.” Niki smiled cheerfully down at Roman. “My bad.”

“He needs to drink.” The third man stood far enough back from the lantern that Roman couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way the other two responded to his soft voice, their posture automatically stiffening.

“Here,” lantern-boy stepped forward after a moment, holding out a water skin to Niki  who rolled his eyes but reached down to rip the gag from Roman’s mouth.

Roman coughed, swallowing air greedily. His throat was painfully dry, all moisture sucked out by the silk, but he still hesitated when Niki held the skin up to his mouth.

“Listen to me.” He croaked “you-“

“Just drink it.” Niki snapped and Roman surged forward despite himself, swallowing a few precious mouthfuls before the skin was yanked away again.  

“You’re from Notaleveale.”  he whispered. “Right?”

“Obviously.” Lantern-boy muttered, taking the water skin back from his companion.

“Well then,” he drew himself up as much as he could, ignoring the pain the movement caused “ – as true men of The North I must implore you to assist me. The Marquis has been embroiled in some- some conspiracy of untruths, is perhaps plotting against the very crown itself and-“

“The Marquis de Orenlla couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.” Niki snorted contemptuously.

Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Isn’t he your Lord?” he asked eventually feeling bizarrely offended on the Marquis’ behalf. Niki and lantern-boy were both wearing chest plates embossed with the three peaked mountain range that signified allegiance to Orenlla, the royal kraken of Notaleveale floating above. They were clearly guardsmen brought with Lucius on his journey south.

The third man, who hadn’t spoken since he mentioned Roman needing to drink, wore no identifying uniform.

“It’s not an insult.” Niki shrugged, “personally I prefer an employer too daft to organise a coupe.”  

Lantern-boy nodded in agreement, “It’s a, whatcha call it - a positive working environment, innt?”

“…alright.” Roman decided to change tactics. “I’ll double what he’s paying you.” This time both men laughed.

“With what?”

“Well, I. I’m still a Prince I’ll have you know -  I have many rich and influential friends who would gladly-“

“Oh really. Where are they then?”

There was an unpleasant pause whilst Roman desperately tried to get his brain to think. He was supposed to be more creative than this!

“You’re no Prince of ours anyhow.” Lantern-boy stepped a bit closer to glare into Roman’s eyes. “Traitor.”

Roman flinched back at the pure look of venom on the young man’s face.

Little fae touched traitor.

“Listen to me. Whatever you’ve heard – it’s not true. My father-“

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Niki surged froward, pulling Roman up by the neck of his tunic. Their faces were close enough that Roman could feel the spittle from the man’s mouth land on his cheek as he shouted: “After your despicable actions you would dare to-“

“Nicolas. Don’t upset yourself.”

The third man was barely visible to Roman over Niki- Nicholas’- shoulder, but as soon as he spoke the large man stilled, lowering Roman slowly back to the ground.

“Marcus. Some more light if you will.”

Lantern-boy -presumably Marcus– quickly produced a box of long matchsticks, almost tripping over himself in his haste to light more lanterns around the room. By the time he was done the room was brightly lit, the glow from each lamp bouncing off the metal pipes until it filled every corner.

The third man did not look especially Notalevealean, with skin almost as white as Virgil’s and pale white blond hair.  He was dressed plainly, with pale grey robes and soft shoes, and carried only a thin walking stick. If he hadn’t spoken, he could have quite easily faded into the background - camouflaged against the dull back drop of pipes.

“Nicholas. Marcus. Go and guard the passages.”

“But we already have a dozen men out there-“

“And I’m sure they’re in need of leadership. Go now.”

The two men glanced at each other. Roman thought for a moment that they would stand their ground, but then Marcus snatched up his original lantern and headed for the door, Niki following after one last reluctant glance back.

“W-wait.” Roman called. “Is my Father alive?”

They disappeared into the gloom of the next room.

Left alone with only the quiet grey man, Roman found himself wishing they’d stayed.

The grey man smiled at him as he shuffled towards the kneeling prince. His smile was an awful thing that did not touch his eyes.

“The young Marquis de Orenlla is a rather silly boy.” He told Roman in his soft papery voice. “Much like yourself.”

Despite himself Roman let out an offended squeak, but the grey man continued unhindered. “He has very little idea how to survive alone, can barely function without his servants.”

Roman caught himself staring at the floor and snapped his gaze back to the grey man’s face. He didn’t want to miss any information he might let slip but looking at him was-

It was difficult.

When he tried to look at the details of his face they seemed to slip away. Was he young or old? What colour were his eyes?

The whole time he had been talking, had his mouth actually moved?

“What are you?” Roman whispered.

The grey man smiled again, Roman shuddered.

“But also like you, he is not wholly stupid. He has started asking some inconvenient questions.”

Within the blink of an eye, the grey man was next to him a knife in his hand. Before Roman had a chance to do more than flinch, he had cut the ties biding his hands, and was back across the room.

Dazed, Roman rubbed his wrists, trying not to wretch.

Up close, the grey man smelt of death.

“Now. Sit there, and listen to me until I finish.”

Romulus whimpered.

“Your father is dead.” The grey man told him bluntly. “You killed him.”

“No.” Romulus- Roman shook his head. Used his newly freed hands to cover his ears. “He was sick.”

“You poisoned him over many weeks.” the grey man whispered. “Disguised it as a common sickness. You tried the same on your brother but he was too strong to succumb.”

Roman lowered his hands. They were pointless anyway- the grey man’s voice seemed to be inside his head.

“That’s not how his strength works!”

“And so instead, you allied yourself with a traitor to the fae court and placed a curse of madness on the crown prince, rendering him unable to rule. You hoped to take over in his place, but luckily your father’s advisors found you out. You were forced to flea with your fae companion.”

Roman stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s insane!”

“That’s the truth.” The grey man insisted. “When The Marquis asks you for the truth, that’s what you’ll say.”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “No, no, no.”

The grey man reached forward, resting his hand gently against Roman’s cheek. Romulus stared up into his eyes.

“Julius?” he whispered.

“In a way.” The grey man’s face seemed to twist. For a single moment, it was Julius’ face that looked disdainful down at him, rendering Romulus mute with terror. And then with another twist to reality it was gone, back to the grey man’s blank visage.

“I’ve had eyes all over looking for you Romulus. I was so sure you must have died in the mountains and yet –“ His fingers tightened on Roman’s face, nails digging cruelly into his skin. “Here you are. Like a little cockroach.”

With a shove he released Roman’s face and walked swiftly to the centre of the room, where the largest pipes rose out of the floor. “Stay on your knees and come here.” he ordered. Face burning, Roman shuffled after him, knees bruising on the stone floor.

“Put your hands here.” He gestured to one of the larger pipes. Even before his hands touched the surface, Roman could feel the heat radiating from it. It was far hotter than the one he had been tied to and although he braced himself he couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain when his hands made contact.

He snatched them back quickly, his palms an alarming shade of red. And without pausing, sprang to his feet, aiming a punch directly at the grey man’s immobile face.

“Stop moving.”

Roman felt his muscles lock, momentum sending him crashing to the ground as the grey man easily sidestepped his swing.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.” The grey man added, leaving Roman frozen on the ground where he landed.

Slowey the grey man stepped around him, crouching down by his head. “Look at me, Romulus.” Roman did so, only moving his eyes to stare at the flickering mirage of the grey man’s face.

Up close, the smell was so bad Roman felt the remains of his pastry threatening to make a reappearance.

“I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to tell me the truth. Nod if you understand.”

Slowly, Roman nodded. The grey man – Julius – whatever it was, had already told him what it wanted him to consider the truth. But even so, ‘tell the truth’ was an easy enough order to get around. Truth being in the eye of the beholder and all.

“And if you don’t, I am going to tell you to hold onto that pipe again, and I am going to tell you to keep holding it until I am satisfied with your answers. Do you understand?”

Roman swallowed.  He nodded again.

“Did you kill your father? Tell the truth now.”

“No.” he said quickly and then bit his tongue, cursing. Franticly he looked up at the grey man  “You, you said that was a truth for The Marquis, not for everyone I can’t just –“

“Raise your left hand.” the grey man said mildly. “Bring it here.”

Romulus felt tears of frustration and fear spring to his eyes. He was stupid for thinking he had a chance at this. Julius’ tests were never designed for him to pass.

***

Roman wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the grey man seemed satisfied.

Fortunately, he had methods of persuasion beyond just the pipe. When Romans’ left palm had become completely coated in blisters the grey man had handed him walking stick and instructed him to bring it down hard on his own back instead. And then his shoulders. The side of his face. His left palm.

The grey man never touched him himself.

He didn’t have any need to.

Whenever there was a pause between punishments he ordered Roman to stillness. Time which Roman happily spent fantasising, first of smashing the stick down across the grey man’s head, then of pressing his own eyes to the hot pipe.

Even if they took him home – he could not allow himself to lay eyes on Remus. That was the one thing he could not fail on.

“Did you kill your father?” asked the grey man.

“Yes.”

The stress of raising Romulus, of hiding the curse; there was no doubt he’d contributed to his fathers early death. It was true, at least to him.

“Did you curse your brother?”

“Yes.”

When he was a little boy there had been a phase where he tried to put a curse on Remus daily, and Remus him. The kind of curses they dreamed up were for itchy feet and stinky farts, and none of them had worked, but it was still technically true.  

“Why?”

“I was jealous of my brother.”

If Roman had only been born a half hour earlier he could have avoided a lifetime of being second best. He could have avoided his curse. Grown up with his Father instead of Julius. Not that he would wish any of that on Remus but. It was natural, surely, to be a little jealous of his brothers freedom.

“Good.”

Julius’ face smiled down at him. He reached out with the grey mans hands to stroke Romulus’ hair, like he sometimes did when he was a child. “You see Romulus, there is always a way to work within the confines of your curse, so long as you are willing to look for it. I taught you that.”

“Where are you?” Romulus whispered.

“I am waiting for you.” he smiled. “I have no sons Romulus, no one to pass the Stewardship to. And we must think about the future of our kingdom. When you are back, we can write a new story.”

“You…you’re ruler?”

Romulus frowned. There was a missing piece here but he couldn’t find it. The heat and pain were making his brain slosh against the inside of his skull. He found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, even as revulsion rippled through him. “If you’re ruler then where’s –“

“Where’s the serpent?”

Roman blinked. Looking up, he found that Julius was gone again, the grey mans expressionless face staring back at him.

“What?”

“The serpent. Where is he?”

“I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.” Romulus held his injured arm close to his chest, curling over it protectively.

He heard the disappointed sigh and flinched even before the grey man brought his other hand to Romans’ bruised shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Look at me.”

Romulus did, eyes bright.

“I know he has left his prison. I know he was with you at that inn. I sent that stupid boy to get him and he found you.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Romulus wailed, hating the childish wobble in his voice. “There wasn’t anyone else at the inn.”

“No?”

Julius eyes were peering out of the grey man again, a cruel glint to them. ”You were alone?”

“Yes.” Roman told him. Voice steady.

He’d entered the inn alone. He���d sat in the room alone. Climbed out of the window alone. Anything else was none of Julius’ business.

Before the grey man could speak again, a clatter from the next room made them both jump.

“Hmph. He’s early.” the grey man murmured.  “Get back to your place.” He gestured to the pipe Roman had originally been tied to and, haltingly, Roman crawled towards it, sprawling at the base.

“If The Marquis asks, tell him nothing about your injuries.” the grey man added lazily, taking up his position in the centre of the room, fading back into the background.

Roman grunted. It wasn’t a bad plan: his most visible injuries – the burns on his hand which he couldn’t stand to look at – could be explained away as being caused by the very pipe Lucius had tied him to. As usual, nothing could ever be pinned on Julius.

They waited. But neither the Marquis or his men appeared.

The grey man stood across from him, gazing out into the darkness of the next room. Roman wasn’t even worth looking at.

He slumped further against the pipe and tried to focus on breathing. There wasn’t a single place on his body that didn’t hurt, though the worst by far was his hand. He shivered from cold, which, given the heat of the room, couldn’t be a good sign. He let his eyes slip closed. Exhaustion threatening to take him again.

And then he felt a soft pressure on his lap.

“Mrrp.”

Roman opened his eyes. Then he closed them again.

He opened one eye. It was still there.

“Mister Mittens?” he asked, slightly hysterically.

Romulus and Remus had grown up with dogs. He wasn’t sure if cats were supposed to be able to feel smugness, but this once clearly did. It butted it’s head against Roman’s chin with another self-satisfied “Mrrp.”

“What?“ The grey man was staring at the pair of them, looking as confused as his expressionless face could manage. “Where did that thing come from?”

Roman was saved from having to answer by a crossbow bolt. One that came through the open door, burying itself in the grey man’s skull.

Chapter 7

Extra warnings

Consent stuff – Roman relives a memory of being sexually assaulted (he doesn’t necessarily think of it in those terms). A drunk man kisses him and pushes him against a wall. The man tells Roman to ‘kiss me’ without knowing anything about Romans curse. They are interrupted before it goes beyond kissing. (whether anything else would have happened, or whether the man would have stopped if he had known about the curse, is not shown in the text). It is implied that this sort of situation has happened to Roman before, and that it has gone further, but this is not explicit.

Violence stuff – Roman is tortured in this chapter. This includes cutting, burning and beating with a stick. The majority of this is not described in explicit detail but it’s certainly going on. Due to the nature of his curse, most of this takes place due to another character ordering him to hurt himself. Roman briefly contemplates burning his own eyes (for ‘trying to get around my curse’ reasons rather than ‘self harm’ reasons) . Someone also gets shot in the head with a crossbow. Roman also spends most of this chapter dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke .

I’m not totally sure what this falls under but its grim stuff – a character from romans past spends a lot of this chapter tyring to gas light him/ manipulate him into believing a set of false memories. Roman retains his correct memories but gets hurt a lot in the process. Meeting said character causes Roman to dissociate (I think this is the correct term but please correct me if I’m wrong), he continuously switches between his name and his childhood name during the chapter and at some points reacts as if he was a child.

[systlinsideblog]

Part 8

The mansion of Saphrar of Turia was, in fact, very beautiful. It was also built like a fortress; the merchant was, it seemed, very paranoid in addition to being very rich. Quietly, Systlin approved, but right now it was an annoyance.

“We think we’ve picked off most of his archers,” one of the women said as Systlin arrived. Systlin looked the compound over, narrow eyed. There were bodies draped over a few of the crenelations around the enclosing wall, arrows sticking from them. “But we’ve not siege equipment strong enough to break open the gates.”

“Of course.” Systlin cracked her knuckles and rolled her neck again; fighting for the day, then, was not quite through. She eyed the gates; they were smaller, of course, than the gates of the city.

For good measure, she took out the whole front wall. A few hidden archers did fall screaming with the dust and gravel of the broken wall. As the dust cleared, she spotted the front door of the mansion proper and Broke that as well. A group of horrified mercenaries in the front garden watched the wall crumble, and then quite meekly laid their weapons down and knelt, raising their hands in surrender.

“Finally.” Systlin said. “Some people with a little sense. Bind them, and take them to the Ubara’s mansion.” A pause. “And after this, someone ought to show me to the Ubara’s mansion. I could use a bath, I think.”

That drew a laugh from the warriors around her. She drew her weapons, and led the women into the house.

They were met by some delighted slave girls; when they spotted Systlin they cried out in joy, and one rushed forward and took her by the hand.

“This way!” She tugged. “This way, Mistress! Our master is hiding, but I know where he is!”

Systlin followed. Followed through a hall, down some stairs, down more, her warriors close behind. House slaves parted before them, and some women peeled off to remove their collars and chains. A delighted murmur followed them down to the cellars.

They found Saphrar of Turia hiding in a hidden cubbyhole under a flagstone that moved on a cunning little mechanism. He cringed when Systlin pulled it open; she made a disgusted noised, bent down, grabbed him by the collar of his robe, and hauled him out through mean strength.

“And how well did that work for you?” She said shortly. “Hiding like a rat, behind hired swords?”

Even as she spoke, he twisted, and snapped. Even as she pulled away, his teeth sank into the back of her wrist. She buried her knee in his gut and he let loose, wheezing, but grinning through a mouthful of her blood.

“Well!” He croaked. “Quite well! Because where all of the warriors of the city failed, where the Wagon people failed, I’ve succeeded! Enjoy, she-sleen!”

“Fuck.” Systlin muttered. “Shit.” She slammed an arm out even as her warriors lunged forward. “ALIVE. Keep him alive.”

“So I can give you the antidote?” Saphrar crowed, gleeful. He had, Systlin saw, two false teeth shaped like fangs, gleaming gold. “I won’t! You can torture and kill me, I won’t!”

Systlin licked the blood welling from the marks his hidden fangs had left. There, a bitter note. She rolled it over her tongue as she’d been taught in the Iron Mountain so long ago, opening her mouth slightly to smell as well. Faint subtle scents and tastes, the combinations of them…

“Fuck,” she said again, picking notes out.

“Ubara!” Her warriors had Saphrar by the throat, and Dina was clutching at Systlin’s arm, frantic. “Osk venom! Some merchants use it, fangs like that are popular…a physician! Get a physician! Get the Ubar!

Several women left at a dead sprint.

Systlin gently but insistently shook Dina’s hand off, and she went for her belt pouch. Saphrar was still cackling, even through the arm around his neck.

“Fifteen thousand of the warrior caste, dead!” He said, gleeful. “A whole High Caste gone, failed, and a lowly merchant kills the beast!” He dissolved into more laughter.

“Ubara! If it spreads…”

“It already is.” She could feel the pain beginning as she fished a tiny packet, neatly wrapped in waxed rag paper and tied with thread, out of her pouch. She carefully undid the thread, and opened it to reveal a white powder. She licked the tip of a finger, dipped it into the powder, and then licked the powder off and made a terrible face as she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth; the stuff was terribly bitter as it dissolved through the thin tissues of the mouth. She re-wrapped the powder, and handed the packet to Dina.

“Ubara?” Dina’s voice was near panic.

“That packet,” Systlin said, deliberately calm. “Is my life, Dina. Give it to no one else. Do you understand? No one. This is my life, in this packet, and I’m trusting it to you.”

“I…” A hard swallow. “Yes, Ubara, but…”

“I am a Queen…you call it Ubara here, but I am a Queen on my own world as well, and have enemies. I trained with assassins before that. Listen, no, listen. In the Iron Mountain I have trained to tolerate many poisons and venoms better than most, and that should help, but I am going to be very sick very shortly. I know, I think, what this Osk venom is, or at least what makes it deadly. That,” a nod at the packet, “will counteract the effects enough to keep me alive while it runs its course. I will not be able to give it to myself. If my breathing looks like it is near stopping, give me as much as I just took, no more. What will stick to a single wetted fingertip. Too much will kill me. I do not need to swallow. Place it under my tongue, rub it on my gums, inside my nose. Do you understand?”

Dina was white. All her women were white. But Dina nodded, once, her lips thin and trembling and terror written all over her face.

“Good.” Systlin took a deep breath; sure enough, it was more difficult than it had been minutes ago. “And keep him alive.” She nodded at Saphrar. “I want to see his face when I don’t die.” A beat. “If I do die, give him to Foicatch.”

“Ubara.” Dina’s voice was thin. “Yes.”

“Good.” Systlin said, and then swayed, and quickly sat heavily down on a crate. She could feel the cold sweat breaking out; she doubted that most of her warrior women had seen her sweat before. She was, after all, a fire witch, and the hottest of days was no bother to her.

It was good, though. The symptoms were telling her that she’d been right, and even as her breathing grew more labored she felt the tingling rush of the compounds distilled into the rescue powder hit. Breathing eased slightly. The dizziness did not. There was a roaring in her ears, and vision blurred. She pitched to the side, and hands caught her.

The room swam. Things were happening around her very rapidly; she could hear them, but picking out meaning would have taken too much concentration. Her fingers were tingling, and her wrist was burning. Her breaths came hard and labored, but she kept breathing.

A familiar face, a familiar voice. Foicatch, sounding near panic. She tried to raise a hand to his face, but her limbs weren’t responding. She was lifted onto something…a stretcher?...and moved.

Time passing. Movement; she was being carried somewhere. Nausea, and her vision was just a blur of colors. Movement stopped; she was laid on something soft. Time passing. Hands on her, a prick of pain in her arm, more time passing. Her breaths started to rasp and struggle, and she wondered…but there! The bitterness of the rescue powder in her mouth, and soon breathing eased again. Not by too much, but enough for her to keep forcing air in and out. People speaking, hurried and frantic. Someone else, calmer. She felt hands easing away armor and boots and weapons. She wanted to protest, but hadn’t the strength.

A warm, wet cloth. Someone was cleaning away mud and blood. She knew the hands. Foicatch. Someone else. A woman? Of course a woman…

Sura hadn’t wanted her to go to the Iron Mountain. Systlin, with her father’s murder hanging before her eyes, had disregarded Sura’s advice for the first time, and gone anyway. The Master of Knives had welcomed her, tried to bend her to his will like he’d bent others. His gift for pushing at minds was rare, and terrible, as terrible as Breaking in its own way. She’d managed to shunt aside his power with her own, undoing it before it could bend her to him. She’d pretended that it had taken, and he’d set her to train.

What a prize, she’d heard him say once. A Breaker, at my feet. What a Hand I shall make of you. The world will tremble.

She remembered his blood on her hands, after she’d slit his throat at last. You took the contract for my father, she’d told him, as he bled out on the floor. You sent your Hand. That’s why I came, to kill his killers…

The bitterness of rescue powder in her mouth, again. Her face was numb, and her hands still tingled. Her head was pounding like a drum.

Snake venom in vials, lined up. Tasting each, carefully, picking out what snake it was from by taste and scent alone and reciting how it killed. She’d drunk snake wine before, but tasting the pure venom was another thing entirely…

Bitterness in her mouth. Voices. Her hand was in someone else’s; she would have known Foicatch if she were dead. His voice, worried. She was lying on something soft.

She’d been good at it, though. It had interested her. She’d memorized them, and the plant poisons, and the mineral. She’d memorized which of the little packets they all carried for emergencies could help the body fight each…

Bitter in her mouth. She blinked, slow, and thought that things might be a little more in focus. Her breaths were still coming harsh and difficult, but she tried to move her hands and her fingers twitched. She would have smiled, were her face not still numb.

The weeks of terrible sickness, as each of the poisons was administered in turn, in gradually increasing doses. They each were expected to endure a lethal dose of each poison in time. She’d passed that test, as the others, but she remembered little of it. Just pain, sickness, heaving though her stomach was empty. A headache like her head was pressed in a vice, that had lasted days.

Bitter in her mouth. She could feel her hands again, and this time another dose didn’t come, because her breath, instead of stuttering and slowing, came stronger. Her vision cleared, slowly, and her headache receded. She lay there, eyes closed, concentrating on her breath, until at last she did not have to fight for it any longer. It took what felt like hours.

She opened her eyes.

She was in an enormous bedroom, on a bed. She was nearly naked under the blankets, save for a light wrap robe someone had found. She was clean. Her hair had been combed and washed and re-braided. Ice and her knife and her armor sat next to her; they’d been cleaned as well.

Foicatch was sitting next to her, slumped back in exhaustion in a chair. He’d at least consented to remove his armor; he was wearing a long tunic that was too tight across his shoulders, and had at least scrubbed a wet cloth over his body and through his hair. Dina sat on the floor before the fire, distractedly cleaning her already spotless knife. As Systlin moved, Foicatch’s eyes shot open, and he sat up. The relief in his eyes was almost painful.

“Thank the Lady’s mercy.” He said, quietly and with feeling, and kissed the back of her hand. “You scared me.”

“When we see Sura next,” Systlin said, her voice still raspy from a dry throat. “I’m going to tell her that I was right about going through the training and not just dragging the whole bloody mountain down on his head. How long…”

A watery sort of chuckle. “Oh, she’ll hate it. Two days. Rumors are running wild, but everything’s under control.”

Dina approached warily, and very carefully set the tightly wrapped packet of powder on the bed beside her.

“She wouldn’t give it up even to me.” Foicatch said.

“She was right not to. If you gave me a dose the size of your fingertip, it would have been enough to kill me. Dina’s got smaller hands.” She hauled herself up into a sitting position. Her wrist still hurt, and was still red and swollen, but the worst of it was past.

“You told me it was your life.” Dina whispered.

“It was.” Systlin took it carefully, and set it on top of her neatly piled gear. “I owe you my life, Dina of Turia. If there is anything in my power to give, it’s yours.”

Dina trembled a little, and Systlin realized that she was crying silently. She realized suddenly what it must have been for Dina, for all of her people here, to see her fall. To see hope itself lying like death on a bed, struggling for each breath. To feel the prospect of chains looming again…

No. She’d taught them enough. Even without her now, she did not think any of the slaves she’d freed would ever be forced into them again. She’d started enough; it might take long, without her, but she’d planted the seeds. She saw suddenly, in a dizzying rush, warriors from the plains spreading out, bringing low the fighting men and freeing the slaves from one city-state after another, a steady march clear across Gor, and all done through sweat and courage and blood alone.

Centuries, it might take. But it would have happened, even had she died in this bed.

Though, as she thought on it, she wondered what would happen, should her body expire. And then she realized, quite suddenly, that she’d thought of them as her people.

You already know the answer there, sister. The whisper in her mind was familiar by now. You cannot kill a goddess of death with poison.

“Ubara sana,” Dina said quietly. “There is nothing I would ask that you have not already given me. You owe me nothing; you already gave me back my life.”

“The offer stands.” Systlin said. “If ever there is something in my power to give you, say the word and it is yours.”

Dina gave her a look that was half frightened, half wondering, and quite suddenly she leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth. Systlin froze in surprise, and Dina pulled back as if burned, nearly cringing in a way she’d not done in more than a year.

“I’m sorry!” She gasped, and there were more tears streaming down her face now. Systlin stared, almost bemused; that she hadn’t seen it before was astounding, really. “I’m sorry! Ubar…”

Foicatch was also staring in a rather bemused way. “Well,” he said. “It’s not like I can fault you in your tastes.”

“Dina?” Systlin’s throat was as dry as sand already, and still sore, and it sounded like a croak more than a voice. “I…sorry, water…”

Foicatch picked a cup up from the table beside the bed. A gesture, and water appeared as he pulled moisture out of the air. It trickled into the cup, and she drank greedily.

“You should have said something.” She said at last, handing the wooden cup back. Foicatch filled it again.

Dina was still looking faintly terrified, as if she’d overstepped somehow. “I…but…” she gestured weakly at Foicatch.

“You’d not be the first woman in her bed.” Foicatch shrugged, handing the cup back to Systlin and watching as she drained it as well. “I’ve had other men and women in mine as well.”

“He’s terrible taste in men.” Systlin narrowed her eyes. “Downright awful. That miserable little Cabot man? Really?”

“He’s attractive. And it’s been amusing to watch him panic over things.” He filled the cup a third time. “Sucks a mean cock, once he finally works past all the nonsense about shame and his manliness, but then goes maudlin and sulks for a week. Still, a fun enough diversion.”

“Sounds dreadful. This is what I mean. Awful taste in men.”

“I don’t…” Dina looked slightly faint. “I don’t understand.”

Foicatch shrugged. “Few people do, to be fair.”

“What it means, is that this,” Systlin caught Dina’s hand and pulled her back. She watched the other woman’s lovely face slowly go from confusion to hope to disbelief as she kissed the inside of one of Dina’s wrists. “Will not anger him. The fact that he takes other lovers now and then does not anger me. Though,” She sat up too fast, and her head was spinning again. She grimaced and lay back again. “It may have to wait.”

“Ubara sana,” Dina said, even more faintly. “I think that I can wait.”

“Good.” Systlin took a breath, and hauled herself upright again. Her head spun still; she gritted her teeth and rode it out, and the lingering nausea. “For now, I need clothes.”

“Ubara!”

“I need to be seen.” Systlin said simply, and got her feet under her. Foicatch offered an arm; she leaned on it. “I’m all right, Dina. I’m a tough bitch to kill.”

“I…”

The door opened then, and a woman in green robes swept in. She had olive skin and very black hair, braided and pinned up in a coil on top of her head. She carried a case, and when she saw Systlin on her feet her face lightened from its cool professionalism.

“Oh, excellent.” She said. “You’re back with us.”

“This is Zephra.” Foicatch said. “A physician. She’s been checking on you. Dina?”

“Of course.” Dina hurried out.

“You really shouldn’t be on your feet.” The woman said, severely. Systlin was reminded instantly of Myssa, the royal True Healer and Physik. “Though I suppose you must be seen as soon as possible. Sit for a moment.”

Systlin did. It never did any good to argue with physicians or healers. Zephra laid a hand on her forehead, checked her pulse, listened to her breathing, and at last made a sound of approval. She drew a stylus and pad out of her bag, and began making notes.

“You’ll live.” She said. “That powder of yours is ingenious; I managed to get a tiny bit from your devoted guard to analyze. It is, in truth, very similar to what I would have given you, and I did not wish to cause an interaction with what you had already taken, so I thought it best to leave your girl to it. If it had truly come to it, I did have an apparatus ready to breathe for you.” She nodded to the corner; Systlin looked, and saw a great cylinder of glass and copper and leather. “But you did not react so strongly to the Osk venom as most would. I am glad to see you recovering.” She examined Systlin thoughtfully, tapping the stylus against her lips. “You’ve survived other things that you should not have, judging from your scars.”

Systlin touched the scar under her right breast with a wince. A spear had transfixed her there once, long ago, piercing clean through. “True enough.”

“The physicians of your world are skilled indeed, if they can mend such injuries.” Zephra said bluntly. “I could not do it. Neither could a doctor of Earth.”

“True-healers.” Foicatch said. “They can repair flesh with a touch, as I can command water and Systlin can command fire and Break.”

Zephra’s eyebrows rose. “That,” she said softly. “Would be a gift worth having.”

“It’s rare. Those who have it are held in high regard.”

“I was lucky.” Systlin touched the scar again. “It was a spear. I should have died there, but there was a True-Healer nearby. I got very lucky.”

Foicatch’s hand tightened on her shoulder for a moment.

“Well.” Zephra hummed quietly. “I suspect that this will only add to the growing legends that are being spread around. Before you arrived at the city, we had heard that you were a terrible spirit who ate the flesh of men.” A spark of humor in her dark eyes.

Systlin made a face. “Only half true.”

A laugh. “I have never seen,” she said. “Men so frightened as they are now. Not all of them, of course; there are good ones to be found.” She tapped her stylus against her lips again. “It does my heart good.” The smile turned bitter. “If you’ll have my service, Ubara, I would give it, wherever you go.”

Foicatch and Systlin both looked at her oddly.

“Ah, yes. You likely do not know…I am a free woman, of a high caste. I was able to study, and am able to ply my trade. Most free women are not allowed such, did you know? A free woman of the metalworker caste does not work at the forge; a woman of the scribe caste may be illiterate.” The smile grew more bitter still. “Our options are to inherit wealth to live well, or to Companion a man of means and bear his children. I was lucky, Ubara Sana, in that I showed aptitude as a physician and was accepted into the caste. Even still, I was not allowed to do the work I studied and trained for. Not until I had Companioned a man of the physician caste and borne him two children.”

Systlin stared. Foicatch said, flatly, “What.”

“My daughters,” Zaphra continued, “Are dear to me. But I did not renew my Companionship with their father, and had I a choice I would not have taken their father to bed or borne them. I wished only to work as I had trained to do. I am what is called ‘frigid’ by the men of Gor; I have never felt desire for anyone. Unlike what many suppose, this is not an affliction. Many people are born thus, and forced to conceal it. My male colleagues scoff at the idea, and insist that it is an aberration that could be remedied by a proper man, and perhaps some slave chains.” She put her stylus and pad away, businesslike. “As if the only ones born thus are women. Free women of Gor are not free, not truly, even if a collar is never set on us. I think that with you that may change, and my daughters may taste freedom in truth. It is at the least a better chance than any we’ve had before.”

“Ah.” Systlin tested her balance again; it was better. She gently eased off of leaning on Foicatch, even as Dina reappeared with robes. “I see.”

“I thought you might, given what I had heard of you from your women.”

“If you wish it, I accept your offer.” Systlin let Dina help her shrug into the robes. The other woman also wrapped Systlin’s braid around her head like a crown and deftly pinned it into place.

“I am honored, Ubara sana.” Zaphra inclined her head.

“Right.” Systlin took up her sword belt, and buckled it into place over her silken robes. “Dina, where are the warriors?”

“Many are in the camp. More have taken over the guard houses. Many have bedded down on the lower floors of this mansion.” Dina looked at her. “They’re taking turns here, because not all of us could fit in the Ubara’s mansion. Your honor guard stays, of course, but the rest have set up rotating shifts, so that they could all guard you for a time.”

Systlin blinked, and felt her throat tighten and heat in her eyes. “Have they.”

“I’ve told you many times.” Foicatch said, softly. “You’ve never had any idea what it’s like, from the outside.”

“You are the Whip-Burner.” Dina said, as if it were simple and obvious. “The Chain-Striker. They’ve been burning slave couches in bonfires for two days, in your name. The courts have already been set up, and the judging has already begun. Those sentenced to die are being burnt on the couches they chained us to.”

Systlin closed her eyes, and that other power she did not like to think of or acknowledge stirred. And for a moment she could taste it on the air, like honeyed wine. Justice.

For a moment, just a moment, she could feel rather than hear twenty thousand mentions of her name, and it ran through her like ice and fire at once.

“Good.” She managed. “Well done.”

“The next time you wonder why any of us,” Systlin knew Foicatch was not talking about the people of Gor, but of their true home. “Are willing to follow you to the death, I’m reminding you of this.”

“Smug prick,” she muttered, because the last time she’d said that aloud and he’d looked at her funny and told her that she’d earned it, she’d laughed.

“Yes.” He agreed easily. “Now, here.”

He opened the drawer on the bedside table, and drew out a golden hairpin. At the top glimmered a red stone. Systlin took it, and looked; it was a star ruby, larger than her thumbnail. She looked up at him, stunned, and he smiled.

“There’s a great deal of wealth in the vaults of the Ubara of Turia.” He said. “Aside from that in the chests of the Ubara Sana of the plains. I set a few people to combing through with orders as to what to find.”

He took it back and slid it into place in her hair, so that the ruby gleamed just above the center of her forehead. “It might not be the Fallen’s Blood, but I thought it fitting.”

“I take it back. You’re not a prick.”

“Still smug?”

“Yes, but I like that about you.” She touched the stone to make sure it was secure. “Come now. People need to know I’m not dead.”

[yourfangirlfriend]

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Five

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

A/N: some period-appropriate shittiness. Come get your angst, babies. 

It’s not serious.

But it is different.

It started the Tuesday after your drunk weekend when you walked down the stairs and saw him waiting in his car. When you went up to give him a wave, he reached over and opened the door.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “It’s on the way.”

You almost brought up the fact that no, it was not – you had been to the embassy a few times, and it was in a completely different neighborhood than your school.

Yet, you sat down and pulled the seatbelt over you anyway.

“Can I turn the siren on?” you asked.

He shot you a look before pulling out into the street.

So, he started driving you to work. So what. Friends carpool.

And maybe you started seeing him more after work. Maybe your smoke sessions got longer, the two of you sitting outside until the sun started to really go down and he would ask if you wanted a drink or you’d ask if he had eaten dinner. Maybe it became a thing, having dinner together. It was only a few times a week though. You took turns cooking. Friends do that.  

Maybe he introduced you to his partner and your upstairs neighbor one morning, when you came down to the car and saw some blonde guy – Steve, he’d tell you - in your usual seat. Maybe Javier told him to get out and sit in the back, despite your protests that you didn’t care. Maybe you noticed the look he gave his friend after he dropped you off, once he thought you weren’t looking, as he annoyedly climbed back into shotgun. Maybe it made you blush.

And maybe, maybe, you were in his bed more. Not a ton, but more. But more. And sober. Maybe you were both just really good at fucking each other in particular, and you were just conveniently close and willing. Maybe that’s why his usually high number of female guests had dwindled. Maybe he moved his headboard away from the wall because he just felt like it, not because he was trying to be stealthier about his indiscretions. Maybe he only looked kind of guilty when you inevitably gave him shit about it during your morning commute because he finally found a conscience, the same way his hand kept finding your knee during the drives.

You still didn’t stay over, not since you had both passed out together from pills. He never asked you to again, and you never presumed. So after- even if it was midnight, three AM, 5 AM – you went back to your place. But you still knocked on the shared bedroom wall when you got back– three times, like you had joked, to let him know you were safe. And he’d yell back “Thanks”. Maybe you can’t fall asleep until you had hear him say that.

So, no.

Not serious.

But different.  

“Bullshit.” Lisa spits.

You make a face at her before taking a sip of your beer. Beside you, Maritza giggles into her hand.

The bar you’ve all met up in is crowded, and it’s hard to hear over the buzz of talk and music. Well, it would be. If it wasn’t Lisa you were talking to.

“We’re just friends,” you say. Lisa shakes her head.

“Nope. Nope. We,” she gestures around the table. “are friends. You and he are not.”

“So we’re friends who fuck-”

“Just like me and Frankie were,” Alessa cuts in before taking a sip of her own drink. You wave her off.

“You and Frankie are different-”

“Yeah, they quit playing this bullshit denial game after two weeks,” Lisa says.

“I’m not in denial. I’m being realistic.”

“Whatever, girl,” Lisa says, shaking her head and reaching forward for her beer. Then, deciding she isn’t done after all, she leans onto the table, pointing at you. “You look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care he’s still fucking other girls.”

You straighten your back and bulge your eyes open, holding her gaze. “I don’t care that he’s fucking other girls.”

Lisa nods. “You’re a shit liar.”

You let out an exasperated gasp. You turn to Maritza for back up, but she holds up her hands.

“I don’t care that he’s fucking other girls!” you practically shout.

“Even if it’s in front of you?” Alessa asks, her attention somewhere over your shoulder.

“What?”

She nods in the direction of where she’s looking. You twist in your seat to follow and see what she means: Javier’s there, in another fucking button-up, and that jacket you like, his back against the bar as he gives a smarmy smile to some hot, young girl practically pressing herself against him. He says something and she laughs, throwing her head back in an exaggerated gesture, a clear sign that she is down to fuck – probably against the bar if he’d take her.

“You care,” Lisa says from behind you. You spin back around to face her.

“What?”

“God, it’s painful at this point.” She finishes her beer and puts it down on the table. “Whose round?”

“Mine,” you lie, standing up. Maritza holds up her still full drink.

“I’m not –”

“You will be.” You say, pulling your purse off the chair. You turn back and see Lisa fixing you with a devilish smile, as Alessa politely looks away.

“I don’t care,” you reiterate.

“Mmmhmm.” Lisa says.

“I don’t. In fact,” you look around, desperately. Your eyes fall on an alright-looking guy standing at the bar. His facial hair is atrocious, and it looks like he hasn’t updated his closet in twenty years- not that that timely a fashion sense matters, considering you’ve been fucking Burt Reynold’s younger, Latino brother for the past few months. You point to him. “I’m going to fuck him tonight.”

“Him?” Maritza’s face contorts.

“She’s not going to do it,” Lisa assures her. “She’s just trying to make him jealous. I doubt she’s even coming back to the table.”

“I-”

“I get it. He’s hot.” She looks back at Javier. You try to think of something scathing to say in return, but your words fail you. Lisa notices, and she smiles that cocky smile again.

“I’ll be right back,” you huff, turning and walking pointedly towards your mark. You slow down, afraid you’re coming in too hot, and stroll up beside him.

“Excuse me,” you smile at him. He turns and considers you. God, he really is a picture of the early 1970s. His hair is down to his shoulders, brushing against the too open collar. A gold chain tangles in his showy chest hair, and you wonder if it’s too late to pick someone else. You turn and see Lisa, Alessa, and Maritza watching you. Alessa and Maritza snap their attention elsewhere, but Lisa smiles and holds up her beer – cheers.

“Excuse me,” he says. You smile and lean over the bar, sticking your ass out just a bit. You try to keep your dinner down when you feel his eyes graze over it, thinking you’re oblivious as you try and get the bartender’s attention. The poor woman is overwhelmed and doesn’t see you, too busy clearing the opposite end. Before you can help yourself, you look over to where Javier is still stood at the bar. As if sensing you, his eyes flick up and meet yours.

You give him a small wave before turning your attention back to your companion, whose eyes are still glued to your ass.

You clear your throat.

His eyes snap back up to you and he gives you a smile, and it takes everything not to grimace at the state of his teeth.

“Come here often?” you ask.

He says something in response, but you’re distracted as Javier’s conquests waltzes by you, headed for the ladies room. He keeps blathering, tells you his name, where he’s from, but you’re too focused on watching as she disappears into the crowd. You wonder if Javier’s just waiting the extra five minutes before following her in as to ward off any suspicion that he’s definitely following her in to fuck her in a toilet when you feel a familiar hand on your ass.

“Sorry I’m late, baby,” you turn just in time for Javier to peck you on the lips. Beside you, your new friend’s face falls, and even though it's loud, you’re pretty sure you hear the girls at the table let out a small shriek at the turn of events. “Work was busy,” he lifts his arm and drapes it across your shoulders before nodding to the man in front of you. “Who’s this?”

“This is…uh…” you turn back and scan the man’s face for any kind of clue. He looks between you and Javier before deciding it’s his turn to speak.

“Miguel,” he answers.

“Miguel,” Javier echoes. He brings his whiskey up to his lips. “Thanks for keeping her company til I got here.”

Miguel looks back to you, waiting for an explanation, but you are completely speechless at the turn of events. Your mouth is even open, a little. A tense moment passes, and Javier’s grip on you tightens. When you don’t move to push him off, Miguel shakes his head and pushes up and off the bar, walking away. Javier settles into his place and fixes you with a smug smile before taking another sip.

“What the fuck was that?” you ask.

“Could ask you the same,” he counters. He looks you up and down. “You look nice.”

“You can’t just do that-“

“You should be thanking me,” he says. “I did you a favor.”

“Fuck you, Javier.” you snap, turning to lean on your elbows against the bar. He smiles, finishing his drink and placing it beside you as he matches your stance. You pointedly look away from him, trying to get the bartender’s attention.

“You do look nice,” he says again. You sigh and turn back towards him.

“Thanks.” You say.

He smiles and glances you up and down again. He’s about to say something when a chipper voice cuts through the noise.

“Heyyyy,” the woman from before comes up, running his hands up his back. She’s young and beautiful and wears a dress that, if you weren’t pissed off at him (if you didn’t hate her), you’d want in your closet.  

“Hey,” he turns and wraps an arm around her waist as she stands on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss on his cheek. You look up at the ceiling, trying to avoid the scene in front of you before you reach forward and grab a fistful of her aggravatingly beautiful long hair. She pulls away, a lipstick mark still on his cheek. Her smile dies, though, upon seeing you.

“Who’s this?” she wraps her arms around his arm, possessively. It makes you want to laugh.

I’m the woman he had bent over his kitchen table last night.

“My neighbor,” he says, not missing a beat.

“Oh,” she says, sizing you up. Your fist clenches beside you.

Pint-sized puta.

She turns back to Javier and pulls on his arm.

“You ready to go?” she moans.

“Just about,” he says. “Let me use the restroom, then we can go.”

“Hurry,” she smiles at him as she finally releases him from her hold. He leaves, making his way through the crowd and leaving you two alone.

She has no interest in talking to you, and you know that, but out of politeness, she turns to you with that sickly, fake kindness all mean girls possess.

“So, Javier’s neighbor?”

“…yeah,” you say, your eyes dropping from his back to her. “Next door.”

“That’s cool.” She looks over her shoulder, hoping he’d changed his mind. When he doesn’t appear, she turns back to you. “You know Javier long?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod.

“He’s great, isn’t he?”

“Oh, absolutely.” You say. “and…brave.”

She flashes you a smile. “I know.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, I mean, most guys wouldn’t be out, trying to meet people...after a diagnosis like that.”

A flicker of concern crosses her stupid, pretty pageant-ready smile.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “you know when he first got the results back, it was rough. Had him on my couch for a while, just” you bring your hand to your eyes as if to emphasize the sheer volume “bawling his eyes out. I was finally like ‘Javier, it’s not the end of the world. This isn’t America, you can get AZT so cheaply’,”

Her smile falls.

“Besides,” you shake your head. “Condoms, exist, you know? And people are really understanding if they’re decent. Like you!” you smile at her. “I told him it was just a matter of finding the right girl.”

Just before she can say anything, the bartender finally appears in front of you. Cheerfully, you rattle off your order, trying not to enjoy the smaller woman’s stunned silence beside you. When you finish and turn back, she’s staring at the floor as Javier makes his way back to you.

“Hey,” he drops his hand down her back, causing her to jump. You, in turn, give him a bright smile.

“Hey,” you say. He gives you a look but keeps his smile up. He turns back to the girl. “You ready?”

“I…yeah,” she says, pushing up from the bar. She strides forward, leaving the two of you behind.

“So nice to meet you!” you call after her. You turn back to Javier, a smug smile on your face. His face is blank, those stupid puppy dog eyes bigger under the low light.

“Your date’s getting away,” you nudge him. He looks at you and you think he’s about to say something, but pushes off the bar instead, trotting after her. Moments later, the bartender reappears with your drinks.

“What was that?” Lisa asks when you deposit the drinks on your table. True to your prediction, Maritza has long finished hers and eagerly reaches out for her second.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shake your head, taking a seat. You reach forward and take the shot you ordered before slamming it back down on the table. You let out a satisfied ahhh. “You guys want to dance?”

When you stumble in front of your door a few hours later, you don’t even look up from your keys when you hear his door open and he steps out, arms crossed and looking like such a cop.

“You think you’re clever, huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you look up. You nod to his open door. “How’s your girl?”

“I wouldn’t know. The second we got out of the bar she told me she had to go home,” he takes a step forward until he’s leaning against the wall. You unlock the door and stand back up straight.

“Aw, that’s a shame.” You pout.

“Uh-huh. What did you tell her?” He asks.

You bat your eyelashes. “What makes you think I told her anything?”

“Cut the bullshit. One second she’s trying to shove her hands down my pants at the bar, the next she’s getting in the first taxi that stops for her.” He purses his lips. “What did you say.”

You stand up straight, mimicking the statcure he had at the bar, his hand around your shoulder as he scared of Miguel. “ ‘I did you a favor' .”

“What?”

“Oh come on, you don’t want a girl like that, who runs off at the first sign of a health problem,”

“A health – what did you say?”

You shake your head. “I just told her it’s not a big deal, a lot of people have it, and the meds here are really cheap. Besides it’s not a death sentence, and only shitty conservatives who hate gay people-”

“Eloise- you didn’t.”

You take a step closer to him, looking up, daring him. “Are you mad? ‘Baby’?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, his nostrils flare as he frowns, letting out an exasperated huff. Before you can say anything else, he’s got his hand around your throat and his lips on yours. He’s pushing you back, through your door and slams it behind you as his hands continue to grab at you – your ass, your tits, anything. Determined, hard hands pull at the fly of your jeans, yanking them down and spinning you around to press you against your own door with a thud. Behind you, you hear the tinkle of his belt unbuckling and the shuffle off jeans against skin. As you turn to look, his hand grips the back of your head by the hair and turns you back forward forcefully. You let out a small laugh that soon turns into a moan when you feel him press against you. With a violent jerk of his hips, he’s inside of you, pressing you up against the shitty cheap wood of your door. You let out a pathetic little gasp as he pulls out and slams into you again. A hand comes up and grip syour breast through the fabric as you hear him grunt as he pumps into you again, his other hand bringing a slap down on your ass. You pray that no one – oh god, especially not Steve, he seemed so nice – is outside in the lobby right now.

“You’re a fucking brat,” he says, and you feel him hit that sensitive place inside you that causes you to clench your thighs together.

“Fair’s fair, baby,” you squeak again as the head of him hits that spot again. You bring a fist down on the door when he grabs the flesh of your ass and begins to pound into you relentlessly, harder than the two of you ever have.

“Keep-” you breathe, pressing the side of your face into the cool wood.

“Yeah?” he asks, bringing his hips to slap against your ass again. You let out a little cry as he pulls out all the way and does it again, then again. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clench around him, earning a groan that falls from his lips. You smile despite yourself when he pulls your head back by your hair, biting your neck with his other hand wrapped around your throat.

“You gonna cum?” he asks.

“Mmmmmhmmmm,” you muster.

“Too bad,” he says, and then a second later he’s off you. Distressed, you turn around to see him tucking his erection, still wet from you, back into his pants.

“Wait- no!” you whine.

“Fair’s fair, baby.” He says, not without a smile. You shake your head.

“No- no that’s not-!” you huff. You try to think quickly, the best you can come up with is turning around and switch the deadbolt. You look back at him. He scoffs.

“You think that’s going to keep me here?”

You kick your jeans off from where they are around your ankles and pull your shirt up over your head. With a determined look, you march forward and pull at his button-up – his stupid fucking button-up – until the first two buttons fly off somewhere.

“Hey-!”

You grasp his chin and bring it down against your mouth, teeth clicking as you kiss him. The fire reignited, he spins you around, bending you over the arm of your couch. You push yourself up, sticking your ass out as he removes his shirt and pants quickly. A hand snakes up through your hair again, jerking slightly as he enters you again. You claw at the leather, as you feel your orgasm start to build again. You smile to yourself when you hear him grunt behind you. You clench yourself around him again, biting your lip when you hear him whine at the sensation.

“Fuck,” he says. He reaches forward and presses you down, face into the couch. He drops his hand down between your legs, circling you there until your thighs begin to shake.

“Ahh-!” you cry out, finally cumming around him. He follows moments later, falling on top of you with a final grunt. The two of you lie there for a moment, huffing from exertion. After about a minute, you push yourself up, urging him back. He pulls out of you and you disappear to the restroom, returning a few minutes later with your last cigarette and a blanket from your bed wrapped around your shoulders. You sit down next to him on the couch, your turn to hand him a lit cigarette. He takes it and leans back, taking a long drag as the two sit in content silence.

“What would you have said?” he asks suddenly. You turn.

“What?”

“If you thought I was sick but wanted to take you home,” he brings his cigarette to his lips again. Smiling, you move over and throw your leg over his lap, straddling him.

“Baby,” you say,  taking the cigarette from his mouth. He looks up at you expectantly as you bring it to your lips. “I would have asked what pharmacy you want me to pick your meds up from.”

—————

It’s a week later and late in the night when you hear the knock. You perk up from where you lay on your bed, reading some new, horrible paperback your mother had sent you the week earlier. Putting it to the side, you throw your legs out of bed and make for the hallway.

Your living room is dark, so you go to turn on a lamp on the end table when another knock comes, harder.

“I’m coming,” you call out. You flick the deadbolt and swing the door open to find Javi standing there.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. When he doesn’t answer, you reach forward and take his hand in yours, pulling him in. You close the door behind him before coming back around and cupping his face in your hand.

“Javier? What’s the matter? Is it Steve? Did something happen?”

For the first time, his eyes meet yours. They’re darker than you’ve ever seen them, shining like they’re threatening to overflow.

“You’re scaring me,” you say.

“There was an ambush tonight.” He says. He swallows. “A lot of guys…fuck,” he runs a hand through his hair. You squeeze the hand you’re holding. “It was information I got. Gave them. Turned out to be a setup. I sent them into a trap.” He pushes past you and sits on your couch.

You stand still, waiting for him to say something else. You have the empty, pitting feeling in your stomach, the kind that accompanies the feeling of something being so unbearable real. It’s the same feeling you got when you were pulled into the staff room months ago and informed of the fifth graders that had died in a bomb.

Helpless.

“I’d be with them- if I hadn’t-” he lets out a shaky sigh. “I should be with them. In a fucking body bag.” He brings a fist up to his mouth. “Fuck.”

You pad over, sitting beside him. You try to think of something to say, but nothing comes to mind. It’s not his fault? It’s going to be okay? Who actually wants to hear that, when they’re so low?

Why say anything?

Instead, you reach to the side table and pull two cigarettes from your pack. You hold them in your mouth, lighting them, before passing him one. He takes it without looking at you, and the two of you sit there in silence. Tentatively, you rest your hand on his leg, squeezing lightly as he stares ahead, lost in his own thoughts.

When he’s let his cigarette burn down to ash, you take it from his fingers and deposit the two butts in the ashtray. You walk to the door and make sure its locked before standing before him and holding your hand out. He looks up at you, his eyes still shining and wide, and takes it. You turn the lamp off and begin to lead him back to your bedroom, moving quietly in the dark. Once you’re in your room, you begin to unbutton his shirt for him slowly, as if he may fall apart beneath your fingers. Once its open, you shuffle it off his shoulders, drawing it down his arms. You fold it and put it on the dresser before dropping to your knees and unlacing his shoes. You tap his ankle, urging him to lift his foot so you can slip them both off. Standing up again, you begin to fuss with the buckle of his belt, then his zipper, before you’ve got his pants down and around his ankles. You stand straight back up and look him in the eye before you pull your sleep shirt over your head. He lets out a sigh when you reach down and take his hand, leading him to the bed.

He allows you to set him down and pull the covers over the two of you. Reaching to the table, you turn the lamp off before reaching out to him in the dark. You guide his head to your bare chest, pulling him onto you. He clutches at your skin, his breaths against you heavy and shaking. You run your fingernails through his hair before bending forward and pressing a long, soft kiss to his crown. In response, he squeezes you tighter, burying his face into your breasts, letting out a small sob. You hold him back just as fiercely, rubbing patterns on his back until he falls asleep.

When you wake, it's still dark. You stir before you feel a gentle hand on your cheek.

“Javi-?”

“Ssh,” he says. Soft lips press against yours. There’s no urgency behind the kiss, and you relax into it and its slowness. So softly, like he’s afraid he’s going to break you, he pulls you closer to him, hands running up and down the sides of your body like he’s trying to memorize each inch of skin. Your mouth opens, letting his tongue press into you as he comes to lay atop of you. Those soft hands are tugging at your underwear, urging them down. You raise your hips to help him, and the fabric ghosts down your legs before you’re completely bare beneath him. A hand urges your legs to open, and he settles between them. You bring your hands to the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair. You hold his gaze as he pushes into you, letting out a small sigh when he’s fully inside. As he begins to move his hips, he dips his mouth down and captures yours in a long kiss. When he breaks away, his grip on you tightens as you find his eyes again in what little light can make it into your room. You refuse to look away, like doing so would be tantamount to leaving him to deal with this on his own. Instead, you lift your legs and pull him closer, making his slow thrusts deeper.

It’s so slow. It’s so slow and soft and genuine and vulnerable it makes you want to cry. Instead, you bend forward and kiss him with the same gentleness, urging his mouth open. The two of you continue like this in almost silence, the only noises being the small breathy gasps exchanged. When it happens, you pull him closer as you let out a small whine as he sucks on your neck, following soon after.

The two of you lay there, breathing deeply, together. He stays inside of you, your sweaty bodies wrapped together in a tangle of limbs and warmth. He’s still holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you’re going to float away if he relaxes his grip even a bit. As if reassuring him, you bring your hand up to his back, dragging your fingertips up and down his spine as his breath evens out, and you feel him drop back into sleep, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling.

It’s…

It’s not…

You sigh and squeeze your eyes shut.

Under your fingertips, under the moonlight, you think his skin is the softest thing you’ve ever felt.

A/N: tell me your feelings 

[wherevermyway]

you taste flamin’ hot | hyunsung | smut

pairing: han jisung x hwang hyunjin rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: explicit sexual content, awkward sexual situations, alcohol, public sex, food kink, deradation, watersports, dacryphilia. word count: 6,346 also on AO3!

originally published: 12 october 2020

Hyunjin and Jisung have no idea why they're roommates, or even friends. They're the polar opposite of each other: Hyunjin was well-pampered and high class, his platinum blond hair always well maintained, he was always draped in nice, bright, tasteful designer clothing; Jisung, however, was the exact opposite. Jisung would buy the cheapest, darkest shade of boxed black hair dye and hastily slather his hair in it, missing big patches and splattering viscous ink everywhere. He only wore black, sometimes with red accents, and would cake on eyeliner like there was no tomorrow.

Hyunjin was neat, well kept and groomed, and was a picky eater. Jisung was a sloppy mess, and practically lived off of iced americanos and spicy Cheetos. Hyunjin was a quiet, reserved drunk. Jisung was a sloppy, flirty drunk.

When they get drunk at a party one night, they finally realize that they were friends for one glaringly obvious reason: they were both incredibly sexually compatible, and Hyunjin finally had a good excuse to get messy.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

Crunching. That was the only thing that Hyunjin could hear as the younger man in his lap snacked on those toxic waste-like Cheetos that Jisung loved so much. They smelled briny and, not surprisingly, like they were laden with salt. Hyunjin could never understand why Jisung liked those stupid, messy, disgusting snacks so much. There was no nutritional value to them, they were overpowering, and they got absolutely fucking everywhere.

The residual red flakes from the spicy Cheetos bag stood out like a bright red highlighter on Jisung’s fingers. It didn’t bother the younger man, but it bothered Hyunjin. “Would you please go clean your disgusting fingers? Stop getting all of that shit on me.” He stared down at the bright, neon red dust and scowled.

Jisung cocked his head to the side, looking up to his senior in confusion, before he looked down to his own fingertips. “Ah, whoops,” he muttered before sticking his fingers in his mouth, rolling them around before grating the residual coating off of them with his teeth. “My bad, dude.” He immediately went back to scrolling and swiping around inanely on his phone, leaving oily, smudgy streaks on the screen.

Hyunjin groans, rolling his head into the back of the couch. “No,” he mutters, reaching down to Jisung’s phone, plucking it from his fingers and taking it away from him. “I mean, go actually wash your nasty fingers.”

“No,” Jisung mumbles, reaching up to grab his phone from Hyunjin, rolling his head in the lap of his senior. “I’ll do it later. It’s just not important now. I’m in the middle of my manga.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and groans. “You’re disgusting,” he says a bit louder than he intended.

“So what?” Jisung mockingly groans back, pressing the back of his head into the thigh of his senior.

“You’re disgusting,” Hyunjin repeated with emphasis, rolling his head back. “I don’t know how someone like you, so outwardly concerned about your cool guy aesthetic, is fine with being so gross.”

Jisung rolls his head back a bit, looking up to his senior. “It’s not hurting anyone, is it? Then what does it matter? Besides, I’m not that gross.”

Hyunjin sighs, sticking his hand underneath Jisung’s back and lifting him off of his lap. “Fuck you,” he grumbles as he stands up, brushing neon red crumbs off of his nice clothing. “I’m gonna have to get this shit dry-cleaned. I should make you pay for it.”

“Make me.” Jisung flopped back down on the couch, right back to the warm spot was from where Hyunjin was sitting. Without skipping a beat, he went right back to scrolling through his phone. “You wouldn’t have signed the lease with me if you were really that disgusted by me, and you know that.”

A frustrated groan erupts from the blond as he spins on his heel and storms off into his room, slamming the door behind him. He knew that Jisung was right, but he would rather walk on hot coals than admit that.

“Are you ready yet?” Jisung shouts into Hyunjin’s door. “You prissy bitch, I know you look fine. Stop fussing over your stupid hair and let’s go. I don’t wanna be late for the party.”

Hyunjin’s door flies open, and he scowls down at the black-haired man in front of him. “Like you’ve never spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to perfect your stupid eyeliner and get your bad boy look down. Sue me for wanting to look good.” He unironically flips his shoulder-length blond hair, almost as if he was punctuating his statement with sass. “Everyone’s going to be looking at me, anyways.”

The pair was an interesting duality. Jisung only wore black, would wear thick layers of eyeliner, and dyed his dark brunette hair deliberately darker: the cheapest, darkest box of black dye he could find. Hyunjin was the exact opposite: he wore only designer brands in bright colours alongside shades of cream and off-white. His hair was platinum blonde, well maintained with his monthly appointments, and had weekly manicures and facial appointments.

How the two of them got along as friends was beyond them. They shared virtually no similar interests, they butted heads all the time, and they were constantly yelling insults at each other. The thought of their sexual compatibility did cross Hyunjin’s mind several times, though. Especially on the nights when they would go out and party together. Jisung was a touchy-feely drunk, loud and experimental, and Hyunjin was quiet, loving all of the attention he got from him for it. They would recklessly flirt when they got drunk, but nothing ever came from it, because they still managed to be awkward cowards, even while hammered.

“Shall we?” Hyunjin sarcastically coos as he lightly shoves Jisung’s shoulder, pushing him out of the way.

//

The party, not surprisingly, was uneventful. Jisung forgot to eat something between the Cheetos incident and the start of the party, so he got drunk really quickly. About two hours in, he started doing body shots off of a couple of decent-looking guys, Felix and Chan. Hyunjin sipped on his vodka soda in the corner, enjoying his light buzz as he watched his friend be the sloppy drunk he always was.

“Jinnie!” The black-haired man called out to him, waving him over to the kitchen table he was sitting on. “C’mere, c’mere!”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and slowly made his way over to Jisung. “What?”

Jisung hastily grabs the empty shot glass from earlier and the bottle of vodka next to him. He lays on his back, balancing it on his sternum as he tries to open the bottle without knocking it off of him.

“What are you doing?”

“I want you to take a shot off of me,” Jisung frowns up at the man as the glass falls and he attempts to stand it up one more time.

“You’re an idiot.” Hyunjin snaps at him, grabbing the bottle from Jisung. The younger man pouts, until Hyunjin grabs the glass off of him, placing it down on the table. He pulls up Jisung’s skin-tight black shirt enough to reveal his abdomen, causing the black-haired man to gasp and flush. “You take a real body shot off of skin.” Hyunjin unscrews the cap off of the bottle of vodka, then pours some of the liquid into Jisung’s belly button.

“That’s cold!” Jisung cries out, his abdomen flexing in response.

“Suck it up.” Hyunjin doesn’t say anything else as he leans down, feeling the warm heat radiating off of Jisung’s skin as he’s maybe a couple of centimetres away from his flesh. He flits his eyes up, making eye contact with a very confused Jisung. Hyunjin bites back a smirk, deliberately not breaking eye contact as he brings his lips to the rapidly warming liquid on the soft skin beneath him. He sucks up the liquid, wincing as the cheap vodka burns his throat as it goes down.

The look on Jisung’s face is priceless, but it’s made better as Hyunjin sticks out his tongue, rolling the tip of it around the bottom of Jisung’s navel, then around all of where the vodka touched his abdomen. “Oh my god,” Jisung drawls out the last syllable as he rolls his head back, letting it collide on the table with a soft thud. Hyunjin smirks to himself, knowing that was a good reaction he just got out of the younger man.

“That’s how you do a body shot.” The smirk on Hyunjin’s face causes a confused look to pass across Jisung’s face. Hyunjin knew he was finally going to fuck the life out of him tonight, and he was beside himself with excitement, thinking of making the man cry as he choked on his dick.

“We should go home,” Jisung breathes out, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

“Party’s just started.” Hyunjin smirks and takes a long swig of vodka directly from the bottle. Looks like his plan was paying off. “You sure you wanna abandon all of your friends so early in the night?”

Jisung sits up, wobbling a bit. He takes a second to reorient himself, then looks up at Hyunjin with a serious look in his eyes. “They’ll be fine. That’s not what I care about.”

“What do you want?”

“After that body shot?” Jisung bites his lip back and looks away for a moment, before looking back up to meet Hyunjin’s eyes. “You.”

//

“I like the way those chains slap against your ass, Sungie.” Hyunjin says, eyes trained on the back of the smaller man in front of him, entranced by the way the flimsy metal danced around his waist.

Jisung spun around and pouted at Hyunjin. “Stop looking at me like a piece of meat, Jin.” He attempts to walk backwards, but isn’t quite coordinated to pull it off drunkenly in knee-high platform boots. Jisung’s foot catches the sidewalk awkwardly, and he throws his hands in the air, waving them around to balance himself.

Hyunjin takes a long step forward, moving in to catch Jisung before he was able to tumble to the ground. The two of them make uncomfortable eye contact, and stare at each other for a beat too long. Hyunjin, without any tact, slips his hand down from the small of Jisung’s back, sliding his hand down under the chains draped from his hips, and grabs a fistful of the younger man’s ass.

Jisung lets out a whiny gasp as the firm hand makes contact with him. “Hyunjin,” he whispers in a panic, “we’re in public, what are you doing?”

“Letting people know what’s gonna be mine tonight.” The blond smirks, helping the younger man stand up. “C’mon, let’s go to GS25. I have an idea.”

Jisung’s face is a deep shade of crimson as his senior lets go of his waist and walks off without him.

//

The two men walk through GS25, and Jisung is about to dart off to grab a bottled americano from the cooler, but Hyunjin grabs his hand and yanks him towards the back. “What are you doing?”

“My parents own this one. It’s fine.” Hyunjin quips, still not answering Jisung’s question. He pauses in front of the staff washroom door for just a moment. “Wait here.”

“What? Why?” Jisung pleads, but Hyunjin darts off into a back room for just a moment. Jisung fiddles with his hands while he waits, clearly looking nervous as he waits for Hyunjin to come back.

Hyunjin comes back out of the door, holding a key between his fingers. He says nothing, just slides the key in the lock, opening the door and pulling Jisung in by the wrist. “Be quiet. My parents may own this place,” he locks the door behind him, then pins Jisung up against the wall, “but I don’t wanna get in legal trouble. Because I’m gonna wreck your fucking night and make a mess out of you, embarrass you so badly as we walk home. You cool with that?”

Jisung sputters incoherently, then nods his head nervously.

“No,” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, “use your words. I need to know you’re fine with the shit I’m about to do to you. I know you’re not into vanilla shit after that stint you had with Seungmin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung grips at Hyunjin’s hips and he pleads with wide eyes.

“Good. Colours?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I wanna make you fucking cry.” Hyunjin presses his lips against his junior’s, jamming his tongue in between his parted lips. Jisung ruts his hips against Hyunjin’s, aimlessly letting his hands wander up against his cream coloured, silken shirt. The blond reaches down to his belt, undoing it and unzipping his pants. “Get on your knees.”

Jisung does as he’s told, bringing his face up close to Hyunjin’s crotch.

“I’m not gonna hold back unless you tell me to stop. Slap my wrist or my hips if it’s too much.”

Again, Jisung nods, which earns a glare from his senior. “Yeah, sure, I will.”

“Good boy.” Hyunjin coos, then pulls his cock out of his pants. He takes Jisung’s jaw into one of his hands. “Open.” Once Jisung’s opened his mouth, Hyunjin aims his cock into the younger man’s mouth, allowing him to run is tongue over him, warming up to the taste and the sensation of him.

It only lasts for a minute. Hyunjin roughly positions Jisung’s jaw right where he wants him, then takes his hand and slides it to the back of his head, gripping his hair tightly between his fingers. He slowly pushes his hips in, until he’s completely inside of Jisung’s mouth, rubbing up against the back of his throat.

Jisung’s eyes widen in panic for a moment, but then his eyelids flutter in excitement. Hyunjin takes this as an invitation to continue, pulling back and preparing himself to fuck his junior’s face like nothing more than a sex toy. “I’m not gonna stop until you cry.” Hyunjin says, then thrusts harshly into Jisung’s throat.

The younger man lets out a stifled moan, surprised as to how much Hyunjin filled his mouth. He reaches his hands up to Hyunjin’s hips and saliva comes sputtering up from his mouth as Hyunjin relentlessly continues to aggressively pound the back of his throat. It felt so good, but it hurt and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” Hyunjin pants, tugging on Jisung’s black hair a bit harder, with purpose. “Look at you, getting your face fucked in a disgusting public bathroom. I bet you love this kind of shit with how nasty you are, don’t you?”

Jisung lets out a choked affirmation, and starts to feel the tears spill from his eyes. He was secretly thankful they both had a little too much to drink, because his gag reflex had completely disappeared. He looked up at Hyunjin, meeting his eyes for just a moment before he closes them. Hyunjin grips his hair even tighter and thrusts more aggressively.

The tears start pouring, now. They weren’t tears of sadness or pain, they were tears of pure enjoyment. Jisung loved to be used like this, to be rendered as nothing more than a way to please someone. The way that Hyunjin’s cock felt in his mouth was enough to make him uncomfortably hard.

Hyunjin suddenly pulls out, relinquishing Jisung’s hair from his hands. “Don’t touch your face,” he pants out, then slips his dick back into his pants.

Jisung blinks rapidly, his moment ruined. “What? You’re not gonna come?”

“That’s for later.” Hyunjin pulls out his phone and aims it at Jisung. “Gimme a slutty face, I want a photo so I can show you how pathetic you look, and just for personal reference later.”

“Okay,” Jisung bats his eyelashes and offers a peace sign with his fingers, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out.

“Beautiful, I love it.” Hyunjin stares longingly at his phone for a moment, before turning it to face Jisung. He captures a glimpse of the photo, his perfectly applied eyeliner now ruined, streaking down his face haphazardly and completely fucked up. Jisung subconsciously goes to wipe his face, but Hyunjin swats his hands away.

“Stay like that until we get home.” His voice is cold, calculated. “Don’t rub it off or try to make yourself pretty, my disgusting little Sungie. I want the strangers we walk by to know how much of a dirty slut you are for me.”

They take a moment to compose themselves, then walk through the GS25. Hyunjin doesn’t bother with returning the key, just leaving it in the door. He grabbed Jisung’s hand, interlacing his fingers together. “You sure you’re alright with this?”

“I’ve done worse,” Jisung quips. “This might be the most obvious ‘my-throat-just-got-fucked’ look I’ve ever had, though.”

Hyunjin laughs, leading him to the cooler. “Grab your stupid americano. I’m gonna grab something for us while we’re here.”

Jisung cocks his head as Hyunjin walks over towards the bagged snacks, but doesn’t question it. He doesn’t question it until he’s got his americano in hand and they are at the counter together, and Hyunjin tosses a bag of spicy Cheetos onto the counter. Jisung looks wildly at Hyunjin as the clerk gives them both a horrified look.

“What?” Hyunjin says to both of them. “Boyfriend had a rough day, just making it better.”

//

They get home maybe ten minutes later, earning some choice looks from passersby on the street as they walked down the sidewalk, Hyunjin’s hand down Jisung’s tight back pocket. He was wearing women’s pants, he figured, with the way they hugged his hips and his ass, and he loved it.

Hyunjin unlocks the door, letting Jisung walk through first. Jisung spins on his heel in confusion, but Hyunjin just tosses the bag of Cheetos to the younger man, then bends down to untie the intricate weaving of Jisung’s knee-high boots. “Shut up and eat them. Get that stupid red shit all over your fingers.”

Jisung’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, and he makes some sort of unintelligible noise.

“Shut up and eat your toxic waste-looking shit.” Hyunjin doesn’t bother looking up as he undoes the lacing in the first platform shoe, then moves to the next one. Jisung opens the bag, shaking his head in disbelief. He wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity for a post-drink snack, especially if it was his favourite thing and if it wasn’t going to bother Hyunjin.

Hyunjin holds the boots down, and looks up at Jisung. “Get out of these.” Jisung steps out, as requested, and Hyunjin tosses the shoes carelessly to the side before undoing his shoes. “I can’t believe you actually walked around in public with makeup streaked down your face.” He scoffs, sliding his shoes off and neatly tucking them onto the rack by the entrance. He stands fully upright and gets directly in front of Jisung, centimetres away from his face, pushing him up against the wall next to the kitchen. “You really liked it, didn’t you?”

Jisung nods twice, a single Cheeto halfway in his mouth as he stares up in confusion at Hyunjin. “I didn’t tell you to stop eating.” Hyunjin gently pushes the snack into his mouth, as daintily as possible, with a single finger. He scowls at the residual dust on his finger, then grabs a fistful of the briny, neon red sticks from the bag. “Open.” He commands, and Jisung obeys.

Hyunjin takes his free hand and tilts Jisung’s chin up, then firmly grips his jaw and holds his mouth open. He drops a few of the snacks into his mouth, letting the younger man chew them and swallow, looking up at Hyunjin with big, pleading eyes. Jisung opens his mouth again, and Hyunjin deposits the last of the snacks into Jisung’s mouth.

Hyunjin snatches the bag from Jisung, putting it down on the kitchen counter, then grabs the bottle of coffee. “Don’t clean your fingers off yet. I want you to get that shit everywhere in a minute.” He says, passing the drink to his junior, who accepts it, opening it and taking a few hasty swallows. Jisung is barely able to take his lips off of the bottle before Hyunjin is pressing his lips up against him.

Jisung practically chokes on the americano, some of the drink leaking from his lips, sputtering on to Hyunjin’s face as he barely swallows most of the cold liquid. More spills as Hyunjin assertively jams his tongue into Jisung’s mouth, spilling down his chin, spilling down Hyunjin’s chin. They were making an absolute mess out of each other and it was so wrong, but it strangely felt incredible to ruin each other.

The two of them continue to kiss for a few moments, then Hyunjin pulls away, looking down at his hand. “You know,” he says, “you’re awfully messy, huh?”

Jisung bites his lip, nodding his head in excitement. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna make it worse.” Hyunjin quips, leaning into Jisung’s face. He takes his tongue and drags it up the side of his junior’s cheek, repeating this a couple of times, then he takes his reddened, crusty hand and pushes it into Jisung’s cheek. He leaves a red, greasy mess tangled up in the streaks of black eyeliner on Jisung’s face.

“You look so filthy.” Hyunjin’s voice is breathy and layered with excitement as he stares down at Jisung with wide eyes. “I’m gonna take a photo of this, too.” He reaches back into his pocket, hastily snapping a couple of photos without even bothering to show Jisung. “Come on,” he pushes his phone into his back pocket “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Hyunjin steps back, letting Jisung peel himself off of the wall. Jisung takes a couple of steps forward, before he’s stopped by Hyunjin taking a fistful of his hair and pulling him along as they walk towards the washroom. “Ow!” Jisung sharply whines. “Why are you dragging me?”

“You want me to stop?” Hyunjin asks insincerely, continuing to lead the two of them along. “Didn’t hear you tell me a colour.”

Jisung whimpers. “No, I don’t want you to stop, it just surprised me.”

Hyunjin chuckles once as they approach the washroom. He flips the light on, then shoves Jisung in, pushing him into the wall with force. He crashes his lips against his junior, the nauseating taste of coffee, spicy Cheetos, and a little bit of vodka overwhelming his senses. It should distract him, make him not want to kiss Jisung at all, but it strangely drew him in, like a moth to flame.

They continue to roll their tongues around each others’ mouths, as Hyunjin works on getting them undressed. He unbuttons his nice, silky shirt, then tosses it to the side. Jisung unbuttons his pants, chains clattering as his pants and briefs collide to the ground. Hyunjin grabs the hem of the bottom of Jisung’s shirt, hastily pulling it up over his head and discarding it somewhere past his shoulder.

“Get me off,” Hyunjin demands, grabbing Jisung’s hands and bringing them to the button of his pants. “I’m gonna come all over that pretty face of yours. You’ll look so pretty with white, black, and red all over you.”

Jisung fumbles a bit with the button of Hyunjin’s pants, too distracted by the promise his senior made. He eventually undoes the button, pulling the zipper down, then helping Hyunjin shimmy out of his pants. Once they were both fully disrobed, Hyunjin grabbed Jisung by the hair and pushed him down.

“On your knees, where you belong.” His voice is stern, but also dripping in anticipation. “It’s probably not gonna take long with that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Jisung opened his mouth, presenting his tongue to Hyunjin before he takes his cock into his mouth, unprompted, but Hyunjin doesn’t complain. “Oh, that’s good,” he groans, tilting his head back.

In this moment, Jisung is like the antithesis to Hyunjin. While his senior is rough and direct, he’s more gentle and calm, enjoying taking his time with things that have a good payoff. The two of them together worked a little too well, Jisung managing to tame the wild side of Hyunjin, while Hyunjin brought out the freak in Jisung.

Hyunjin wrapped his fingers in Jisung’s hair, looking down and making eye contact with Jisung as he offered a few tiny licks at the head of his dick. It was cute, he had to admit, but he didn’t want cute, not right now. “Come on,” Hyunjin whined, “don’t be a brat and tease me. You know I’m impatient.”

A devious smirk curled up Jisung’s lips as he pulled back. “Shut up.” He barked back at Hyunjin, dropping his cutesy, quiet demeanour. “Learn how to let go for once in your life. Not everything is about instant gratification, you uptight bitch.” His lips pulled up into a wide grin as he could barely contain his excitement when Hyunjin chewed over the words he spat at him.

“'Uptight bitch'?” Hyunjin tugs Jisung’s hair, pulling his head back. “That’s awfully brash of you. Did you forget that you’re the one that’s covered in filth?”

“Bite me.”

Jisung’s attitude snaps something in Hyunjin. “Fuck you,” he growls as he tugs at Jisung’s stupidly dyed black hair harder, enough to make him squeal, to open his mouth just enough to push his cock in, all the way to the back of his throat. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The younger man starts to drool uncontrollably as Hyunjin repeatedly, aggressively thrusts his hips back and forth. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to speak that way to me. Gonna fuck your throat so hard, you’re not gonna be able to talk back to me for a week. Change that attitude of yours right quick.”

It felt good, probably the best oral he’d ever received. The people Hyunjin had been with before were usually never this experimental. He’d never felt comfortable enough to ask someone if he could ruin them in such a way. He loved taking beautiful things and destroying them; it was something he was never able to do, being forced to be such a pristine example of high-class lifestyle for his entire life.

Jisung looked up at Hyunjin with wet, teary eyes, more black streaks being painted on his face. To anyone else, it may have looked like he was truly unhappy, but the way that his pupils were blown wide open, his eyes were half closed, and the way that his dick twitched with every thrust was enough to drive Hyunjin mad.

The blond pulled his cock out of the black-haired man’s mouth, letting go of his hair, moving his hand down to his chin as he firmly held it upright. He stroked his cock feverishly as the two of them made eye contact. Jisung closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, and he opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out to catch any stray cum that would stream down his face.

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin pants as he removes his hand from Jisung’s chin, slamming his hand on the wall, his cum splashing onto his junior’s face. “Fuck your stupid face. Fuck your attitude.” He gasps in between statements, stroking the last bits of cum onto Jisung’s tongue.

Hyunjin took in the way that Jisung looked, and it took his breath away. Jisung was an absolute mess. Jisung blinked one of his eyes open a couple of times, looking up at Hyunjin. His face was covered in sloppy, patchy streaks of eyeliner, there was still some oily red flakes on his face, and now, there was cum dripping down from his forehead, rolling down his nose and eyebrows, down to his cheeks, some hanging from his lips.

That’s when Hyunjin gets an idea. He reaches down to grab his phone out of his pants, taking a couple photos. “You look so wonderful like this, a masterpiece with the last strokes of paint on you.” He tosses his phone back down to the floor and walks over to the medicine cabinet. “I’m almost done with you. Get in the shower and wait on your knees, and I’ll clean you off before we shower.”

Jisung swipes some cum off of his eyes so he can see, he slips his socks off, then shuffles over to the shower, where he obediently waits on his knees.

Hyunjin makes his way back to the shower and tosses a bottle of lube in between Jisung’s legs. “I’m gonna let you fuck me in a minute when we finally get all of this shit off of us. But I’m gonna make one last mess out of you yet, get some of that cum off of you.”

Jisung’s eyes flutter open and widen as Hyunjin towers above him, cock in hand. He suddenly realized exactly what he means. “Dude, are you seriously about to piss on my face?”

“And in your hair. Do you not want me to?”

The younger man takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes. “I love this. Clean me off, stuck-up pretty boy.” He presents his face and opens his mouth, and the sight is almost enough to get Hyunjin hard again.

It takes a minute, but the stream weakly starts, splashing up against Jisung’s face. The sudden warmth and shock causes the younger man to flinch, but he gets into it immediately, rolling his head all around the stream and making sure that it gets all over his face and in his hair. Hyunjin lets out a strained groan as he empties his bladder on Jisung’s face, enjoying the view far more than he should’ve.

Hyunjin shakes out the last few dribbles, then drops to his knees in front of Jisung, gripping his face tightly as he pulls the younger man in for a hasty kiss. He didn’t care about the acrid taste that danced on their tongues, he just couldn’t believe that someone actually indulged him in all of his strange fetishes, all in one night, so he had to show his appreciation in some way.

“Okay,” he says as he pulls back, “let’s actually get you cleaned up, then I’ll let you fuck me.”

Jisung rubs his eyes and nods his head. “You know,” he scoffs, “you’re probably the freakiest, messiest person I know. Messier than me, just so you know.”

“Shut up.” Hyunjin stands and grabs Jisung’s hands, pulling him up to his feet. He reaches behind the younger man, turning on the shower. The water is cold, shocking both of them a bit, but then quickly warms up. “You went along with all of that,” he scoffs as he wipes off all of the mess of various substances off of Jisung, “so that says something about you, too.”

“Yeah, it means that we’re both pretty freaky and should do this more often.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and turns to grab a dry hand towel from off of the wall, passing it off to Jisung. “Wipe off your face so you can finally fuck me.”

Jisung takes the cloth, making sure to dry his eyelids off well enough so he didn’t have any leftover irritants on his face. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” He reaches down to grab the lube and tosses the hand towel behind him. “Now I get to have my fun with you. Face the wall and keep that pretty mouth of yours shut.”

Hyunjin lets out a scoff, but chooses not to say anything in response as he slaps his hands on the wall dramatically, slightly bending over and presenting himself.

“Don’t you look pretty like that?” Jisung flips the lid of the lube open, squirting some on his fingers. He takes another step closer, putting his free hand on Hyunjin’s hip as he takes his lubricated fingers to the older man’s rim. “You want my fingers inside you, pretty baby?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin whines, “do your worst.”

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

“Fuck you.” Hyunjin’s arrogance earns him the loss of Jisung’s touch.

“I’ll leave you here by yourself and just go jerk off or something.”

Hyunjin turns his head to face Jisung, a look of bewilderment on his face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Be that way,” Jisung steps back, making his way towards the shower door.

“Wait, please!” Hyunjin whines, surprised he was actually begging for this. “Please come back and fuck me, okay?”

Jisung smiles and turns back to Hyunjin, grabbing his hips and hastily slipping his index finger inside, causing the older man to whine. “Pretty bitches like you are always so impatient. You need to be taught a lesson.” He twirls his finger around a bit, circling the digit in a calculated motion to find the older man’s prostate. before Hyunjin arches his back and lets out a strangled cry. Jisung bends down next to Hyunjin’s ear and whispers, “I wanna fuck you so hard that you can’t walk straight in the morning.”

Hyunjin curls his toes a bit at the comment. “Please,” he whines, “that sounds so good, Sungie.”

“It’s nice seeing you not being such a spoiled, impatient brat,” Jisung laughs and slips his middle finger inside. “You should let loose like this more often. You might think that, just because I let you make a mess out of me, even in public,” he continues circling his fingers around the sensitive spot inside of the older man, causing him to let out pathetic mewls, “you think that I’m not going to devastate you? Nah. I’m gonna wipe that stupid, ‘holier-than-thou’ grin off your face.”

Hyunjin was honestly surprised that Jisung had such an attitude in him. He knew that Jisung was a bit of a brat, but to be so commanding was the inverse of his personality. This kind of night/day difference in Jisung was causing Hyunjin to go mad.

A third finger slips in, causing Hyunjin to throw his head back and let out a drawn out moan. It was almost too much, too soon, but there was something about the way that the discomfort of the stress made him feel so good. Jisung waited a moment for Hyunjin to adjust, to relax a bit, before he started circling his fingers again.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to admit how much you wanted me.” Jisung condescendingly coos, slowly moving his fingers around. “Can’t believe you actually begged me to fuck you. You really want my cock inside of you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin whispers, and Jisung isn’t very pleased with that.

“Speak up and speak nicely, otherwise my pretty little prissy bitch won’t get what he wants.“

This new side of Jisung was shocking, but also a turn-on to Hyunjin. He’d never been talked down to like this by anyone; he was always the one that took control and talked down to his partners, but it felt good to just let go for once. He had his cocky, arrogant moment, now it was time for him to be put in his place.

“Yes, please,” Hyunjin whines, resting his face against the cool tile. “Fuck your pretty little slut, please. Show me where I belong.”

Jisung lets out a laugh as he grabs the lube again, squeezing a generous amount onto his cock. “The slut gets what the slut wants, hmm?” He teases, before he slides his fingers out slowly, then replaces the empty space with his cock. He does so in such a painstakingly slow manner, that Hyunjin lets out a frustrated groan, but knows better than to say anything.

“Impatient, hmm?” Jisung grabs both of Hyunjin’s hips and bends down to be right up next to his ear. “I don’t care. I’ll take as long as I want with you.” He sinks his teeth into Hyunjin’s exposed shoulder, causing the older man to shudder. Without warning, he pushes himself all the way inside of Hyunjin and it causes both of them to make guttural, sinful noises.

“I’m getting you back for this, just so you know,” Hyunjin spits out in between pants.

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion.” Jisung bites another mark into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he slowly rocks back and forth at an even pace. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Are you always this much of a fucking tease?”

A sharp huff of air is exhaled through Jisung’s nose as he scoffs. “Alright, fine. You wanna play that game, I’ll play along.” He stands fully upright and takes a fistful of Hyunjin’s hair and pushes his face firmly up into the wall, using his head and his hip as anchorage as he moved at a relentless, unforgiving pace.

Hyunjin’s eyes roll back as his face gets repeatedly slammed into the tile wall with Jisung’s thrusts. He doesn’t intend to, but he lets out pathetic moans each time Jisung’s hips slap against his thighs.

“This is the only noise I want to hear you make.” Jisung says, pants punctuating each thrust he makes. “You talk too much.”

“Payback for how disgusting you are.”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Jisung lets out a moan at the end of his sentence. “Okay, fuck, I’m really close. Where do you want it?”

“Don’t care. Come inside, outside, on my face, it doesn’t—“ Hyunjin is about to tell Jisung that it doesn’t matter, but, before he can finish his sentence, the younger man bottoms out behind him, and he feels cum filling up his insides.

Jisung pants and collapses onto Hyunjin’s back, loosening his grip on his blond hair. “That was so much. How are you feeling?”

“I’m pretty sure you broke my cheekbone, but we’re fine.”

“Oh, shit,” Jisung panics for a second. “I didn’t even think about trying to get you off again.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “It’s fine. It would take a while anyways, I’m not lucky enough to have a freakishly short refractory period. You’ll just have to make up for it later. Anyways, can we please shower? We’re wasting the hot water and I feel disgusting and I’m pretty sure I have your nasty Cheetos flakes in my hair.”

//

After their shower, the men towel off and awkwardly stand in the washroom. “Now what?” Jisung questions, staring up at Hyunjin. “Are we supposed to, like, cuddle or something?”

Hyunjin looks down to Jisung, then spins on his heel before he’s able to see the inevitable blush creeps up on his face. “I don’t care. It’s pretty cold in here, so I won’t say no.”

Jisung shrugs his shoulders and follows Hyunjin towards his room. “Alright, cool, I guess.”

“That was fun and all,” Hyunjin says as he opens the door to his bedroom, “I just hope you know that you’re paying for my dry cleaning, you filthy brat.” Hyunjin says as he flops down onto the bed.

“Worth it.” Jisung quips, laying down next to Hyunjin and curling up into his chest. “I’ll pay to ruin your clothes any time you want, you prissy bitch.”