#it’s bad enough for me to complain incessantly but not enough to go to the ER (yet) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archiveofmyownatsixinthemorning · 7 months ago

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Catharsis

His leg bobs incessantly. Even now, as he sits next to Armie in the car. His head lowered, Tim looks at his fingers, which are permanently playing with the rings on his hands or are nibbling over the skin. He is ashamed. But he thinks it's the only thing that helps. Why did it have to come so far, why did it have to come to this again? Hadn't he known all along what was going to happen. Why did it feel so horrible anyway? _Don't let it get to you. If only it were that simple. He hadn't said no, he couldn't complain now, he had to go through this alone now, it was as it was but still... it pulled him into abysses he had never seen before. And always with the awareness that he was only doing this because he had to suppress certain things that were not wanted in the world he was living in. He was not wanted if they all knew who he was. And who he was with. It tore him apart. Sometimes he felt like he just didn't have enough body mass to take it all. He did things he wouldn't do if he could be who he was.

He has to keep telling himself that.

He has choices to make that others don't have to make. Sure, even straight actors had their PR, their obligations... The world wanted to be entertained. And he made a living out of it. A good one. He couldn't complain, he could have said no. If this had not triggered a much worse feeling in him. The feeling of having made the wrong decision, the feeling of having failed, the feeling of not making it far, the feeling of not being able to achieve what his goals in life were. Because what was his life without acting? Just do it, it's good for your career, they said. More income, more money, more success, more offers, more choices.... The choices were important. For the roles he wanted to play. What cis man would care about his vulnerability if he wasn't screwing a hot chick on the side. That was the only thing that mattered. And all the negative press? Cis men don't read comments, let alone write them. They go to the movies with their wives and smile when their wives talk about PR relationships. PR relations? Absurd. But you know what, I think this hot outfit his girlfriend wore would look good on you too.

And the rest? Looked at it shallow anyway. Ah a photo of them, making out, ok, got it, they are together.

At least that's how the PR people saw it. That's how it would be. And if not? There was no right nor wrong. No one could predict the future for him. Wasn't it better to take the safe side then? Which everyone around him claimed was the right one? His PR people would for sure rub his nose in the "right" numbers. Look, things are going well! And yet... Fellow actors who made fun of him.... _Ignore it. So he acted as if none of it mattered to him, as if he didn't care. Even though the whole world saw that he did. But it was only a few minutes of his life, so what was the problem, right? A few minutes that showed the whole world an image of him that he wasn't and that he didn’t like.

The fog in his head gets thicker day by day, a heavy feeling in his stomach. He eats very little, loses his appetite, in his stomach is a heavy indigestible lump. Everyone asks him if he wants to talk about it. But he isolates himself. What is there to talk about? Is he a bad person? Is he a weak person? Because he wants to live his life with his love? Unjudged? It tears him apart.

He doesn't want all that, and yet he can't give up his dream, his destiny, his purpose in life. He just can’t. So, he grits his teeth.

_Please talk to me about it.

But he can’t. Everything is racing inside him. He tries to numb it. But the drugs that the doctor had prescribed do not help. Weed often helps. But when weed doesn't help anymore, this is the only thing that will help. Even if he wishes it didn't.

He's glad Armie wasn't with him the whole time. He doesn't want him to worry about him, he wants to go through this alone. He needs to go through it alone, he's chosen to.

But now he feels like he is wrapped in tar, now he has to put himself back to zero, to be able to breathe again. It's the only way out. He knows if he doesn't do something about it now.... _ The most important thing is that it helps you. Yes, it helps. Now Armie is by his side and he's grateful for that. Because without him, he couldn't take this step. He couldn't have talked to anyone else about it. What he needs now, what helps him now. _Do you think I'm sick? _No. No. They live in Hollywood, they'd both seen sicker things.

Armie pulls into the parking space and turns off the engine. He turns to him slightly, strokes his cheek gently. There is nothing to say. They just look at each other. Then they both get out, Armie takes the bag from the back seat.

A dark back entrance, and even though no one is here, Tim feels the need to pull his cap deeper into his face. Armie presses the buzzer on the door, enters the code, a click and they can go in. Dark, black-painted hallways, dimly lit, purple, pink glints of light reflecting on the floor. He walks behind Armie, who already shields him by his size like a bodyguard. Then once more around to the right and Armie puts the keycard into the slot from the door. It is the same room as last time. He had forgotten again how cold it is in the room. It's a good sign that it's been so long, isn't it?

Armie puts the bag down on the only chair. Tim slowly undresses until he is naked. Armie takes his clothes and puts them over the chair, opens the bag and the first thing he pulls out is the cloth. First, because Tim wants it that way.

One last look, gently, and Armie blindfolds him. Then the shackles on the wrists. This time on the back. Armie had not allowed it the first time because he felt it was too dangerous. Tim feels Armie's practiced grip, Armie's hands restraining him confidently. For a second, he wishes he were home, just having good sex with him. But that wouldn't improve his condition. He has to do this, reset himself, everything else had time. He hears Armie pull the gag ball from the bag, the buckle clatters. "Open your mouth," Armie's voice is nothing more than a sad whisper and it tightens his chest. He thinks he can feel Armie getting angry with himself for forgetting: No more words when we're in the room. He opens his mouth, feels the ball against his lips and lets Armie push it into his mouth. After Armie tightens the buckle, he still feels Armie's index finger and middle finger sliding across his cheek before he leaves. Leaves him here alone, as Tim wants it. Needs it.

He squats on the cold floor, feels the cold stone, while his nose takes in the smells of the room. Cleaning supplies, plus the rancid smell that probably never goes away from rooms like this. He listens to his breath. Hears distant loud, excited voices, scattered clacking, sounds of equipment. Then the door opens again and two men come in. He knows there are two of them. That's the deal. They waste no time, he feels a hand grab him hard on the chin. "Look at that, the pretty boy, thinking he's such a smart and handsome boy, when he's just a pathetic little wanker" and so it goes on, they're nasty, they're mean, humiliating him, twisting his limbs.

His face is pressed to the floor, his heart races, he has trouble breathing, he is afraid, even though he knows that nothing bad will happen, at least nothing that will endanger his health. He is spat at, he is kicked. The face is spared, of course. He can't tell how long it all lasts, it feels short and eternal all at once. His body aches, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his thighs. His soul longs for comfort and tenderness. He doesn't want any of this. He wants it to be over. But he knows it's not enough, not enough. One of them removes the gag ball, yanks his hair, "I know what you want, you little faggot" and then he has the guy's cock in his mouth, he tries to squirm away, but he is held down. "Come on now, suck my cock you little whore". The other guy is behind him pushing something big between his butt cheeks. He starts to panic. Nothing is going to happen and yet the fear is there. What if they don't keep their end of the bargain? He doesn't want that! His whole body is in a state of emergency, it tears him apart, he is so incredibly scared, he screams, bloodcurdling, and then, then the tears run.

The guys immediately let go of him.

He slumps, falls to the floor, his head on the cold cement. And cries and howls. Letting it all out, saliva running from the corner of his mouth, tears soaking the blindfold. He notices one of them take off his handcuffs, hears the door open and close, but all he can do is keep howling. He tightens his body, wraps his arms around his knees. And cries. The valve is open.

The hatred for himself, the sorrow for himself, everything flows through his mind and soul with the tears out of his body.

He cries until he has no more tears, until there is nothing left, nothing left inside him.

And then he feels nothing. Only emptiness.

He is nothing.

Nothing good, but nothing bad either.

Everything has vanished. Reset. Very slowly, his breathing calms down again. His pulse regulates itself. The fog in his head is still there, but slowly, very slowly, it lifts.

Then the door opens again, he feels Armie take off his blindfold, his hands, big and gentle, caring. He is too weak, his body is too weak, he can do nothing, he lets Armie put a blanket around his body and take him in his arms. With his last strength, he wraps his arms around Armie’s neck and buries his face in the crook. And now he has to laugh a bit, because it's so corny. His man, his love, his hero. None of the shit he has done he would have done if they hadn’t asked him to. He isn’t proud to know that he will do it again.

But he is so grateful to have Armie. Armie carries him to the car, lets him get in, gets in himself and they drive off. Soothing music by Nils Frahm plays and he snuggles into his blanket. The fear is still on his neck, but now he has Armie by his side again.

They say nothing, but Armie smiles gently at him from the side. He's glad it's over, too, but Tim can still see the sadness in his face. _I'm sorry to put you through this. _You don't have to be sorry, I just want you to be okay.

Armie is struggling with the fact that he can't help him with this. It gnaws at him, he knows that.

At home, Armie takes his hand and leads him up the stairs to the bathroom. His whole body aches, but he is home, here with Armie, and it feels good. The water in the bathtub is already halfway in. Armie turns on the faucet and runs warm water to it. Then he starts to light the candles that are around the bathtub. Tim watches him do it and smiles. He couldn't do this reset if he didn't have this incredible sense of security from Armie afterwards. He is so incredibly grateful for that. He so wishes he could take away his sadness. After he gets in the tub, Armie starts washing him with a sponge. First his face, then his body, every inch, "Lean forward...", nothing of what happened earlier should stick to him anymore. "Lift your leg..." Armie's face is serious, his eyelids twitch when he sees the bruises, but he doesn't say anything, just keeps going. Washes his hair, rinses it with the shower. When he's done, he puts a glass of gin in Tim’s hand. Not his favorite drink, but he finishes it in one gulp. The burning in his throat does its job. He coughs. And then takes Armie's hand, places it against his cheek, kisses the inside surface. Looks at him. "You're helping me. I couldn't have done what helps me most without you, so you help me. Your understanding helps me. Your kindness helps me. Your love helps me. You know that, right?" Armie bites his lower lip and nods slowly. Tim slowly leans forward and gently presses his lips to Armie's. "Bed?" Armie nods again. Rising, he hands him first the towel to dry off and then the bathrobe to put on. In the bedroom, Armie takes off his jeans and they lie on the bed, tightly embraced. That's all. He breathes in Armie's scent, feels the stubble on his face, on his lips.

He's not naive to think he won't take a remnant of it all with him, but the remains are so small and scattered throughout his body that they can't hurt him anymore. His body, his soul want to live, to the fullest. "Thank you," he whispers to Armie. Armie holds him even tighter. They kiss, slowly and gently. They caress each other, slowly and gently. And then Tim lets his hand slide between Armie's legs. "You don't need to do that..." Armie whispers. But he has to get Armie out of there, he has to make him forget what was, he wants to get back to the place where they were happy, just them. It tingles in his belly. So, he sits on Armie's chest with a flourish, looks at him with a provocative smile and reaches for the cock behind him. Armie closes his eyes in shame. "Don't..." But he continues, asking gleefully, "What? Don't you like it? Doesn't look like it?" The cock in his hand stiffens and Armie bites his lips. But that's not enough. "Please, stop..." Tim laughs. "Um, no intention, sorry. But you can do something too if you want." He takes Armie's hand and puts it on his own cock. "Here, you have something to rub too. You'll see, it's fun. We can have a contest to see who's the better rubber." And then Armie has to laugh against his will and a stone falls from Tim’s heart. Exuberant and happy, he kisses Armie on the mouth and Armie laughingly kisses him back, throwing him onto his back so that he is now lying underneath him. They look at each other.

Armie is serious again. "I love you," he says. And though it's not the first time he's heard it, Tim has to swallow. "I love you, too," he says back. And then they make love. Very gently, very tenderly. Tomorrow they will start all over again, fighting the rest of the world. But today, today they don't have to do anything but to be themselves.

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n0v4r3d · 9 months ago

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3/100

07.26.24

Day 3 of 100

THE 100 DAY PLAN

~ FEAR ~

I often reflect on the scene in “Donnie Darko” in which the health teacher makes the case that all human motivation stems from love or fear. The film takes a swipe at this notion, opting for a perspective that human beings are infinitely more complicated than this simple dichotomy. And in a way, that’s true. The irony is that the perspective comes from a teenager. Someone who thinks they have a more profound understanding of the world than those who came before. And while there is much nuance to the argument (and film as a whole), I’ve reversed my assessment of the scene all these years later. I scoffed at the “lesson” of the teacher. How could someone so fundamentally fail to give credence to the existential cacophony of existence? But the truth is that our motivations, from instinctual to logical to emotional, all stem from some variation of these two concepts.

The nuance of it all lies in the fact that “love” and “fear” are merely words. They are neat little categories, oversimplified, to showcase that the idea of the spectrum of human experience is infinitely more than simply “this” or “that.”

But what I’ve learned after three and a half decades, surviving suicide attempts, getting sober, having loved and lost, and fine-tuning a sense of hope and purpose on this earth is that the essence of the teacher’s message rings true.

As human beings, we are indeed complex. Because we make it so. We are exposed to a incalculable onslaught of information and experience to make sense of on a daily basis. This has only been compounded by the advent of the internet. I don’t have the patience to dive into it all here, but what I can say is that every negative experience I’ve had, every regret, selfish action, and bad decision is somehow rooted in a misplaced form of “fear.”

Inaction itself stems from this. Fight, flight, or freeze. I used to flee. Now I freeze. Not sure which response is worse.

The way out is through. I’m not naive enough to think anything is overly simple in a “just get over it” sense. Emotions dominate. But so much of my emotional turmoil stems from a variation on what is essentially the concept of fear. Exposure therapy seems to be the way forward. It is impossible to escape life without regret, remorse, uncertainty, and an unhealthy dose of “could’ve/should’ve/would’ve” hindsight thinking. But this is useless. To make lemonade from lemons, I must assess every decision, every action, every experience, and apply a lesson learned. No matter how big or small, how painful or easy, there is something to be gained in the form of experiential knowledge.

If I keep touching the hot stove, convinced that one time it won’t burn me, then I have rejected the opportunity to learn. This metaphor applies across life as a whole. There is no inherent justice or rightness in this world. It is shaped by trillions of variables created through the actions of billions of people at any given moment.

Kicking and screaming into the void is no way forward. That is the existential death. A living hell.

Instead, what I must recognize is that every source of discomfort I experience stems from something based in fear. Fear of purposelessness, fear of losing hope, fear of failure, fear of not being enough, fear of the world collapsing around me. The list goes on and on and on.

All I have is the present moment and a sphere of influence no larger than my wingspan.

I have no more tolerance or patience for “holier than thou” attitudes. There is an epidemic of people who think they have it all figured out. Who consider themselves “happy” while complaining incessantly. Endless judgment, a total absence of empathy, main character syndrome, and grudge-holding.

None of us asked to be born. A little grace and humility goes a long way. Creating imaginary enemies based on arbitrary assessments is a pretty miserable way to go about life. Finding purpose and fulfillment in the suppression of others is bafflingly backwards.

We need a death bed study to get the views of those facing down mortality. I’d wager the vast majority would advise everyone to not take everything so seriously, to hold their loved ones close, and to do all of the things they’re delaying until that hypothetical “tomorrow” that never seems to come.

I am afraid. But I will not let it stop me. Not anymore.

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rianafying · 10 months ago

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dear diary

i haven’t written in here in a while partly because i’ve been busy, partly because i’ve been talking to actual people, partly because i’ve been talking to chatgpt (it talks back to me), party because i’ve been writing in my notes app (i don’t have to even briefly think about what i can and cannot reveal about my life such as names of people or the stories and details of my life). but i feel like venting here fulfils a different need than doing all those other things. oh and i’ve also been using this app called clarity that’s mostly free and lets you do mood check ins and guided thought analysis journal and gratitude journal and guided breathing exercises (i can never spell this word right the first time) and an episode of meditation. there’s more stuff behind a paywall but i’m happy with the free stuff for now. that said, i have not been very happy lately. i haven’t been very productive lately, the way that i was for a brief period before when i signed myself up for anything and everything and now it’s all a bit too much. there’s this class im doing that has become a little too important to me, and the desire to do a perfect assignment paralyses me, keeping me from doing an assignment at all. i had to get a week long extension and im really disappointed in myself, and i’ve let down my favourite teacher. but i guess life goes on. right now it’s 5am and i’ve been up all night trying to clean my appartment (i will never not lose my mind about this and complain incessantly). anyway i’m just rlly scared and anxious because cleaning really stresses me out and after 5 hours of intense cleaning it barely looks like i’ve done anything. im thinking i should take my third and fourth painkiller of the day to combat my neck and shoulder pain from anxiety and lack of sleep. i have to remember a few things: 1) when cleaning, it doesn’t look clean until the last bit which is to dump things into boxes, what i mean is, the room doesn’t start to look until im 90% through the process. i would say at the moment im 30% in. another 30% would be the bathroom, 20% for folding and sorting clothes, 10% vacuuming/scrubbing floor, 10% throwing the bags out. 2) gamifying the process makes it more bearable for my adhd brain, and other things like filming a timelapse of me cleaning, and having a video on the side (i’ve been watching anthony padilla interview people, and he’s such a good host). 3)it’s not the end of the world, the worst case scenario is that my family loses respect for me, which they have very little of anyway, so it’s not much of a difference. 4) even though it’s really hard, i’ve done it before and i can do it again.

i’m thinking i might have to go to woolies or aldi in the morning to get some power cleaning sprays and bleach. but that’s so exhausting. also, i wanted to treat them to my favourite halal food which is also affordable but im too broke and overwhelmed at the moment to do anything at all other than trying to get my place cleaned. i’m scared that i’ll run out of time and they’ll be here and they’ll be horrified. but yeah. i’m also rlly hungry and should get something to eat and take a shower. i don’t have enough time. i’m so sleepy and tired. but this is my fault. i can’t do things until it’s too late.

i think the most important thing is to remind myself that nothing is actually wrong. and it’s going to be okay. i can power through this. nothing actually bad is going to happen to be from anxiety. it’s just anxiety. a few hours of cleaning is enough to get my tiny studio apartment into shape. regardless of how messy/dirty it is. my strategy rn is to shove stuff into boxes. i can deal with it all later. however bad it may feel right now, i am not going to actually die from anxiety.

#journal entry #a terrible one #but that’s the truth #personal

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giffingthingsss · 2 years ago

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Men Must Endure

If only people (including myself: I also have fears) were still brought up with the idea that life is a battle where death and wounds await us at every moment, so that courage is the first and most necessary of virtues. - C.S. Lewis

I have seen you shine brighter than any son of man - Joy

"a power of hating with an almost incredible intensity"

Lewis says that his life really began with the death of his mother when he was nine ("all settled happiness, all that was tranquil and reliable, disappeared from my life."). Then came the boarding schools. He once wrote in reply to a young reader:

I was at three schools (all boarding schools) of which two were very horrid. I never hated anything as much, not even the front line trenches in World War I. Indeed the story is far too horrid to tell anyone of your age.

Lewis was sent to the first school, in another country no less, within two weeks of his mother's death. It was run by an abusive man who was rumored to be insane.

I half divined then, and seem to see clearly now, what all his whipping boys had in common. They were boys who fell below a certain social status, the boys with vulgar accents. Poor P. - dear, honest, hard-working, friendly, healthily pious P. - was flogged incessantly, I now think, for one offense only; he was the son of a dentist.

His experience at his second school was perhaps tainted by the perceptions and scars that he carried over from the first, for Warnie later convinced him it had not been so bad as he had thought. Here he was mainly bored by the teaching and exhausted by the workload and bullying inflicted on him by older boys.

One learns here a power of hating with an almost incredible intensity.

He retreated into a 'priggish' attitude, despising 'these course, brainless English schoolboys.' He complained loud enough to get his father to agree to send him to a private tutor, and there he was intellectually challenged and flourished.

Then came the war.

I have gone to sleep marching and woken again and found myself marching still…The frights, the cold, the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the sitting or standing corpses, the landscape of sheer earth without a blade of grass… often seems to have happened to someone else.

A wound cut his career short, but it lasted long enough to produce recurring nightmares the rest of his life.

"come and see me"

The war had at least served to cure a good bit of that 'prigishness.'

When a man can sleep between sheets as long as he will, sit in arm chairs, and have no fears, it is peevish to complain... I came to know and pity and reverence the ordinary man.

During training, Lewis' bunkmate was Paddy Moore. Paddy's mother and sister followed him during his training and stayed nearby. When on leave Paddy would go see them and take Lewis along.

It was on the last stay that Lewis and Paddy were rumored to have pledged to look after each other's family if one or the other did not survive. They were sent to different brigades. Paddy never came home.

Lewis was injured. The timing of it probably saved his life. Lying in hospital, the news kept coming in -

Nearly all my friends in the Battalion are gone. Did I ever mention Johnson who was a scholar of Queens? I had hoped to meet him at Oxford some day, and renew the endless talks that we had out there... He is dead.

Upon first hearing of the injury, Warnie commandeered a motorcycle and raced 50 miles to go see him. But once reassured that his brother was going to live, he had to return to his own duties.

Jack spent months in the hospital. A long time to be alone. Often he dropped his pride and pleaded with his father to come visit.

I was never before so eager to cling to every bit of our old home life and to see you....Come and see me. I am homesick, that is the long and the short of it.

But Albert Lewis always had some excuse. Bronchitis, etc... Not to say that he didn't love his son. But he didn't visit.

Mrs. Moore did.

"the whole thing irritates me by its freakishness"

Jack recovered and went back to school, Mrs. Moore and her daughter stayed close and Jack would visit and stay with them. After a time, they all lived together. (There was a Mr. Moore who stayed in Ireland and never entered the picture.)

Jack's family grew concerned. Speculation flew. Why was Jack living with this woman? Was it some strange love affair? Was it some promise made to Paddy? Surely he could fulfill an obligation without living like this? He was giving her his money!

Warnie wrote to their father:

I think perhaps you are making too much of it. Have you any idea of the footing on which he is with her? Is she an intellectual? It seems to me preposterous that there can be anything in it. But the whole thing irritates me by its freakishness.

Perhaps it was simply that during a period of time when Jack was lonely and needed someone, the Moores were there offering a house and a family he hadn't had since he was nine. All of those on the outside speculating about the nature of their relationship, were not.

After Jack's death, Warnie published some of his letters. Their cousin wrote to Warnie after reading them -

Mother and Pappy were very much distressed by Uncle A's [Jack's father] refusal to go see Jacks in hospital... Mother did not like to go for fear of showing Uncle A up. If she had gone she might have been able to give him the necessary feminine love and so saved his turning to Mrs. Moore for it.

"on his selflessness her selfishness fattens"

Jack's brother Warnie was usually on the sidelines of Jack's existence helping him in any way he could, observing with humor.

The two of them had turned to each other for comfort after their mother's death ("two frightened urchins huddled for warmth") and were close the rest of their lives. When Warnie retired from the military, he added himself to the ramshackle family.

All of this to say that Warnie was protective of his younger brother and watching Mrs. Moore (whom they nicknamed "Minto") keep him at her beck and call, slowly began to infuriate him.

The older she got, the more possessive of Jack she became. He spent the last fifteen years of her life not daring to even take a vacation.

Jack referred to her as 'the old lady whom I call my mother.' He took her waning health and increasing demands on his time in stride.

Warnie seethed.

The pity of it is that on his selflessness her selfishness fattens... It is an appalling thing to say, but she seems to me to be going mad through trying to live on hate instead of love... I went in by taxi at 9:15, feeling very guilty at leaving poor J alone with that horrid old woman in that abominable house...

At one point Jack wound up sick in the hospital. The doctor said he was so exhausted that any bug would have knocked him down. Warnie had had enough.

I got home sick with fright and savage with anger, and let her ladyship have a blunt statement of the facts...I ultimately frightened her into agreeing to grant J a month's leave.

But Warnie brought his own troubles to the table. Before Jack could take his vacation, Warnie had an alcoholic relapse. This made it impossible for him to take care of Minto while Jack was gone. Jack never got his vacation.

Minto finally had to be moved into a nursing home and Jack visited her every day until she died.

A lady wrote to Lewis saying that she had just finished reading a book about him and envied his life. Jack replied:

Walsh didn’t know much about my private life. Strictly between ourselves, I have lived most of it in a house which was hardly ever at peace for 24 hours, amidst senseless wranglings, lyings, backbitings, follies, and scares. I never went home without a feeling of terror as to what appalling situation might have developed in my absence. Only now that it is over do I begin to realise quite how bad it was.

It probably hindered his career (not much time to hobnob) but may have aided his creativity. Is not half the motivation for making up worlds to give yourself somewhere to escape to? And George Sayer pointed out that

If Jack had lived the cloistered existence of a bachelor don, his writing would have suffered from a loss of warmth, humanity, and the understanding of pain and suffering.

But Jack and Warnie now settled into the life of a couple of confirmed old bachelors. They enjoyed a few years of sitting. And walking. And reading. And smoking.

"any lame dog"

A teenager named Jill stayed with them during the war and helped take care of Minto. Lewis called her the most unselfish person he had ever met and she was reportedly the blueprint for Lucy. She said that Minto resented Jack going to Inklings meetings.

Lewis paid for Jill's schooling, but not hers alone. He redirected all the money he made from his talks to others without touching it, and in an almost comic twist, nearly destroyed himself in the process.

It never occurred to Lewis that he would have to pay tax on these royalties, and he soon found himself with a huge tax bill.

After this fiasco, Owen Barfield helped Lewis set up a charitable fund, into which he poured two-thirds of his income.

What he really liked was to find someone through a personal connection or hearsay whose wants might be alleviated. He was grateful to me for suggesting any lame dog whom my profession had brought to my notice. - Barfield

"the tragedy of Joy Gresham"

Around this time a woman from America began writing him. Helen Joy Davidman Gresham was herself an author. She went by Joy.

Warnie described it in his diary as:

one of those fantastic things which does happen to J…She appeared in the mail as just another American fan….she stood out from the ruck by her amusing and well-written letters, and soon J and she had become 'pen-friends.'

Early in this correspondence, Joy wrote to their mutual acquaintance, Chad Walsh -

Just got a letter from Lewis in the mail. I think I told you I'd raised an argument or two on some points? Lord, he knocked my props out from under me unerringly; one shot to a pigeon. I haven't a scrap of my case left. And, what's more, I've seldom enjoyed anything more.... a craftsman's joy at the sight of a superior performance.

Little of their correspondence remains, but there is at least one example of Lewis giving his opinion on a science fiction work she had recommended (this eventually led to Lewis meeting Arthur C. Clarke).

Joy attended a science fiction author's club when she moved to England. Years later she wrote -

How extraordinary it is for us lifelong fantasy and sci-fi readers to have real spaceships flying past the moon! I can't resist the temptation to yell, "Yak! I told you so!" at all who jeered me for predicting it. But there's a curiously anticlimactic feeling when one's been reading the stuff for so long; life is slower than imagination and seems only a blurred copy.

(You read that last line and you tell me she and Lewis weren't made for each other.)

Joy was married to William Gresham, another author and a veteran who apparently suffered from PTSD, among other things.

"the woman despises herself for being a fool and a sucker"

Joy took a trip to England and stayed part of that trip with Jack and Warnie.

Lewis said in a letter that the bachelors were quite 'circumvented' by an American visitor who 'talks from morning to night.'

A rapid friendship developed; she liked walking, and she liked beer. - Warnie

Good enough for Warnie

Joy's vacation ended with a blow. She wrote to a friend -

Bill and I are on the point of divorce. I can't pretend I'm sorry; I've been pretty wretched for years, and my conscience wouldn't let me quit ... Bill decided he wanted to marry the cousin I'd left keeping house for me... I never felt I could talk to anybody about my married life, in the past. But when this new situation developed I asked Lewis for advice and told him a good deal of the story — an expurgated version, at that. Some of it I simply can't put into words. Anyhow Lewis strongly advised me to divorce Bill; and has repeated it even more strongly since I've been home — Bill greeted me by knocking me about a bit... One of Bill's queer traits is his refusal to admit that his actions could ever be wrong or could ever hurt anybody. Two days after he'd half choked me, he asked in all seriousness, "Have you ever known me to do a brutal or unkind thing?"

Joy spent much of her remaining time in America trying to warn her cousin off of him.

One of the things about being the victim of such a man is the self-contempt it brings — the woman despises herself for being a fool and a sucker. And I know you tend to undervalue yourself anyway. So remember this: I'm a fairly bright girl, and yet I was so much under Bill's influence that I had to run away from him physically and consult one of the clearest thinkers of our time for help before I could see clearly what he was! So don't call yourself a stupid fool. People with honest emotions are always more or less at the mercy of the clever, conscienceless, heartless scoundrel with a talent for acting.

We don't have the letters between Lewis and Joy during this time, but years later Lewis replied to another woman who had written him with her troubles -

This is dreadful. It comes home to me a bit more than you might expect, because dear Joy went through something not quite unlike it from her first husband (only with him there was a clearer cause–alcoholism). The sooner you are all out of that man’s reach the better.

"I will never laugh at parents again"

Joy packed up her sons and moved to London. Some time after, her divorce was finalized and Bill married her cousin the same day.

After moving to England, there are lots of letters back home to Bill. Updates on the boys, thanks for money or asking for money, etc.... They're mostly cordial. As Joy wrote to Renee -

Try not to hate him too much, for that kind of hatred is only reversed love and will hurt you terribly - I know.

Bill became passionate about AA. Even so, work was elusive. He found it difficult to support the boys much at all. Lewis helped.

Jack pays the food bills or we'd go hungry... I've learned to stretch a pound note until Britannia screams.

Joy and the boys spent Christmas with Jack and Warnie. Lewis describes the experience of two bachelors in a suddenly raucous house -

Warnie and I are dazed: we have had an American lady staying in the house with her two sons...I now know what we celibates are shielded from. I will never laugh at parents again. Not that the boys weren’t a delight: but a delight like surf-bathing which leaves one breathless and aching. The energy, the tempo, is what kills. I have now perceived (what I always suspected from memories of our childhood) that the way to a child’s heart is quite simple: treat them with seriousness & ordinary civility–they ask no more.

Joy was trying to support herself writing. Being an immigrant, she was limited on what else she could do. Lewis paid her to type his manuscripts, including Surprised by Joy (nothing to do with the lady of the same name).

Joy also gave her feedback. She had written a couple of novels, but considered her true strength to be collaboration.

[Jack] has finished his autobiography. I've got the last chapters here now and must set my wits to work on criticism.

Once it was published, Bill wrote saying he had read it and sensed an undercurrent of grief in Lewis' life. Joy agreed.

I don't think he's ever got over his grief and horror at his mother's death - who would?...Jack's sorrows, instead of breaking him down, seem to have strengthened him, made him something like a saint.

"can you forgive me for the tacit lie?"

The relationship between Jack and my mother developed over a period of several years. It was slow, I mean Jack was a slow learner in some ways. He had found this woman whose intellect was probably the equal of his own. And of course a lot of people in England say, 'oh no no couldn't possibly be.' But the truth of the matter was that my mother's mind was in some ways superior to Jack's…and the two of them just struck a chord. - Douglas

Her mind was lithe and quick and muscular as a leopard...It scented the first whiff of cant or slush; then sprang, and knocked you over before you knew what was happening. - Lewis

For Jack the attraction was at first undoubtedly intellectual. Joy was the only woman whom he had met...who had a brain which matched his own in suppleness, in width of interest, and in analytical grasp, and above all in humor and a sense of fun. - Warnie

It's not clear when Lewis became aware of his feelings, but Joy had been in love with him for a long time.

Can you forgive me for the tacit lie - love concealed in friendship and in laughter? - Joy

(No, seriously, go read her poems. She really loved him.)

Joy advised Lewis on how to write from a feminine perspective for Till We Have Faces and critiqued it as he went along. Lewis dedicated it to her. He described it as 'far and away my best' work, but it didn't sell. (Perhaps these intellectual giants underestimated the public's interest in re-told greek myths.)

One need only read Joy's poetry to know her feelings. The nature of Jack's feelings are a little harder to pin down, for he certainly never admitted to anything until life put his back against the wall.

I don't believe that it took Jack long to develop love rather than friendship for Mother, but it may have taken considerably longer for him to come to a conscious identification of his feelings, and then even longer to a conscious admission of them even to himself. As early as 1955, I, a mere child, could see how he brighted in her presence, and how she positively reveled in his proximity.

For a long time, Joy remained convinced that Lewis would never return her feelings. She tried to be content with friendship while using poetry as her emotional outlet. Then she moved closer.

In the summer of 1955 she hired a house in Headington...and she and J began to see each other every day. It was now obvious what was going to happen. - Warnie

There was really only one major hurdle standing in the way of marital bliss: the rest of the world.

The problems of how to accomplish such a thing in the face of embarrassing opposition, not only from the Church, but also from many of his colleagues and "friends," must have given poor Jack considerable food for thought. The opposition has never died. - Douglas

Joy seems to have inspired either intense like or dislike in those who met her. I can see how this opinionated firebrand might offend a sensibility. She would probably piss everyone off at some point.

Lewis enjoyed arguing with her. He enjoyed collaborating with her. Eventually he realized he loved her.

The most precious gift that marriage gave me was this constant impact of something very close and intimate yet all the time unmistakably other, resistant — in a word, real. - Lewis

"disaster overtook us"

In the spring of 1956 the British government told her they would not renew her visa. Lewis married her in a civil ceremony, insisting it was just so she could stay in the country.

J assured me that Joy would continue to occupy her own house as "Mrs. Gresham" and that the marriage was a pure formality designed to give Joy the right to go on living in England: and I saw the uselessness of disabusing him. - Warnie

The way Joy saw it is clear from what she wrote to Chad Walsh after her diagnosis:

One good thing has come of all this - I can now tell you that Jack and I are married; have been for a few months... We've been trying to get the Bishop to rule my former marriage invalid, but he daren't. So Jack and I have been married only civilly, but I don't feel it matters a scrap.

It was likely a source of contention between the two of them. But he was beginning to cave on the issue of letting Joy and the boys move into the Kilns (Joy was already having health issues and had already had to stay there sometimes to be looked after).

Joy, whose intentions were obvious from the outset, soon began to press for her rights, pointing out with perfect truth that her reputation was suffering from J being in her house every day, often stopping until eleven at night; and all arrangements had been made for the installation of the family at The Kilns, when disaster overtook us. - Warnie

Joy had been tired and in pain for a long time with what she thought was 'fibrositis.' In October, a broken leg revealed terminal cancer.

The x-rays showed the bone looking 'moth-eaten'...In short, it is fairly probable that I am going to die. - Joy

Joy wasn't expected to live more than a few months. She wanted to officially be Mrs. Lewis before she died.

Lewis went looking for a priest who would flout orders from headquarters and perform a church ceremony. He found one in Peter Bide, an old student of his. Bide technically bent some rules, but if ever there was an occasion to do so, this was it.

It reminds me of something Lewis wrote about Huck Finn -

The scene in which Huck decides to be ‘good’ by betraying Jim, and then finds he can’t and concludes that he is a reprobate, is really unparalleled in humor, pathos, & tenderness. And it goes down to the very depth of all moral problems.

"I have married a dying woman..."

Jack wrote to a reader -

I have lately married a very ill, probably a dying, woman. My world is not bleak or meaningless, but it is tragic. If there is more pity and depth in my last book than in its predecessors, perhaps my own recent life has something to do with it.

The civil ceremony they had told almost no one about. They published news of this one very quietly, wishing to avoid the publicity and the avalanche of mail that would most likely descend, as well as the judgment of Jack's colleagues.

At least Chad Walsh congratulated them -

It probably won't come as any surprise to you to know that Eva and I had suspected - and devoutly hoped - that something was brewing. When we were in England, we thought we detected matrimony in the air, and it was all I could do to keep from volunteering my clerical services on the spot... I'm going to be writing Jack soon, but meanwhile, I wish you'd tell him how happy he has made us by making you and himself happy.

Lewis wrote to Dorothy Sayers -

Indeed, the situation is not easy to describe. My heart is breaking and I was never so happy before: at any rate there is more in life than I knew about.

Warnie on the wedding -

I found it heartrending, and especially Joy's eagerness for the pitiable consolation of dying under the same roof as J; though to feel pity for anyone so magnificently brave as Joy is almost an insult. Why one asks, should J have had the life which has been his - the best 32 years of it eaten out by Minto, and then the prospect of "peace at eventide" so cruelly snatched away?

Joy's happiness was mixed with regret -

Jack is terribly broken up. How horrible that I, who wanted to bring him only happiness, should have brought him this! Perhaps it would have been better for him if he'd never known me, though he says not.

She was moved into the Kilns to die. Lewis wrote various people telling them of the situation. He mentioned to one that he had mainly gained two stepsons, for while she would soon be gone, they would now be his responsibility.

"you have tortured one who was already on the rack"

Joy wrote to Bill telling him of her condition.

I am only moderately afraid for myself...but I am alarmed for the boys. My will appoints Jack and his lawyer as their guardians... Please, please don't try to get them back to the States.

Bill wrote Lewis pleading 'his side' of the story, essentially accusing Joy of plotting all along to marry Lewis and take the boys away from him.

He stated his intention to take the boys back to America, whereupon any cordiality Joy might have expressed in her letters promptly fell away.

Lewis wrote two letters to Bill, one for himself and one shortly after on behalf of Joy. He sidestepped the marital feud and begged Bill to think about what the boys wanted.

The boys remember you as a man who fired rifles thro’ ceilings to relieve his temper, broke up chairs, wept in public, and broke a bottle over Douglas’s head…. Your letter reached Joy after a day of agony. The effect was devastating...You have tortured one who was already on the rack; heaped extra weights on one who is being pressed to death. There is nothing she dreads so much as a return of the boys to your charge.... Their return to the U.S.A. when their education is finished is of course quite a different matter. Now, bitterly against their will, coming on top of the most appalling tragedy that can happen to childhood (I went through it and know), tearing them from all that has already become familiar and shattering all sense of security that remains to them, it would be disastrous. If you realized the cruelty of what you are proposing to do, I am sure you would not do it... You have a chance to soothe, instead of aggravating, the miseries of a woman you once loved. You have a chance of recovering at some future date, instead of alienating forever, the love and respect of your children. For God’s sake take it and yield to the deep wishes of everyone concerned except yourself.

Lewis threatened any and all legal action that would be required. One can't help but think that he greatly sympathized with the boys given his own childhood.

Bill acquiesced, but likely only because Joy lived. (A few years later he came to see the boys. About a year after the visit, he was diagnosed with throat cancer and killed himself.)

Douglas says Lewis never tried to replace his father, but wound up filling that role anyway.

Probably the safe rule will be ‘When in doubt what to do or say, do or say nothing.’ I feel this very much with my stepsons. I so easily meddle and gas: when all the time what will really influence them, for good or ill, is not anything I do or say but what I am. - Lewis

"they both had enormous amounts of courage"

Joy settled in for her last days, but rather than expiring, she went into remission. A joyful time with a shadow cast upon it.

Hardly any hope for the long term issue, but for the moment, apparently perfect health, no pain, eating & sleeping like a child, spirits usually excellent, able to beat me always at Scrabble and sometimes in argument...We are crazily in love. - Lewis

All I really care about is having a bit of life with Jack and getting adequately on my feet for it. He has been growing more attached to me steadily - is now, I think, even more madly in love with me than I with him, which is saying plenty...you'd think we were a honeymoon couple in our early twenties rather than our middle-aged selves....What a pity I didn't catch that man younger. - Joy

They both had enormous amounts of courage. Mother knew she was dying, she knew she had very little time, and she made it work for both of their benefits as long and as loud and as laughing as she could. - Douglas

There are many examples of Joy's humor and personality. I found this one particularly hilarious:

Why did you get my poor Jack mixed up with the ineffable Rakestraw or whatever her name was? She began by criticizing his opening words - "Today I want to discuss…" "Professor Lewis, couldn't you say instead, 'let us think together, you and I about..?" No, he couldn't. "But we want you to give the feeling of embracing them." Jack said if they wanted an embracer they had the wrong man. "Well, perhaps a feeling of involvement…" Ugh! At the end she made him sit absolutely silent before the microphone for a minute and a half "so they could feel his living presence." I told him he oughta charge double rates for that. C.S. Lewis being silent, a unique listening experience. He came home rather shattered with all this; and now we learn - not from the organization but through a friend - that they've decided to suppress the whole series because of Jack's 'startling frankness' on sexual matters! Needless to say he wouldn't have startled anyone over the age of sixteen and the IQ of 80.

Joy wrote to her cousin -

With Bill I lived in perpetual anxiety; if it wasn't women it was drink, and if it wasn't drink it was bad temper…and always it was money; just getting him out of bed in the morning and coaxing him to do a little work meant three hours' exacting work for me! With Jack the only problem is to keep him from working too hard and sacrificing himself to all the rest of us. He is really a saint, and that's not a word I use lightly. - Joy

Happiness had not come to her early in life. A thousand years of it would not have made her blasé. Her palate for all the joys of sense and intellect and spirit was fresh and unspoiled. Nothing would have been wasted on her. She liked more things and liked them more than anyone I have known. A noble hunger, long unsatisfied, met at last its proper food, and almost instantly the food was snatched away. - Lewis

"it's the daily living that hurts"

After a few years of domestic bliss, the cancer returned.

Joy had her right breast removed about 10 days ago, or–as she characteristically put it–became an Amazon.

An excerpt from one of Joy's last letters to Bill -

I admire the lofty fortitude with which you endure my cancer; for me, however, the problems are more mundane - how to scheme for each step I take, how to sit down in the john and worse yet manage to get up again, how to run a house when I can't so much as get to the telephone - how to keep going with a grin in spite of pain, and not make myself a dreary nuisance to everyone else. Anybody can die with fine theological sentiments, it's the daily living that hurts.

And she had done that painful living well with 'a soul straight, bright, and tempered like a sword' until the end.

For years now, it had been Mother's strength, wit and courage which had supported all of us, but Jack more than any of us needed her encouragement and her humor to lean upon... how was he to stand her loss without her?... I had seen him merely ten days or so previously, but since that time he had aged twenty years. His eyes held the look of a soul in hell. My brittle shell smashed, and I broke. "Oh, Jack," I burst out, and then the tears came. Jack rushed across the room and put his arms around me. - Douglas

"the real, raw man exposed bleeding to the public"

Lewis poured his feelings into a journal as a 'defense against total collapse.'

My trusty comrade, friend, shipmate, fellow-soldier. My mistress; but at the same time all that any man friend (and I have good ones) has ever been to me. Perhaps more. If we had never fallen in love we should have nonetheless been always together, and created a scandal. That’s what I meant when I once praised her for her ‘masculine virtues.’ But she soon put a stop to that by asking how I’d like to be praised for my feminine ones. It was a good riposte, dear. Yet there was something of the Amazon, something of Penthesileia and Camilla. And you, as well as I, were glad it should be there. You were glad I should recognize it.

Lewis told a visiting friend that he had been working his feelings out on paper. The friend asked if he could read it.

Roger took it to bed with him that night. The next morning at breakfast, he said "Jack, you absolutely must publish this. It's going to help so many millions of people all around the world who are dealing with exactly the agony you're dealing with now. You can't take this away from them. - Douglas

A Grief Observed was sent to a different publisher under a pseudonym because it was 'unbearably personal.' It was published under his own name after his death.

It was a stream of consciousness…he wasn't working out how to write each phrase… What we get is the real, raw man exposed bleeding to the public. - Douglas

One fan apparently sussed out the true author and wrote Lewis about it. He replied -

I don’t know how you discovered that I am N. W. Clerk. If it was from internal evidence, you must be a good critic. Please don’t tell people. I mean, in general. A confidential whisper in any particular case where you think it would do good, is another matter.

He wrote to another -

As to how I take sorrow, the answer is ‘In nearly all the possible ways.’ ... the moments at which I feel nearest to Joy are precisely those when I mourn her least...a clamorous need seems to shut one off from the thing needed... I must think it over. My youngest stepson is the greatest comfort to me. My brother is still away in Ireland.

"I have learnt to weep again"

It is a pity we don't have much correspondence between Jack and Joy. One circumstance or another (a damp basement, etc..) has robbed the world of their conversations. But maybe it's fitting. Maybe in a world where we have almost every other scrap of anything either of them ever wrote (which they almost certainly never intended for us to read), their talks remain their own.

Lewis 'recovered' but was never quite the same. Douglas recalls seeing him make an effort to seem alright in front of his friends, none of which had gone to Joy's funeral.

Jack, when in company with his friends and colleagues, was (after a while) again the jovial, witty intellectual they had known for years, but only Warnie and I knew what effort that cost him, and Warnie knew less than I, for Jack was careful with Warnie. I was more invisible. - Douglas

I cannot talk to the children about her. The moment I try, there appears on their faces neither grief, nor love, nor fear, nor pity, but the most fatal of all non-conductors - embarrassment. They look as if I were committing an indecency. They are longing for me to stop. I felt just the same after my own mother’s death when my father mentioned her. I can’t blame them. - Lewis

I could not talk to Jack about Mother, for I knew that if I did, he would weep and so also would I, and although now I feel that this might have been good for both of us, then it would have been anathema for me to cry openly, for as an English schoolboy I found it difficult to show my emotions...I have learnt to weep again since. - Douglas

After Lewis' death, Warnie wrote in his diary -

I learned this evening that while I was in Ireland last summer J said, "Warnie is my dearest and closest friend, and I can never be sufficiently thankful for the way in which he accepted my marriage." I had always hoped it was like this, but did not know; for this was the sort of thing neither of us could have said to the other.

Warnie spent more time in Ireland on drunken binges, the only way he knew to deal with his own grief.

Warnie loved my mother as much as Jack did, but in a very different way. She was the sister he never had. - Douglas

"the wheel had come full circle"

Before long, Warnie was off avoiding Lewis' own declining health at the time Jack needed him most.

W., meanwhile, has completely deserted me. He has been in Ireland since June and doesn’t even write, and is, I suppose, drinking himself to death....I fear he’ll kill himself if this goes on much longer.

Jack also had the boys to worry about.

We too have to try to cope with the problem of adolescence; the elder of the boys is now at a Jewish college in New York, and is writing me much more maturely than he did a year ago, so I have hopes for him... The younger one is...trying to pass ‘O Level’ and if you fail to get this certificate, the ranks of the white collar class are closed to you. A fact which does not seem to worry him in the least. However that is his affair; it is his own life he has to live, not mine!

Lewis only lasted about three years after Joy. Warnie thankfully returned from Ireland and was with him when he died.

Once again–as in the earliest days–we could turn for comfort only to each other. The wheel had come full circle: once again we were together in the little end room at home, shutting out from our talk the ever-present knowledge that the holidays were ending, that a new term fraught with unknown possibilities awaited us both.

Warnie kept the estate until his own death, after which it went to the boys.

Years later people interested in restoring the Kilns asked Douglas why he hadn't contributed any money to the cause, intimating that perhaps he was not grateful. Douglas replied, pissed -

Jack and Warnie themselves cared so little for the house that had it not been for my mother, the building would probably have fallen down around us. I, like Jack, feel that people are more important than houses, however much nostalgia they may have attached to them; and thus, also like Jack, I prefer to apply my giving to charitable concerns which have a direct bearing on the welfare of people in need…. Secondly, if everyone is interested in my 'gratitude or ingratitude for my personal fortune', let me tell you at once that I am not in the least grateful for money no matter where it comes from. If gratitude exists at all… it is owed for the home Jack gave me (and I do not refer to the house), the love and care he extended to my mother and myself, and the lessons he taught me.

Indeed, I think Lewis would be amused at best, horrified at worst at the idea that someone would value a chair he once sat in.

"I got very good at running"

When Lewis died, Douglas was around 17. He later dropped out of agricultural school, started a family and became a farmer. He admits to raising some Cain and not caring much about higher education, giving his 'uncle' and stepfather headaches. That and Warnie's drinking caused a bit of a rift in their relationship after Jack's death.

But years later, Warnie was happy to hear a good update:

[Douglas] has apparently at last resolved to face life and is working both hard and successfully...His dairy herd is doing well, the cream realizes a good price, and the skim milk feeds his pigs which are flourishing. As a sideline Merry herself keeps turkeys and this year has sold them well. Pray God that all this may be true!

The older, David, was attending a Jewish school in New York. About a month before his death Lewis wrote urging someone to make sure an allowance was going to David out of his royalties, because he apparently hadn't received one.

I have now had two successive letters from him explaining that he has received nothing: the second quite frantic...I am nearly out of my mind about the business myself... I am, and shall continue to be, most grateful for any countenance you can show him.

Little was said about David down through the years. Douglas finally revealed why.

My brother is now dead. He died on Christmas Day, which is very like him - to make Christmas Day as miserable as he could for as many people as possible.

David's problems are hinted at a few times in Jack and Joy's letters ("intelligent, but moody and spiteful") but never described in any detail. The general picture that emerges of David is one of a perpetual wet blanket.

Jack tried his very hardest for David all the time. He tried to help in every way he could—he was kind and gentle and wonderful with him...none of it was accepted,” Douglas said. “Well, it was accepted, but he was never grateful about it. He was just very badly damaged mentally and emotionally, and he stayed that way.

Douglas alludes to violence in his book when he mentions protecting other children from David, something that the reader could easily take for typical older boy bullying. But now Douglas reveals that David had sometimes literally tried to kill him.

My earliest memory of this, we were taken to a swimming hole in upstate New York one summer day, and my memory is lying on my back in the mud, looking up and seeing the water above me, the sort of light on it, and my brother was standing on me. I suddenly realized that if I didn't do something rapidly, I was going to die right then and there. I would have been probably five or six years old. He made many attempts to get rid of me. I never could understand why he hated me... I got very good at running.

It wasn't until years later in New York that David was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. He refused to believe it and wouldn't accept treatment.

But there was a period of relief, apparently. Perhaps he did seek help at some point. Warnie recounts David coming to visit a few years after Jack's death. He was astonished at the "pleasant young man who has emerged from the really detestable boy from whom we suffered so much."

David eventually died in a Swiss mental institution.

He wasn't cruel deliberately; he couldn't help it. He had no idea that he was doing something bad, I don't think anyway...I would never have said anything to harm him or upset him while he was alive, because oddly enough I still loved him as a brother. In fact, I wept when he died... The only reason I’m releasing it now is because people should know what Jack put up with and what Warnie put up with and how heroic they were to do it at all.

"I at last had forgiven"

In that last year or so, between his failing health and everyone scarce, Lewis found it basically impossible to keep up with his self-imposed burden of replying to everyone who wrote to him. But he did the best he could.

They wrote to him from all over the world with their personal religious or moral problems. And I doubt any of them, unless they were lunatics beyond the fringe, went without a reply... An invalid lady in Washington, whom he had never met, recently sent me for safekeeping a box of the letters she received from Lewis, all in his handwriting, during his last years. There must be well over a hundred of them. When she was expecting to have an operation, he wrote her as often as once a week. - Barfield

In July of that year he wrote her -

Do you know, only a few weeks ago I realised suddenly that I at last had forgiven the cruel schoolmaster who so darkened my childhood. I’d been trying to do it for years: and like you, each time I thought I’d done it, I found, after a week or so it all had to be attempted over again. But this time I feel sure it is the real thing.

His last letter to this particular lady included an offer.

Perhaps I might be able to make up what is lacking of your hospital coverage. How much wd. it be?

He died a month later.

Now and then, I am given a moment when the shadow of pain is lifted from my eyes and I rejoice to see how gold you are. - Joy

Once very near the end I said, ‘If you can — if it is allowed — come to me when I too am on my death bed.’ ‘Allowed!’ she said. ‘Heaven would have a job to hold me; and as for Hell, I’d break it into bits.’

Lewis' death was overshadowed by the assassination of John F. Kennedy, which occurred on the same day. Perhaps some death angel wasn't sure which famous 'Jack' to reap.

Men must endure their going hence, even as their coming hither; Ripeness is all.

Such was the Shakespeare quotation on the calendar the day that Jack and Warnie's mother died. Warnie had a portion of it inscribed on Jack's gravestone.

I know what it’s like to have to be the comforter when one most needs comforting, and the competent arranger at the very moment when one feels most disabled…. Try to keep clear of the modern fancy that all this is abnormal & that you have been singled out for something outrageous. For no one escapes. We are all driven into the front line to be sorted sooner or later. With all blessings & with deep sorrow, - C.S. Lewis

#a succession of hardships #c.s. lewis #it started with just finding some fun anecdotes #and it ended in a book

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beyuji · 2 years ago

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chuseok (2023) - afternoon.

the entirety of the morning before they leave to go visit their grandfather is spent with yuji worrying about what yubin wants to talk about.

it's easy to focus on her grandmother though. let her gush about her day, fuss over yuji and shove food down her throat. usher her to dress up in her hanbok before they settle into festivities. her grandmother is a savior to her, really; every snap from her mother is met with her grandmother at yuji's defense. every question towards yuji from her father is met with her grandmother's retort of what's a grown woman's business to you? mind your manners. followed by a pat to her hand that yuji's thankful for.

hyeongseop's been quiet towards her. he offered her a hello and a drink and awkward conversation-- which is unusual. he does look like he's swallowed something he shouldn't though. face screwed up and pinched, never meeting her eyes. yuji wonders if it has something to do with whatever yubin wants to speak about.

after breakfast they go to their visit to yuji's grandfather. he's buried not too far from their home, and they walk. her grandmother wraps her frail arm around yuji and lets her lead her. she complains about her mother, complains about her father. complains about yuji never being around but now she understands why. and yuji thinks that's sweet of her-- even if she only has a bit of an idea as to why.

she doesn't ask her to listen to her parents though. which is what yuji's most thankful for.

they greet grandfather solemnly. her grandmother leaves her side to go to her father, and yubin takes her side. yuji tenses but they're both silent in their greetings. yubin goes first, then nudges yuji to do the same. they both step aside after, letting the rest step forward as yubin intertwines their arms together.

"we're going for a little walk real quick." yubin points to her husband, who aqcuisces easily. doesn't look at yuji which makes her even more uncomfortable as they walk away.

the scenery is nice, if you don't mind the graves. yuji's eyes move over them carefully, watching other family members visit loved ones as yubin directs them a bit to the side. enough privacy where they won't be overheard, but they're still in eyesight of their own family.

"what's all this about?" yuji asks, turning her head to stare her sibling down with a frown. "your husband's been acting unusual too. did you do something? did he?"

yubin's lips purse. "he's. he's being nice. i know he's bad at it, but i asked him to lay off you a bit."

weird. "why?"

"because," she sighs. "he's too harsh on you. i'm too-- i've been harsh. when did you stop working at the ruby?" she asks, turning her stare to yuji. her stare is intense, probing, and yuji leans away a bit, hesitating. "they also said you worked part time at a hostel. and that i could probably catch you there. what is going on with you?"

she doesn't blink. can only stare.

"you look fine. tired. but...yuji," yubin continues a plead to her voice. "are you job hopping? you mentioned you were staying with a friend, but you never mentioned who. i get not wanting to give information to mom and dad. but me? i worry. incessantly. i know you think it's annoying and we don't always see eye to eye, but i care about you. i annoy you because i want to know how you're doing. what you're doing. if you're safe-- you're basically..." she talks and she talks and for the first time yuji just. listens.

the last few times yubin and her had interacted had ended in arguments. accusations made and words said that maybe were meant in the moment but looking back-- maybe a bit dramatic.

"you basically ghost until family events. no one hears lick of you outside of a few scattered texts and a monthly call. you could get hurt and we'd be none the wiser. and maybe you don't care, but i need you to work with me. i won't utter a single word to dad about it. but i have to tell mom something. i've got to tell myself something."

she's been a trainee for over a year. she's kept it quiet for this long, and it's...tiresome. it's tiresome to lie and hide, even if yuji's been doing it since she could remember. so she folds, easily. maybe it's the attentiveness that yubin's been giving her that makes her feel like opening up.

maybe it's yuji herself.

she talks and she talks. voice never leaving her level tone as she stares at their family across the way. talks about the audition and getting into lime. about transferring to sr media. talks about working at the hostel. talks about lying about staying with friends and how she relys on couch hopping and staying at the hostel when they keep it hush hush.

and at the end, she doesn't look at yubin. yuji meets her grandmother's eyes and smiles easily, lifting her hand in a wave. yubin's quiet next to her, doesn't move-- and she wonders what sort of image they make. yubin processing yuji's info dump as yuji smiles in the face of their audience from far away.

but yubin doesn't scold her. at first, she doesn't say anything at all, but then she's wrapping her other arm around the one she already has, hugging her arm to her as she gives a soft little oh, yuji.

yuji agrees. she's tired. she overworks herself to make sure she has a place to stay when she needs. she overworks herself at the company to ensure she can stay there for another year. maybe this time will be the one. she's overworked sure, but she's doing something she wants to do and that's okay with her. yuji can deal with all that it brings if it comes to something in the end. and it has to-- yuji will make sure it does.

"i won't tell you to not do it. if you've pushed this far then...maybe..." yubin's voice is thoughtful, pensive. "you're an adult. you know what you're doing. what you want. but-- yuji, let me help you with a place. you can't live on other people's couches like this until you debut. if you do. that's not healthy."

yuji knows that. she stays quiet, and thinks about it.

in the end, they shake on it-- set a date for apartment hunting for yuji and plan to work out something so yuji can have herself a place. safe to say, this chuseok is much better than the previous years.

#be:chuseok2023 #🌧️ solo ;#wc: 1119

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ramius-xiv · 10 months ago

Text

I would do a few things differently, and I didn't love every choice they made with Dawntrail's story, but there are also a good many criticisms I've seen that I disagree with. I also don't hold my own feelings or those of other players in such bulletproof esteem that I'd wield them as some kind of judgment on the job the writers did, because:

This is a first chapter to a new story, like ARR was, and I think a lot of people were expecting something as cathartic as Endwalker was, a role Dawntrail was never going to and could never fill.

This being the first chapter there are a good number of dangling threads that don't seem to go anywhere now but are likely to be revisited later. Shadowbringers and Endwalker are famed for tying up so many older threads, many of which had been left dangling for several expansions, but players seem to have little patience for the introduction of new ones without immediate resolution. (A LOT of the criticisms I've read center on things I'm confident will be fleshed out and addressed in more detail later.)

This game's fans, as devoted as they are, have a really bad habit of letting themselves get too attached to their own theorycrafting or that of their favorite streamers, and of being disappointed or bitter when the story doesn't do what they expected (while I in turn feel that all else being equal an unpredictable story is preferable to a predictable one).

Whenever gamers insult the work that devs do, I find that they almost always fail to account for a lot of factors that devs have to consider to balance story and gameplay considerations, but that gamers have the luxury of not having to think about. This is why I generally feel that devs should listen to player feedback but should absolutely not make that feedback the core of their direction and should still follow their own path. (As it is I think CS3 listens a little too much already to the squeaky wheels who do things like bitching about In From the Cold only to turn around and also complain that there weren't enough cool special instances in Dawntrail, or whine incessantly about Eureka and Bozja only to lament that content's absence in Endwalker. Gamers aren't actually always the best judges of what's good).

The majority of players are shitty writers. Most people are. That's one reason why nobody pays them to do it. And as in my original post, almost every suggestion I've heard from players of how things should've been done "better" would in my opinion be worse. I've heard a few decent ideas, but not many... and these are coming from people who have no way of knowing what's in store down the line.

People's feelings often evolve (positively, negatively, or even both) as they have time to digest something they've experienced, discuss the work with others, and consider things they missed or didn't think about at first. However, the most negative criticism began and started to propagate online from people who hadn't even gotten through the first half of the MSQ yet, or ones who had finished on Friday night or Saturday morning of early access and so probably skipped a lot. This does not scream "well considered opinion" to me.

There's plenty of room for us all to critique Dawntrail's story where we feel like it let us down, and to let the devs know about the things that worked or didn't work for us. They have always welcomed constructive criticism. We don't have to be writing experts to offer it either—the devs and writers are human and are part of a business and though they're professionals they are not infallible—but we should maintain some perspective and humility while doing so based on the points above. Not only is that a more effective way to approach critique in most situations, it's also much more likely to be taken seriously by the devs. And you're correct: just saying "everything" isn't constructive or useful, but if you put the time and thought into it to identify the major points you don't like you absolutely can discuss them one by one and explain why they didn't land for you, which is constructive and useful. And I disagree strongly that it's "semantics" to differentiate between something that just didn't land for you personally and one on which a poor job was done by the game's creators, especially since the backlash against Dawntrail has been far from unanimous and so there is clearly stuff there on which negative opinions are very demonstrably subjective.

Just about every time someone says to me that the writing in FFXIV is "bad" I ask them what they would've done instead, and their answer is dramatically worse.

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 3 years ago

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Hii! For the flower meme prompt could you write for Leona + (30.) Rainflower? Thank you!!

PS: hope u can motivate urself back!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧ (and...UGH these prompts are so cuteeee!! It was so hard to choose one lol)

Leona Kingscholar:

Rainflower - realizing that you/they love them/you back.

You could tell from the irritated twitch of his ears that Leona has had enough.

You’re surprised he even showed up to the meeting his brother called but there was a part of you that knew it was because you weren’t going to deny the invitation. As a couple you were expected to appear together, so while you might not raise a complaint to Leona not appearing he knew the rest of his family would eat him alive. But there’s an internal debate going on in his head currently, one that was telling him he would have dealt with the same level of annoyance if he’d just stayed in bed and let them come complain to him.

Leona was difficult to comfort, he rarely showed weakness (in fact, you couldn’t think of any time you’d seen him vulnerable unless his overblotting counted). It left you at a loss for how to comfort him, knowing that despite his rough exterior it never hurt to let him know you were in his corner. You hesitated to do something that might sour his mood even more, especially because you would be the one having to deal with him for the few grumpy hours after this, but standing here just watching his unhappiness grow just didn’t sit right with you.

It was a simple thing, just a gentle touch where you approached him from behind and placed a hand on the back of his arm. He gave you a sideways glance and a brief raised eyebrow but since he wasn’t pulling away, you considered it a win. You took another step closer so you were mostly hidden behind his back, hand moving to his back; you started to rub soothing circles, keeping your movement slight so it wouldn’t attract the attention of others.

His tail is flicking but he has yet to raise a complaint, nor has he moved away and looked at you like you were crazy, which is as good a sign as any that he doesn’t mind what you’re doing. His ears have even stopped incessantly twitching each time his brother spoke and rested peacefully on top of his head. When the meeting is called to an end they lower briefly in a ‘thank goodness’ moment of relief, and your boyfriend turned to you with an undecipherable look on his face.

“Were you comforting me in my time of need?” Leona always seemed so smug when he brought up the little things you did for him, even if you were pleased with the fact he noticed at all. He noticed everything; the lesson just hadn’t fully sunk in yet. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you only came because of me so I… felt bad…” You moved to lean the side of your head against his arm now that the room was empty but you’re startled when you nearly fall over, Leona dodging your affectionate move; it left your heart heavy in your chest, wondering if you had perhaps overstepped and not realized.

You’re quickly set at ease as his arms find themselves around you, his hand on the back of your head bringing you closer to his chest. You react accordingly, arms wrapping around his middle as you moved yourself even closer. It might come as a surprise to most, it certainly had to you, but Leona was a very physically affectionate person. While PDA had never been his thing when it was just the two of you, he purred like a kitten whenever your body was pressed against his. He sought out the skin-to-skin contact often, no matter how simple it was.

To even be allowed this close to him…

Maybe he showed you his vulnerable side more often than you thought.

#Disney TWST #TWST #Disney Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Leona Kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #scenario #flower prompts

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adoristsposts · 3 years ago

Text

wallflower, newt scamander

newt scamander was known as a wallflower. you were not. but nothing would ever beat the perfection of silence with him in the midst of a party.

newt scamander x gn! reader

word count; 955

warnings; hogwarts!newt, alcohol, unspoken romance kind of thing

Fire Whisky was officially your least favourite drink. Merlins beard, you didn't know your head could get this foggy. You tried to keep up with the boy talking to you, but the world was twirling behind him and you found it hard to keep up with what he was saying. When you realized he was looking expectingly at you for a response, you just furrowed your eyebrows. "Helga, I'm so sorry, I was not listening at all. I think I need to sit down" You admitted. He moved to guide you somewhere, but you lightly batted him away and made your way towards a familiar spot.

He was hard to see among the group of people. Hufflepuff didn't throw many parties, but when they did they threw the most extravagant ones. And wallflower or not, Newt Scamander always showed up. Probably because his dormmates kicked him out so they could snog some girls. You didn't care. You found him quickly and sidled up next to him. Tipping the remainder of your drink down your throat, you smiled warmly at him. "Want to get out of here, Scamander?" You teased. His jaw fell softly as red creeped up his neck and ears. You laughed, "I'm only joking. Come for a walk with me?"

He nodded and you took his hand in your own. You tugged him through the crowd of bodies, making sure he didn't bump into anyone as you went. You felt bad that you doubted he could navigate the crowd without you, but he was far too anxious and polite to push through as you did.

You met Newt in the boats in first year. By third he was your chosen tutor for Care of Magical Creatures. It was by far your favourite class, purely because it was the only thing that got Newt talking. He was a tough shell to crack, and planning to take a class in your NEWT levels for a boy was ridiculous, but something about how he spoke of the animals charmed you beyond words. Your friends teased you incessantly. Scamander, the Hufflepuff boy who befriended Nifflers easier than humans? It baffled them. But you could spend hours thinking about every interaction you had ever had with him. How sweet he was. How easy it was to speak with him. When your friends had crushes, they complained of stuttering and sweating and worrying. Everything with Newt felt simple. Neither of you had ever put it into words, but you could feel something thrumming between you.

You dragged him out of the Hufflepuff entrance and let out a loud breath of relief. "Good Merlin, I think I'm drunk" You admitted to him. He gave you a look of horror, and you laughed. He had no idea how to handle a drunk girl, Helga help him. "You can calm down, I'm fine. Just... intoxicated" He sighed, "Why do you enjoy drinking?" You shrugged. How could you even answer that? "Liquid courage" You decided. He pursed his lips, "You don't need liquid courage. You're the bravest person I know"

You pushed his shoulder lightly. "Scamander, you smooth talker. You know loads of brave people." He blushed at your comment. He seemed so nervous. It was endearing. He followed beside you as you two walked silently to the courtyard. The cold air turned your nose pink and your hands numb, but you settled down on a bench and made sure to sit close enough to Newt that your thighs were pressed together. You could faintly hear the noise from the party. The thumping music and loud chatter. The teachers had to be fully aware it was going on. You were glad they didn't care enough to intervene. You all needed a nice party to get over the stress approaching exams were bringing.

Birds sang in the distance. The cold bit into you. You snuggled into Newt's side, resting a head on his shoulder. He didn't tense, but he used to. It took forever for him to finally realise that you were interested, and that your lingering touches and smiles were hints of it, not forms of teasing. "Are those anything interesting?" You asked, referring to the bird calls. You didn't look up at his face, instead staring as the animals fluttered about in the distance. "Auguries. It's going to rain soon" He told you. You hummed and shut your eyes. You felt so, so tired. Alcohol made you drowsy. You felt too drained to talk, but you did anyways. "What are you researching right now?" You asked. He was always looking into something.

"Bowtruckles. I met one in the forbidden forest and he seems quite nice" He said. "He picked the lock on my notebook. He's quite troublesome" You chuckled, "You should name him Pick-It. You can keep him in your pocket and he can steal all the answers to the exams" He hummed in amusement. "Maybe I will... Pickett" He said. You felt him shift underneath you and lifted your head off his shoulder to peer at him. He was looking up at the sky. When he looked back of you your noses were so close they were almost touching. He visibly swallowed, which made you smile as he glanced down at your lips then back up very quickly, almost like he was embarrassed to be caught looking. "Something wrong?" You purred teasingly.

"It's going to rain" He told you matter-of-factly. You grinned at him. "I know, you said that earlier" "We should go inside." He said softly, looking down at your lips. "We should" You agreed. Neither of you moved. "Unless" You spoke, "You want to sit here for a little longer"

He smiled. It filled you with warmth. "Let's sit"

#newt scamander #newt scamander fluff #harry potter #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander fic #god i love unspoken romance guys #hogwarts

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notanotherreidgirl · 4 years ago

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Hi love! Can i get 5 “I want to strangle you 99% of the time.” please! with spencer?

Yes! You can!

wc: 605

Warnings: none (i know, i know)

“There aren’t enough rooms for everyone so we have to double up.” You gave JJ a hopeful look as Hotch started handing out room keys but she was already running off with Emily. You groaned when he pressed the key matching Spencer’s in your open hand. “Don’t even start, Y/N.”

It wasn’t a secret that you and Spencer hated each other’s guts. You were at each other’s throats from the day you joined the team. It started out with healthy competition - coming up with increasingly obscure facts, taking friendly trivia a little too far, racing to get the last cup of coffee. But then things escalated - the bickering was relentless, you complained about each other incessantly and took drastic measures to make each other miserable. You had even hidden in an overhead compartment of the jet for over half an hour to jump out at him as payback for salting your coffee. Everyone found it endearing at first but it soon became apparent that there was no hope for reconciliation.

He trailed behind you as you stormed up to your room, sighing as he listened to you grumble. “I think we can survive rooming together for one case”

You whirled around to face him. “Are you joking? I want to strangle you 99% of the time.”

“What about the other 1%?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. What a freaking smartass. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Resolving to ignore him, you stormed into the bathroom to take a shower in hopes that he would be gone by the time you came out. He wasn’t.

Instead, he was tucked into the bed. Singular.

You frantically searched the room with your eyes for another bed as he looked on amused. You had been so caught up in washing the dirt of the crime scene off you and getting away from Spencer that you hadn’t noticed the dire sleeping arrangements. “What are you doing on the bed?”

“I got shot 2 months ago. You’re sleeping on the floor”

“Like hell I am. Move over” you climbed onto the bed, constructing a pillow wall before reaching over and snapping the lamp off. “Hey! I was reading”

“Too bad. Go to sleep.” You smiled into your pillow at his frustrated whine, unwilling to admit to yourself how cute he sounded.

A few hours later you jolted awake to a strangled call for help. You sat upright, reaching for the gun stashed in your nightstand and flicking on the light but everything seemed to be as you left it.

“Hey, you okay?” you peered over the pillow wall to see Spencer rubbing his face, doing his best to regulate his breathing. A nightmare. Your chest tightened when you took in the fear still etched on his face.

“Yeah, it’s nothing. I’m fine. Just-” he broke off, embarrassed. There was a long silence. “Can we - uh- can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

You had no quick retort this time. “Sure thing, Spence”

You turned off the light and got back under the covers. He was still up, tossing and turning. Before you could think better of it, you darted a hand under the pillow wall and intertwined your fingers with his. He immediately relaxed, holding your hand tightly. For a moment you were lost in how big his hand was compared to yours, how warm but you shook your head stubbornly. I don’t like Spencer Reid.

“If you tell anyone we held hands I have two people in my phone who will kill you”

“Understood.” He meant to sound grave but you could hear the smile in his voice.

Blurb Masterlist

#lanie's 1k celebration!#thx for sending <3 #blurbs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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wonlouvre · 4 years ago

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helllo~~ I just saw that you opened your drabble requests again and I would like to ask if you could write a drabble with Joshua Hong where he and the reader both had a hard day and get into a little fight during dinner but at the end they end up apologizing and cuddling on the couch?🥺 thank you a lot in advance and have a wonderful day!!

peckish | h. js.

pairing: non-idol!joshua x g.n. reader genre: a little bit of angst (they argue), fluff warnings: mentions of food, eating, nitpicking and nagging word count: 1k+

💌: thank you for requesting anon! :’) as usual, i made some changes here and there if you don’t mind. i hope you like it anon! pls tell me what you think about it <3

You and Joshua decided to move in together during the second year of your relationship. The memory of you discussing that particular stage of your relationship is still fresh in your memories. Funnily enough, moving in together was more about being practical rather than being romantic. Your apartment was both far from your job and him. It’s not that you wouldn’t go the distance for your boyfriend, but the frequent two hour travels are tiring and the cost of living is still getting more and more expensive as the days go by.

If your memories serve you right, it was around two months later when the two of you found the perfect unit. It was awkward and annoying during the first few months. You two were navigating through the ups and downs of living together 24/7. You both have the tendency to nitpick and nag over the smallest of things incessantly. Once one of you starts, the other follows and it’s not cute.

But along the way, the two of you got the hang of it. Not for the sake of just coexisting but you two reached a compromise without hurting or disregarding each other’s feelings. You talked through it and respected each other’s concerns, complaints, wants and needs.

And now, there’s only about a week left and you’d be celebrating five years as a couple and three years of living together.

Petty arguments still happened and are still happening occasionally, but you guys do your very best to not let it get the best of you. And speaking of arguments, on this one particular tiring day, another one is budding.

“I told you not to put tomatoes,” you complain under your breath while poking your fork on the meal your dearest boyfriend cooked for dinner. “I’ve told you this countless times before and until now. Do you even listen to what I say?”

Joshua continues to eat, completely unbothered. “And I told you before to put your socks on the hamper after every use and yet we’re still here. Who’s not listening now?”

The tomato is red which is very similar to how you’re registering the dining table now. Blood is even rushing to your face and you can feel the heat. Your grip on the fork loosens and you drop it on the plate, a loud clunk booming across the quiet room.

“Are you serious? You're doing this to me over socks?” You question and glare at Joshua’s handsome face.

Joshua also stops eating and picks up the napkin beside his plate to wipe his lips clean. “Y/N, you’ve never complained about the tomatoes I put on our meals because you know it’s part of the recipes. Why are you suddenly whining about them?”

You are so irritated, you can hear your heart pounding on your chest. Tears are starting to line your eyes and you could cry anytime now. You get like this when you’re having a bad day. Work and the people you work with have not been the kindest today and you were hoping a nice warm meal with your boyfriend could help ease your stress and anger.

“I’m complaining about them because I don’t like them and I’m awfully tired and just want to eat something,” you say before standing up.

You don’t want Joshua to see you crying over this because you yourself find this embarrassing and unnecessary to argue about. Who knows? Maybe Joshua is also having a bad day and seeing the socks you forgot to remove from your shoes must have ruined his day further.

“Y/N,” your boyfriend calls for you, his voice tired but still gentle. “Where are you going? You haven’t finished eating.”

“I’m not that hungry anymore,” you say and finally walk off to your shared bedroom.

You know you should have put those socks on the hamper. You had every intention to do so. It’s just that you were in desperate need to shower the day away and take a short nap before your boyfriend comes back home and have dinner with him. You always listen to Joshua and his reminders and you know he’s no different. You just thought he wouldn’t see or at least he could have let it pass just this one time.

But then again, no matter how many excuses and rebuttals the two of you make, it was still wrong for you and him to take your anger out on each other.

The moment you left Joshua alone at the dining table, regret immediately started to eat you up. It felt terrible, you could feel it in your stomach grumbling and heart clenching. You take a breather and wash your frustrations away. After not more than fifteen minutes later, you silently and carefully tread back to the kitchen, where your boyfriend is washing the dishes alone.

You did not hesitate to walk closer to him and circle your arms around his waist. Joshua jumps a little, surprised by your touch but doesn’t move away and just continues with what he was doing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, words muffled because your face is snuggled to his back. “I’ll put my socks on the hamper next time.”

You know Joshua’s silently smiling and laughing with how he’s upper body is shaking. Just right then, the water stops from running and he’s turning around to face you. You keep your arms on his waist and lean your chin up to his chest, where you can feel his heartbeat. He’s smiling at you when he leans down to kiss your forehead, long and sweet.

“Let me wash up so that we can go to bed. How’s that sound?” Joshua offers and you can never be more than happy.

Your bedroom and bed is the best place in this apartment (Joshua thinks it’s the kitchen but you’re not having it at the moment). It’s warm and cozy. It’s even warmer and cozier when your boyfriend is with you on it. You’re so blessed and grateful to always begin and end the day with him.

“I’m sorry about the tomatoes,” Joshua says against the top of your head and tugs you closer to his chest. “I’ll try to be discreet about adding them next time I cook.”

You can’t help but giggle, nuzzling your nose to his warm chest. “It’s okay. I’ll just set them aside or give them to you.”

“Bad day, huh?”

“Yeah. You too?”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you apologize again and kiss the side of his neck. “I’ll cook you breakfast tomorrow.”

“Stop apologizing.” Joshua jokingly glares, but fails anyway because his eyes just sparkle all the time. He kisses your forehead for the nth time in return. “I want pancakes please.”

“Noted.” You keep his request in mind right at the moment you start to yawn.

“I love you always,” Joshua says wholeheartedly.

“I love you always,” you also say, wholeheartedly.

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spaceskam · 4 years ago

Text

a follow up to this fic

AO3

Michael liked the ring.

Of course he liked the way it made him feel, the way it's power seemed to make him feel comfortable in his own skin above all else. It was no longer a power high as much as it was like a security blanket or a favorite shirt.

The power, however, didn't escape him.

He never really had to strain before, but this was a different beast. With a thought he could read people's aura, move multiple things at once, feel around larger areas than he even knew what to do with. It was fun and felt like he could really breathe for the first time in a long time. He did his best to not rely on it too much, to make sure he didn't get too used to the power it gave him, but he couldn't help but enjoy it.

Alex was slowly but surely getting more comfortable with him wearing it as well. At first, he babied him incessantly and was so sure it was going to overload him somehow and that it was going to kill him or something. He still watched him, spent all his free time with Michael to make sure the ring wasn't effecting him negatively. Michael couldn't complain about it.

"So, this group you're working with. Do they know this exists?" Michael asked, inspecting the ring on his finger. It didn't occur to him until just then that maybe he shouldn't just leave it on his left hand like that.

"As far as I can tell, no," Alex said, sighing as he looked up from what he was working on. It was just a notebook full of crude sketches of his actual project. Michael wanted to help, but the thing couldn't leave Deep Sky and Michael couldn't go there, so he simply had to listen to Alex speak and bounce ideas off him.

It was probably the most fun he'd ever had in his entire life.

"But I'm not about to risk them trying to hunt it down before me. I need to be a step ahead, at least. I'm so fucking tired of being stupid about things," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"You're far from stupid, Alex."

"Too trusting which is a form of stupidity."

"It's not a bad thing to be trusting, it's other people's fault for taking advantage," Michael insisted.

Alex sighed and looked at him. He was so tired. He always did. Michael was never good at figuring out what to do to help that other than instigate. Maybe he could try to persuade him, but somehow that felt like a dead end.

"People are never going to stop taking advantage, so why should I remain open to being taken advantage of?"

"Okay, fine, point made. But still, I like that about you. The way you don't automatically assume people have shitty intentions. It's, like, the exact opposite of me," Michael said. A smile tugged at Alex's mouth and he let it show just a bit, leaning against the table.

"You assume everyone has bad intentions?" Alex asked, "Even me?"

Michael scoffed, his heart thrumming and the ring on his finger all but singing in delight. That was another fun thing about the ring. It always encouraged positive feelings.

"Now you know damn well–"

Without much warning, the hatch to the bunker opened and caused them to break eye contact as they both looked up. Sanders stood there looking as grumpy as ever.

"What do you want, old man?" Michael asked, only having to feign his annoyance a little bit. As much as he didn't like having his moments with Alex interrupted, it wasn't so bad when he knew he had more.

That knowing was everything.

"You and the boyfriend gettin' along now?" Sanders asked. Michael's neck felt hot and he didn't dare look at Alex. He felt like a teenager being caught all of the sudden.

"Can you not make it weird?"

"Weird for who?" Alex asked. Michael's eyes went to him, Alex's face with a small smirk and his head tilted. He looked so good. Happy. The ring was damn near vibrating with joy again his skin.

"We're talking about research," Michael responded instead. Sanders grunted.

"Sure, research."

"We are!"

"I believe that as far as I can throw you," Sanders said. Michael scratched his arm, trying to dilute the feeling building up inside him. It was overwhelming, an overdose of goodness that the ring amplified. "Right, well, I was just reminding you that Jane Garcia is still bringin' that truck in an hour and you're the only hands that have touched it in a decade, so can't have someone else doin' it for you."

"She needs to just get a new one," Michael responded, relieved to change the subject despite Alex's eyes still being on him. He couldn't say he minded that.

"You ain't got no room to talk with that thing out there," Sanders huffed. Michael grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"I can get away with it, I know what I'm doing."

Sanders grunted in response. "Sure, kid. Just be out here when she gets here."

"Got it," Michael said, giving a thumbs up. Sanders rolled his eyes and closed the hatch, leaving him alone with Alex again.

"You can go get set up, I'm good down here," Alex said. Michael settled his gaze on him again, feeling warm and sated and really not having any intention to leave him.

However, they locked eyes for all of half a second before Alex breathed a sharp intake and stood up straight.

Michael's excitement started to leak out of him and was replaced with complete concern. He sat up straighter, his feet hitting the ground as he tried to maintain eye contact with Alex.

"What?" he said, "What happened?"

"Your eyes," Alex breathed, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Huh? What about them?" Michael asked, mindlessly reaching up to rub them. When he pulled his hands away, there wasn't anything on them.

"They're... glowing," Alex said, coming closer, "Well, they were. Went away when I said something."

Alex grabbed Michael's chin without any hesitation, tilting his head back to look at them. Michael instantly became malleable under his grip. It'd been too long to be otherwise. He let his face relax, let his body dwell in the delight it caused and let the ring sing in response.

"It was like you were lighting up from the inside or something, like you literally glowing. Just showed mostly in your eyes," Alex said, still concerned as he manuvered Michael's head this way and that to look at him in different angles. "It's because of that fucking ring."

"You think?" Michael murmured, still staring up at him. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind going wild at the tactile attention. Alex's eyes widened again.

"It's doing it again," Alex murmured, placing the back of his other hand on Michael's forehead, "You're warm. Warmer than usually. How do you feel? Maybe you should take it off before you become a fucking lamp. Do you feel alright?"

"Good," Michael said. Alex blinked, stilling his movements as he looked at him rather than the glow.

"What?"

"I feel good, Alex," he said simply. Alex swallowed and he dropped his hands from him. They were silent a beat before Alex bit the inside of his cheek, holding back whatever expression his face wanted to show. A smile, hopefully.

"You stopped glowing," Alex said. He huffed a laugh, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Michael. "So you're a glowstick now?"

"You think it's the ring?"

"What else could it be? It amplifies your powers, right? So the longer you wear it, the more it becomes accostomed to you and how you work. So I'm sure the longer you wear it, the more it'll do. But we should definitely work on you not glowing without your permission every time you feel good," Alex said, watching him still. It was less concern now, more intrigue.

Michael wanted him to touch him again, to experiment as much as his heart desired.

"Okay, just, like, throw something at me if I start glowing," Michael said. Alex laughed.

"I'm not going to throw something at you," he said, "But I'll let you know."

"I don't think it's like an actually problem, just when I get overwhelmed. The ring had kinda helped regulate that, though," Michael said. Alex tilted his head in confusion.

"It's helped when you're overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. Like either a distraction or it's amplifying the good feelings. It's, like, stretching it's leg, you know? It's this thing that has gone untouched for so long and it's just happy to be in use. So it wants me to feel good, wants me to use it. And when I feel good, it just reacts to that and then I feel really good," Michael explained, "It's a wedding ring. It's probably used to being used in that context. Happy ever after context."

Alex breathed, his fingers twitching at his side. Michael couldn't tell if it was the ring or just his own desperation that was screaming for Alex to touch him again. He really didn't think it mattered.

"You we're glowing when I was touching you," Alex stated. Michael nodded obediently. "And you stopped whenever I stopped." Michael nodded again.

"I believe it."

"And you're just... happy?" Alex said.

"I'm spending time with you," Michael said simply, shrugging, "No fighting or tension. Just spending time and talking about research. Why the fuck would I be anything else?"

Alex watched him, taking a step forward. Even though he was already so close. Now he was close enough that Michael's thighs bracketed his legs.

"You've been different since you started wearing that thing," Alex said, fingers catching Michael's sleeve.

"I've been different since I got over my shit and got some openness between us," Michael said. Alex clearly fought a smile and lost, a grin splitting his mouth and the back of hand rubbed over Michael's arm.

"You really thing the ring has nothing to do with it?" Alex said.

Michael shrugged. "I can't say that. I know it definitely gave me a little push, but the things I'm feeling are all 100% mine."

"And what are you feeling exactly?" Alex asked, his hand trailing up into his hair. He seemed to be gravitating closer, leaning down as Michael craned up. Michael resisted the urge to just pull him into his lap at this point.

"Happy," Michael answered, "Obsessed with you. First is new, second one isn't."

Alex breathed out, swallowing hard. He looked away for a moment, but his eyes eventually came back to him.

"You can't say shit like that," Alex whispered, reprimanding him with a soft tug on the hair at the tape of his neck. Michael's lips parted. He wasn't really sure how to tell when he was glowing just yet, but he was sure that he was now.

"Why not?"

"I might get ideas," Alex said teasingly, leaning a little more. His hand was resting on his chest while the other was in his hair, Michael's hands trying not to take initiative and just grab him.

"Get them," Michael said. And Alex laughed. And it was sweet. And he was close enough to kiss.

"Michael..." Alex said, right there. His eyes flickered around his face, hovering on his lips. Michael could feel his breath on his face.

"Alex," Michael responded, finally touching him. He put his hands on the back of his thighs, urging him closer. Alex smiled wider.

"You're glowing again," Alex said, breath caressing his face. It was teasing at this point. "I wonder how bright you can get."

"Wanna test it?" Michael asked.

Alex looked at him, looking over him before he nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

Alex leaned closer, their noses bumping.

And then there was knocking on the hatch before it was opened up.

Alex moved back, flushed. Michael flexed his hand as a silent command to drain him from any residual glow. He hoped it was successful.

"You forgot how to tell time, boy?!" Sanders called down. Michael evened his breath and tried to calm down his body's natural reaction to Alex being so close.

"Yeah!" he said, "I'll be up in a second!"

Sanders grunted in response, leaving the hatch open before walking away. Michael huffed a laugh and looked to Alex who looked like he was on the verge of laughing as well. A couple second of staring and he did, both of them bubbling with laughter and excitement at being caught in such a casual way.

A normal way.

"I gotta go," Michael said, "But you can stay. Won't be too long."

"Take your time," Alex said, "I'll be here."

Michael nodded, knowing he would be.

"Alright," Michael said.

"Alright," Alex agreed.

"Alright."

*Go," Alex laughed, shooing him. Michael obeyed, heading to the ladder and all but flying up them.

Michael's heart and the ring on his finger thrummed in tandem, all singing on the high that was Alex Manes.

Alex Manes, Alex Manes, Alex Manes

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #ill put it on ao3 when i get home

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joyfulhopelox · 4 years ago

Text

"I've never cried over a broken dryer before"-"And you better not start now"

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Genre: smut with a saltbae of fluff

Warnings: alcohol use, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, swearing, bit of dom! JK, biting

Summary: Upon entering the club you come across a familiar face. Turns out your laundry adventures were not over. Who knew that clean laundry could lead to dirty talk?

Word count: 6.5k

rating : 18+

A/N: Massive thank you to @bangtanhome for not only being my beta but also my support and making this whole thing a polished princess. Thank you Moon so much for taking the time to edit and thank you for listening to me whilst I complained about this. And most importantly massive thank you for giving me pointers. This is my first piece of nsfw writing and I was extremely unsure about putting it out there but you’ve literally been an angel and were patient with my unsure self whilst also making sure you made this readable <3 -I also would like to thank my soulmate and best friend for putting up with me and dying in the process of reading a fic about her bias. I will warn that i massively sleep deprived at this point but i wanted to get this out with the occasion of the Muster 2021 so here she is!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Fuck. You’d overslept. You weren’t panicking because you were going to be late; you were normally late anyway. But as soon as your eyes opened, you felt the grogginess that comes with sleeping a bit too much. Your body felt sluggish, joints throbbing and your mouth feeling like you've stuffed cotton balls in it. Feeling like you've been through a survival show, you know it'll take at least an hour for your body to wake up properly. However, you didn’t have time to let yourself slowly come to. You were already late. Any later than this and you may just as well stay home for the night- and go back to sleep. You reveled in the thought for a second, but no. Your friends were impatiently waiting for you to go out clubbing with them. And most importantly to lend them your car. You knew that only because they have called and messaged you incessantly for the past hour reminding you of it. You were thankful at least that you were not the designated driver for the night. Normally you’d draw straws and this time you had got lucky, you could drink as much as you wanted.

‘Good lord Y/N get your ass out of bed,’ you hyped yourself up and just like a bandaid, you ripped yourself from your covers and rolled out of bed. Landing with a thud you groaned upon impact. That was going to leave a bruise.

After a quick shower to get the cobwebs cleared off your mind, you put on a dress. You didn’t wear dresses normally, your wardrobe consisted mostly of pants and various tops. To be tightly encased in a dress that was a bit too short for comfort made you feel uncomfortable, but you knew that as soon as you had some alcohol into you, things would change. A loud knock at your door told you that your friends had finally arrived so you hurriedly grabbed your purse and keys and were out the door. You hesitated for a moment, the feeling of having forgotten something weighing on your mind. When you couldn’t figure out what it was, you decided that it must not be important. Plus, your friends were waiting; time to get the show on the road.

As soon as you entered the club, the heavy smell of smoke, sweat and alcohol hit your sensitive nose. The atmosphere was too loud and obnoxious for your sober brain. To remedy that, your friends decided to stop by the bar first and buy a round of shots to get the night started. With the burn of the alcohol running down your throat, your confidence levels increased. The dress didn’t make you feel uncomfortable anymore, instead you prowled around, your hips moving to the beat. You were aware of the lustful stares that you were receiving and you thrived off of it. Tonight you were on the hunt, ready to let loose after the stressful week full of exams.

“Hey, Y/N. Muscle at 12 o’clock has been giving you the look more than a couple of times,” your friend leaned in to make themselves heard over the loud music. “Try not to be obvious, but I'd say he’s a 10.” You nodded in acknowledgment running a finger over the rim of your glass.

“He’s looking away now, look look,” they nudged you, forcing you to turn around. In all honesty, you weren’t interested in going home with anyone. You were simply enjoying the admirative stares and the smouldering gazes that were thrown your way, but you had no intention to take any of them home with you. However, when you turned around, you were faced with the impossible task of reconsidering. The back of the man your friends' pointed out was indeed muscular, broad and strong, you could see the muscles popping underneath the black shirt he wore. The sleeves of the shirt were pushed up to his elbows, allowing a full display of tattoos on his right arm.

Normally you would have second thoughts about a person like that, but there was something about his demeanour that drew you in even without seeing his face.

The handsome man motioned to one of his friends and his whole body shook with laughter. Observing the way the shirt strained against his muscles you licked your lips involuntarily. For a second you thought he looked strangely familiar, and before you could convince yourself you were being paranoid, he turned his head to the side to entertain the person to his right.

The messy mop of hair, defined jawline and that bridge of the nose they all belonged to the laundry boy - Jungkook. You smirked, “I’d give it a 15 actually”. As soon as you said that, he threw you a glance, his smile wavered as he made eye contact. You felt satisfied at the recognition in his eyes.

You slowly turned back to your friends, certain he would come to you. It took him the entirety of the time you took to finish your drink to make his way towards you.

“Don’t look, he’s coming.”

“Oh, he will be,” you smirked, eyes twinkled with excitement as your friends laughed at your slurring words.

Jungkook had noticed your enticing figure entering the club from the very beginning. It was as if a magnet pulled him towards you. He recognised you as soon as he laid eyes on you. How could he not? The cute girl from the laundry room in the daylight turned into an alluring vixen during nighttime. His eyes were drawn to your hips, the curve of your back and the tempting strip of skin he could spy; they were enticing to him. He tried his best to focus on the way your eyes sparkled in delight when one of your friends would make a joke, but when you ran a finger over the rim of your glass tracing delicate patterns, he felt your siren pull.

You smelt him before you felt him, the subtle vanilla enveloping your senses overpowering the scent of sweat from around you. He stopped right behind you, with one hand on the stool next to you; not completely encasing your form, but close enough that you could see his jawline in your periphery. Leaning in under the guise of ordering a drink from the bartender he pulled the stool and sat down. He didn’t address you at first, patiently waiting for his drink, his long fingers tapping the counter in rhythm with the beat. You tried your hardest not to stare at his hands, the art on them fascinating to you: the doodle style art accentuating his knuckles and the veins running tracing all the way up to where his skin hid beneath his shirt. You tried to keep a poised front, talking to your friends as if he was not there, but you could feel the heat of his stares from time to time, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You knew your friends were getting drunker and drunker as time passed, but you’d underestimated them. Soon enough they each scattered around the surface of the club looking for a dance partner. Your friend left you in charge of the drinks they ordered, winking at you suggestively as they left. That meant you were alone. And judging by the way your skin prickled, Jungkook was still seated next to you.

“A gin and tonic, please,” he ordered another drink. You realised now would be the perfect time to not only talk to him, but also repay him for earlier. As the bartender presented him with the bill you turned around and smoothly presented your card to him. “Make it two on the same tab.” you smirk, winking at Jungkook when your eyes met his.

You heard Jungkook laugh at your brazen attitude and you had to admit to yourself, if not for the alcohol you’d had earlier, you would’ve probably walked away. You made direct eye contact with him and smiled.

“Nice to see you again, laundry boy,” you smirked. Jungkook looked taken aback for a second. The image of you in the laundry room is completely erased. What he saw in front of him now was an alluring woman, sure of herself and what she wanted. And she made it clear that she wanted him. Hiding a smirk behind his hand he leans closer to you, his breath fanning the hair stuck at the nape of your neck.

“It’s Jungkook, not 'laundry boy',” he yells over the music. Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“I know, but it is fun to tease you - Jungkook.” He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling in delight. He's caught onto what you were doing and he was ready for it, two could play at this game.

“What’s your name?” You were half expecting him to pull a bad pick up line, the earlier impression that you had of him still engraved into your mind. When he didn't, you smiled, hiding your satisfaction. Maybe he really was worth a 15 and not a 10.

“What, no ‘I didn’t catch it’? No ‘I bet it hurt’? I’m offended, do I not deserve a bad pick up line?” you grinned at him and he burst out laughing, the sound reverberating through you making a shiver run down your spine.

“You got the drinks, pretty girl, there’s no way I can use a pick up line now,” you started laughing earnestly. He was definitely not what you had expected. The muscly tattooed facade was clearly done just for the purpose of aesthetics, and not because he slotted right in with the rest of the douches.

“Fair play, but I did say I was going to pay you back earlier,” you gesture with your head as if to point out which earlier moment you meant.

“I see. This is how you intended to keep your word then” Jungkook said just as the bartender places the drinks in front of you both handing him something. “But as it happens, I am a step ahead of you” he waved a card in front of you. His satisfied smirk made you pause flustered. Realising he’s already given his card to the bartender earlier you blushed.

“That’s not fair, laundry boy” you pout. “Now I have to find another way to repay you” you fumbled with the card the bartender handed over to you struggling to place it back in your clutch.

“I am sure we can find other ways” you paused looking at him. Under normal circumstances you would have found that to be incredibly off putting, but noticing the way he scrutinised you so intensely, no hidden message behind his smoldering gaze you squeezed your thighs together a wave of heat enveloping you.

You took a sip of your drink to mask the deepening blush and cleared your throat. You knew that if you gave him your name you were in for the ride. “It’s Y/N” you took another sip, savouring the taste of the alcohol.

“What?” Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to hand him your name so freely.

“It’s Y/N” you yelled louder and leaned into him thinking he hadn’t heard you because of the music. The waft of your perfume clouds his senses, the smell of cotton and lilac enveloping him. Needing to be closer to you he chanced it and asked you for a dance.

You finished your drink with a gulp and nodded your head. You grabbed his wrist and started making your way through the mob of people. Jungkook couldn’t help but stare at the way your hips swayed to the beat and when you threw him an alluring look over your shoulder he couldn’t help but be lost. He felt like a puppy following your sultry form through the crowd.

You finally stopped in the middle of the dancefloor, your moves more accentuated following the beat of the music. Jungkook stopped a few inches away from you, unsure whether or not he should place his arms around you yet.

You stepped closer to his body, your movement predatory. “Come on laundry boy, you can do better than that. Think of this as part of the payment” you winked at him. You could see the shift in his eyes, a flash of something heavy across his face, his demeanour changing in an instant from uncertain to commanding in a second. He gripped your waist tightly and pulled you flush against him moving along with the beat.

For a second all you could feel and smell was him. His domineering attitude instantly turned you on with the silent promise behind it. “Oh, this is just the beginning” he moved his hands so that his arms encased your waist intending to savour the feeling of you against him. Fully intending to see where this night ended you hooked your fingers into his belt, your bodies so close together they melded into one.

“Bring it on lover boy.”

The oppressive atmosphere of the club was enough to cloud all your senses. The alcohol running through your veins made you braver than you would have ever been. The smirk Jungkook threw at you was almost tantalising. Inviting you to commit sin. And the thought of tasting his lips and running your hands through his hair whilst his breath fanned over your throat was mouth watering. You’d been skirting around each other for the whole night, laughing, drinking, talking, but most importantly eyeing each other up. The last straw for you was when a rogue drink came flying out of nowhere and drenched the two of you. The liquid mixed with his sweat and snaked its way from his temple down to his jaw. You watched as the drops ran lower and lower as if directing your gaze towards his chest. Swallowing thickly you knew that you were a goner. If he’s ask to fuck you right there on the dance floor, you would surrender instantly.

Smirking at your lust filled expression, Jungkook knew he had you where he wanted. He had been staring at your lips for the whole night, entranced at the way the plumpness was enhanced by the sheen from when you’d run the tip of your tongue over them. He was mesmerised. He could also imagine that tongue running over his- he tried to stop himself there, aware that he’d get hard if he kept going in that direction. He could already feel the strain against his pants.

“Another drink?” he offered, and you shook your head at him. Another drink was definitely not what you wanted. What you wanted was him, to kiss you until your lips were raw and to pound into you senselessly until you could hardly remember your name. Were you drunk enough for this? Probably not, but you did not care for once. You wanted to remember this.

Leaning closer to you with the excuse of the loud music, his breath fanned the nape of your neck and the sensitive shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Then what would you like, love?”

There it was, the thousand dollar question. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath in you looked him straight in the eyes with determination. It made Jungkook shiver. You looked fierce and incredibly alluring. It took all the strength he had in him to not shove you on top of the bar and kiss your brains out. “Tell me?” he coaxed you.

He knew what you wanted. You had been obvious for the whole night. But so had he. Throughout your conversation you were undressing each other with your eyes. You noticed the way he couldn’t keep his eyes away from your ass when you would lean over the bar to ask for one more round of drinks.

Under normal circumstances, that thought would have made you nervous. This time it gave you the courage you needed to let yourself go. To switch from being the player to the one played. And if he was the one doing that, you didn’t mind one bit. “I want you” you bit your lip and looked at him from under your eyelashes. His eyes darkened with lust. Mind clouded with desire, he grabbed your wrist tightly and without a word started making his way through the crowd. The roar of the drunken crowd, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the feel of sticky bodies bumping into you didn’t matter anymore. All your focus was on the way his back muscles moved with every turn of his body. Suddenly a flash of the same back muscles, naked, moving as he towered over you and thrust his hips into yours made your stomach clench and you could feel your panties getting damp. God you wanted him so badly.

Jungkook could see your wistful lust-filled eyes becoming hazier and he sped up the pace. He finally stopped when he reached an empty corridor near the back exit. He would have liked to have more privacy than that, but something about making you beg for him in a public place made his cock twitch in anticipation. He really needed to get a hold of himself otherwise he’d be done before you’d even started.

He tugged at your wrist and lightly pushed you into the wall, he would have taken things a lot slower but your gaze told him to hurry up and take you then and there. And who was he to deny you?

His eyes raked over your body, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Beautiful”. Even though he craved to taste you, he took a moment to appreciate the way your eyes glistened with passion, your chest heaving along with your breaths and your perfume clouding his senses. He wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

A fistful of your hair in his hands, he pulled you flush against him, until all you could feel were the hard planes of his chest and his hardened member poking at your abdomen causing you to moan, your panties getting wetter.

You whimpered at the sensation as his fingers gripped the sensitive hairs at the back of your skull, goosebumps forming on your skin in anticipation. Expecting him to attack your mouth with the same hunger that was displayed in his eyes you leaned more into him.

You silently begged him to release the coil that had formed in your stomach but he wanted you to beg. His breath fanned the pieces of hair that fell onto your face. The last rebellious piece of you that refused to fall into his clutches. In a desperate attempt to get him to kiss you, touch you - do something, you grabbed tightly onto his biceps relishing in the feel of the muscle tensing underneath your fingers.

“You’re not playing fair laundry boy,” you huff, feeling frustrated over the lack of contact. His laugh, dark, deep and lascivious sent a shiver down your spine.

“Baby girl, that’s not my name” his free hand clasped onto your waist squeezing hard enough to send a jolt through the pit of your stomach all the way down to your heated core. “Jungkook” you whimper and in a last attempt you hook your leg around his thin waist.

“That’s it baby” he lowered the hand on your waist towards your thigh, his fingers leaving an indentation in the skin. Seizing the opening you started grinding your core onto his thigh trying to relieve the ache. His lips ghost over your neck in a tantalizing way, his tongue sweeping over the nape briefly tasting your saltiness. The sensation of his warm tongue on the exposed area of your neck followed by the coldness from the air makes you moan. You could smell his perfume, combined with the musky scent of his sweat and alcohol made your head swim in delight.

“Jungkook, please” , you exposed your neck to him needing more. Rolling your hips into his thigh you could feel the blood pumping underneath your skin, the pleasure overshadowing any rational thought. The friction between your clit and his pants left you breathless, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter ready to unfurl. All of a sudden Jungkook stepped a few inches away, and you lost contact with his leg. Robbed of your release, you instantly whine.

“Mmmm, I can't have you cum on my leg, as much as I would like to see you ride it out on your own. I need to taste you.” he demanded. The hand still supporting your leg inched closer and closer to your dripping cunt. Slipping a cold hand under the hem of your dress his fingers made contact with your heated core causing you to jerk. You yelped, your hips bucking into his hand. Your hands latched tightly onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into them in an attempt to steady yourself. He cupped you through your panties, the heel of his palm pressing into you. Muffling a moan into his shoulder you begged him to touch you more, but he retracted it away from your tender flesh.

“Nuh-uh not yet.” The hand pinched your thigh and you tried not to cry at the feelings bubbling up inside you. You were frustrated and horny, and his taunts were enough to make you crave for more.

“Laundry boy” you warn, staring him dead in the eye.

“Y/N, what did I say about my name” he pulled at the hair he still gripped tightly in his hand. Cradling you close to him he bucks his knee into your core, this time freely offering the friction that you had been yearning for. You whined, the lewd sound echoing in his ear. Your clit on fire, you pressed yourself more into his knee.

“That’s it, moan for me with those pretty lips” gaining a bit of self control you decided it was time for you to step up your game.

“Do you not want to see what else these pretty lips can do?” you licked your lips, your heart racing. Your hooded eyes suggested more than Jungkook would have expected from you.

“Dirty girl” biting his lip before he crashed them onto yours, the contact making your lips smack and your teeth clash. Neither of you care as your tongues intertwine, carrying the battle that your hips are craving. The friction between you caused your whole body to heat up, your senses heightened. You could feel every bit of him against you. The way one hand gripped your thigh and the other pulled at the sensitive hairs at the nape of your neck, the way his tongue roughly caressed yours. He was intoxicating. In the heat of the moment he roughly pushed you into the wall behind you, the force causing you to moan into his mouth.

Jungkook was at the end of his wits, he had to have you now. He needed to taste you, see you unfurl in front of him as he eats you out. Breaking the kiss, your mouth sore, he observed the way your pants made your chest rise up and down, pushing your breasts into him.

Without a word, he attacked your mouth once again for a brief second before he trailed down your jaw to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin in the process. The hand on your thigh reached once more underneath the hem of your dress, this time making its way fully and cupping your dripping core. At the touch of his hand on your sensitive clit your knees buckled and you let your weight onto him, your forehead dropping onto his shoulder for support. You tried to suppress a moan.

“Let it all out baby” his mouth at the shell of your ear, the tip of his tongue trailing the delicate flesh there. “You’re so wet” he moans, “I can't wait to taste you.” His finger dipped under the band of your panties trailing over your center. “So soft” - he sucked your earlobe into his mouth and gave it a small bite - "so wet for me”

This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. The feel of his finger pressed into your folds, parting them and exposing your clit to his ministrations had you squirming. The tip of his finger started drumming in a rhythmic steady fashion on your engorged button. The feel of his lips caressing the sore earlobe relieving the sting from the bite is too much for you. “Jungkook please, I need..” your moans getting louder and louder as the pad of his finger presses harder in an unrelenting tempo.

The hand holding your neck slowly inched towards the swell of your breasts, picking the flesh there until it turned sore. His fingers still attached to your sensitive bud he suddenly drops on his knees in front of you. With his support now gone you try to grip uselessly at the wall behind you. He slots himself between your legs, forcing them to spread open. As he raised the hem of your dress and pushed your panties to the side you couldn’t help but look down. The sight of him between your legs glancing up at you made your knees buckle. With one hand tracing your folds and the other gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place he gives you an uncertain look. “Is this ok Y/N?” his concern for your approval makes your heart melt, but you were too high strung to think about that. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“Please” you moan in approval.

With your approval he dived right in, too hungry for your taste. Parting your folds with his fingers he starts by giving you a tentative lick. Being sensitive from his fingers you writhe, your hands desperately clutching at the wall behind you. Savouring the first taste of you he thrums with his finger at your clit. You arched your back, your hands giving up on trying to hold onto the wall. Instead they found their way into his hair, fingers gripping tightly.

Diving back in Jungkook starts lapping earnestly at your folds, his finger still applying pressure onto your sensitive nub. Bucking into his face you suppress a moan. The sensation of his wet tongue prodding at your entrance is too much to take and your knees buckle. Jungkook sensed the shift in your weight and quickly grabbed a hold of your leg, hoisting it over his shoulder. The hand attached to your clit now tightly gripped your calf. The change in position offered the extra support you needed to not fall over.

With your entrance now completely opened to him his tongue started rapidly tracing your folds, only stopping to suck on your clit.

“Jungkook” the overstimulation from his tongue lapping up your wetness and his teeth nipping at the sensitive cluster of nerves is too much to handle, you can feel yourself take over, and Jungkook is more than happy to let you go at your own pace. Grinding over his face, your hands still gripping at his hair, you ride his tongue at your own pace desperate to reach your climax.

You can feel it, you are so close to release you could almost taste it.

Suddenly he entered a finger, knuckle deep into you pumping in and out quickly. Letting your calf go but making sure he is still supporting your weight with his body he leaves you sensitive nub alone and traces kisses along your inner thigh, up to your navel. The dress now obscuring other parts of you he gets up, his finger still deep in you, drawing pleasurable mewls out of your mouth.

“That’s it baby girl, tell me what you need” he is panting in your ear now. With the taste of you still lingering on his tongue and the sight of you coming undone from his ministrations makes him harder than he’s ever been. He felt uncomfortable under the constraints of his pants, the zip digging painfully.

“I need you to fuck me” you finally moan, your hips grinding against him chasing for that sweet release.

“I need you to come for me first baby, I need to see your pretty face when you cum all over my fingers” swiftly he changes fingers, his thumb now drumming at your sensitive clit. You gasp as a finger teases your entrance for a brief second before it penetrates your pussy.

The loud sounds coming from the club were not enough to drown out the lewd sounds that your wet pussy was making whilst Jungkook’s finger pistoned into you. The shot fire along with the shameless sounds you were making were enough to make the tight coil in your belly unfurl. With a deep loud moan you bit Jungkook’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle the yell that was threatening to spill out of your lips. Your muscles clenching in tandem with your core. Jungkook felt your cunt clamping his fingers tightly and a low grunt escaped past his lips. He could almost imagine how wet and tight you would be around him.

“That’s it beautiful, let go”

Your hips carried on buckling, chasing the high and wishing it would not stop. Jungkook took his time observing how your head fell down and your mouth opened slightly in a silent satisfied scream, how your eyes scrunched up as if you were trying to cut off all your senses apart from the feeling of his fingers in you. You were beautiful. When at last your muscles relaxed and your high subsided a low sigh fell out of your lips. It has been a long time since someone has made you cum like that with just their fingers. Jungkook’s finger still lazily traced your clit, the overstimulation too much for you to handle.

“Jungkook '' you whined trying to back away from him but the tight grip on your waist wasn’t allowing you to move more than a few inches away. Without a word Jungkook pulled his hand out of your panties and let go of you. Your knees still weak from your climax you struggle to stand up right and you end up having to lean into him slightly for support. The sight of him licking his fingers coated in your juices sets you on fire once more.

“You’re beautiful when you cum Y/N.” Somehow, his words made you blush. The lewd act that you both partook in had failed to make you blush, instead what made you self conscious was the way he gazed at you. It was softer and more intense and it made your stomach clench once more. If not for the obscene act in the deserted corridor of a club, you might’ve actually entertained the idea that he cared.

You smiled shyly at him and in that moment he was swept away by the warmth expanding from his chest. You were indeed beautiful. And witty, and smart, and you liked to do your laundry. What more could he want? Cupping your face, he kissed you once more, slowly and with purpose. You gasped, you were not used to this gentle Jungkook. Taking the opportunity to pull you closer once more, his tongue mapped every inch of your mouth.

“Fuck me now please” you whisper against his lips. Your hand on his belt moved slowly over the bulge in his pants. He bucked into your touch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around him as much as you could with his pants still on.

“Y/N” he warns. If you carried on that way he would definitely come in his pants. Rubbing him slowly, you could feel his member harden even more under your touch.

“Is it uncomfortable babe?” you whisper in his ear. “How about I return the favour?” you unzip his pants prepared to lower yourself to the floor but he grabs your shoulders keeping you in place.

As much as he would have liked to feel those soft lips around him, he knew that if anyone were to bump into you two, it would not be good. The club was full of students going to the same university as you. If they were to find you on your knees blowing him it would instantly kill your reputation. He did not want that to happen.

“Not here” he zips his pants back up and grabs your hand gently. After all that had transpired between you this soft almost domestic treatment is not what you were expecting. Once again the warm feeling in your heart returned, and this time you were a bit more sober. He was cute, and somehow you found his duality endearing. He returned to being laundry boy Jungkook instead of the dominant Jungkook you’ve just witnessed.

You walked through the club, his hand still gripping you tightly as if he was afraid he’ll lose you in the crowd. Once you reached the outside you took a deep breath in relishing in the way the fresh air soothed your heated skin. Glancing up at Jungkook you noticed he was on his phone texting someone.

“I am texting my friends to let them know I have left,” he explained, putting his phone back in his pocket, smiling at you. The contrast of his lust-filled gaze from before and his gleeful smile almost gave you a whiplash. He was such a contradiction that you couldn’t help but be intrigued by him.

“And I ordered an Uber” as soon as he’d said that a car pulled over right in front of you. The ride back to the campus was a quiet one. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quietness though, having chatted about anything and everything in the club you were content to just put your thoughts in order. You noticed that he had not let go of your hand once during that time but with his gaze out the window, his face thoughtful you could not bear to say anything. Plus, you were enjoying the feel of his smooth hands holding yours.

As the car pulled up in front of the dorm you both shared a glance, an understanding passing in between the two of you.

Once inside the fire inside you sparked up again. Grabbing at each other, your mouths hungrily clashing, you stumbled all the way to the elevator. It was late enough that no one would see you two messily making your way to your room. As soon as you entered the lift and separated to press the correct button you finally remembered what you’d forgotten. If you were a bit more sober you would have laughed at the hilarity of the situation.

Your face fell. “The laundry” you whined in distress. Jungkook’s mouth fell. He threw you a panicked look thinking that you’d changed your mind. One glance at you was enough to tell him that you were panicking in earnest.

“What happened to the laundry?” his hand hovering over the lift buttons unsure of what to do.

“I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer!” you looked at him with such drunken despair he had to hold his laughter in. He did not want to offend you by laughing in your face. You were sober enough to not slur your words, but clearly not sober enough to process your own feelings.

“Let's get that done then.” He decided that as much as he liked your witty self, as well as you in the throes of passion, he adored this side of you too; your guard down, emotions on display. It made his heart swell thinking that you were entrusting him with your vulnerabilities.

You rushed ahead of him entering the laundry room, not paying attention to anything but the lone machine still loaded with your clothes. You quickly opened it, the smell of clean cotton wafting around you.

“Let me help.” Jungkook grabbed the pile of clothes you were holding and moved them into the dryer next to him. As soon as everything was loaded in you turned to smile at him. The panic in your eyes now replaced by the same hunger that governed your mind earlier, you grab him forcefully, clashing your mouth against his. Your hips slammed together in an attempt to ride the pleasure from before. Jungkook, not having expected you to be so forceful, moaned into your mouth and instantly hardened against your hip bone. The quiet of the laundry room was filled with the sounds of your pants as you continued to kiss. In the heat of the moment, Jungkook places his hands on your ass, hoisting you up on the laundry machine behind you. The position allowed your hips to align perfectly, the pressure of his dick now directly onto your clit. Before you could go further Jungkook stopped and looked at you.

“You need to start the dryer,” with the last of his restraints he motioned to the still machine. You glare at him, this being the second time he cockblocks you and himself. But his gaze was unwavering. You sighed and leaned away from him, reaching for the top of the dryer as well as you could still atop of the laundry machine. “Whatever you say laundry boy.”

After pressing down on the start button, you’re quick to return to kissing him. But the quietness of the room seemed odd to you. The dryer had not started. Confused, you look at it again, certain that you pressed the right button. Pressing it once more you wait this time. The dryer stayed still.

The chaotic emotions from before enveloped you again and this time you could feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” Jungkook is throwing you a worried look, not having expected the sight of your tears.

“It’s not started! It’s broken!” you exclaim tears pooling barely hanging onto your bottom lashes. You pushed him gently aside and hopped off the laundry machine. “Why has it not started?”

The desperate look you gave him paired with the knowledge that the machine was not doing what you wanted because you had not paid makes him crack and start laughing. You gape at his bunny smile and crinkly eyes offended until the silliness of the situation catches up to you and you can’t help but join.

“I have never cried over a broken dryer before. Or been cockblocked by one” you glance at him, mirth in both your eyes.

“And you better not start now” he warns you jokingly. You stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing again.

He can’t help but be enamoured by you and your silliness. Even though the night had not gone as you’d both planned. You both crying in laughter over a dryer makes him think that maybe there was something more there than a one night stand. And he was more than ready to give it a try.

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gotnofucks · 5 years ago

Text

Golden Cage

Pairing: soft!dark!Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: You asked Andy to take your case and he asked for you to give yourself to him as payment. (18+ ONLY!!)

Words: 6.3k (lmao sorry)

WARNINGS: dub con, blackmail, coercion, possessive behavior, bad smut, slight angst. SPOILERS FOR DEFENDING JACOB!

A/N: Kinda blurred boundaries here.

MASTERLIST

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You needed more concealer or the only way you’d be going out in public would be with turtlenecks. Andy loved to leave marks on your neck and the rest of the body, and he hated you covering them up. The moment you would come back, the first thing he does is drag you to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off and bare your bruises to his eyes. They were marks of his ownership over you, and they reminded you both of the truth: You belonged to him.

Your life took a turn nearly a year ago when your brother was accused of third-degree murder of his colleague. The case was pretty much a public trial and the scandal rocked your world. Not only did your brother get arrested, but you lost your job too by means of association. You knew your brother was innocent, he would never hurt a fly let alone a human being. But try as you might, you couldn’t get a lawyer to represent him. That’s when Andrew Barber stepped into your life.

Having left prosecution and taking up defense cases, Andy and you met in the police station where you had gone for some information. You were filling a form talking to an aid, the only one who seemed to sympathize with you when Andy walked in. The lady had pointed at him and said, “If anyone could have won a case like yours, it would be him. As an ADA, Andrew Barber never lost a case and he carried that record as a defense lawyer too. But he’s very selective in his cases and well…expensive too”.

You had looked up and followed her gaze and words, a tiny spark of hope lighting in you. After you had hastily filled your form, you waited outside the station hoping you could catch Andy leaving and plead your case to him. When he came out, you waited until he reached his car to approach him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barber?”, You said, twisting your fingers in the hem of your shirt. He turned to look at you in question.

“Yes?”

“Uh, my name is Y/n Y/l/n.” You said and Andy’s eye flashed with recognition of your last name.

“How can I help you Miss Y/l/n?” His voice had a tinge of pity because he knew what you were going through. He’d been through it himself and lost everything in that battle.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of my brother’s case Mr. Barber. I need all the help I can get. He’s innocent. I know he is innocent! Would you please help me?” You were ready to leave your dignity and kneel in front of him if you had to. Your brother was your whole world and you were ready to sacrifice everything for him.

Andy sighed. He looked at you silently before reaching into his pocket and handing you his card.

“Make an appointment for tomorrow, okay? I’ll see what I can do, but no promises. Bring all the files you have on the case and anything else that you think might be of help.”

You’d arrived at the appointment ladened with a huge box of papers. You were surprised when you were told to meet Andy at his house and not his office, but you saw no reason to complain. His house was huge and cozy, but recent changes were visible. Empty bolts on the wall showed recently removed pictures and you quickly recalled the story about the Barber’s scandal you’d read on the net last night. It was a nasty business and you knew deep in your bones that Andy could help you and your brother because he had personal experience with something like this.

“Would you like a drink?”, Andy asked you, taking a seat across from you in his kitchen.

“Just some water please”, You answered, nervously looking at him. He had forgone his business formal inside his home and was wearing a button up with dark jeans. He handed you a glass of water and then motioned to the files in front of you.

“May I?” He asked and you nodded, sliding them over to him and sipped your water.

Andy looked over the papers for quite a long time, his brow furrows. He took out a small notepad and scribbled something on it between his reading, one finger tracing his beard. You looked at him anxiously, trying to decipher his reaction. If you could convince him to take the case, then all hope was not lost for your brother.

After going home last night you had read everything you could about Andrew Barber, and pity had swelled in your heart for him like an ocean. This brave man had lost more than his good name in the society. His ex-wife Laurie was in prison in the attempted murder of their 15-year-old son Jacob, who was still recovering from the injuries inflicted to him by his mother. How Andy could still manage a normal life with work was a wonder. He was only in his 30s to have gone through something so traumatic and you hoped that once this case was over, you could rise from the ashes like him.

After taking a good look at the papers, Andy finally put them down and leaned back on his chair, folding his arms against his chest. You looked at him nervously, chewing on your lip as you waited for him to speak. His gaze lingered for a moment on your lips before meeting your eyes.

“May I please call you Y/n?” He asked and you nodded. “Y/n, I wouldn’t say that this is an easy case. You know it isn’t. Evidence is heavily stacked against your brother.”

“But?”

“But it’s not completely hopeless either. There are loopholes, a lot of them in fact. A lot of evidence is mostly circumstantial, and if we can find some experts to recreate the murder scene digitally, we might be able to prove that your brother is innocent. The stab wound is near the heart, a difficult place to lodge the knife in since you need to get through the rib cage. The murder weapon was quite deep inside the body, meaning a lot of force has been used. I’ve seen your brother’s pictures and just read his reports.” Andy smiled a little. “He certainly doesn’t look like someone strong enough to make this kill wound, especially since there are signs of struggle which would make it even more difficult.”

You looked at him with your mouth parted, eyes wide and hoping. Your heart was beating widely in your chest and you wet your lips before speaking.

“So, there is a chance he will get off?”, You asked.

“I think if we play the right strategy and work things out, there is a chance he might get off.”

You almost lunged across the table and hugged the man. Unbidden, tears stinged your eyes and you sniffled, trying to keep them from rolling down your cheeks. Andy got up and walked around to your side before handing you a tissue. You dabbed your eyes and looked at him with gratitude in your eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”, you sobbed. He patted your back until you calmed down and then sat down beside you. It was only then that another thought hit you. Lawyers like Andy Barber didn’t come cheap. You were so focused on helping your brother you had no idea how you’d pay what you were sure would be thousands of dollars to him.

“Mr. Barber, about the-” You started to say but he cut you off by raising a hand.

“Call me Andy, we’ll be spending lot of time together solving this one. And about payment, don’t worry. I know how difficult a position you are in right now. We can talk money later, after things are a little more sorted.” His words were soft, and you immediately protested.

“I can’t do that. I can’t take advantage of your kindness like that. I’ll write you a cheque, though the next one may take a while. Please, I’ll get the money.” Now that there was a chance to get your brother out, you’ll do anything. You’ll take another job, sell your crappy apartment and car too if you had to. Anything to get your baby brother back under your roof, safe and sound.

“Please Y/n, I insist. We can talk payments later. Right now, we should focus on your brother.” You looked at Andy and murmured a small thanks and he asked you what you’d like for lunch so you can discuss the case over it.

And so, it went. Almost every day after work, you sped down to Andy’s house straight and talked over the case. The scheduled visit with your brother went well and Andy was sure the experts he had hired could give conclusive evidence to how your brother’s body type didn’t match that of the murderer. Over the next few weeks, you became consumed in this battle for justice, and every second of the day you thanked your lucky stars for Andy who became your rock. He always knew just the right thing to say, and more often he was like a friend who heard you out. When things got too difficult and you felt like you were being crushed under the pressure, he would comfort you by ways of a hot mug of coco.

The case progressed smoothly and by the time Andy made the closing arguments, you were sure your brother will be coming home with you. Everyone was right, Andrew Barber was a court room wizard and you saw him in action. The night that your brother came back, you invited Andy and Jacob to dinner. You saw Jacob frequently when you were at the Barber’s and you got along with him nicely. It hurt you to know that a boy so young had to deal with so much in his life, but he still smiled and went on with his life.

Throughout the dinner, your brother thanked Andy incessantly, almost bowing down. There was laughter under your roof the likes of which you didn’t know would ever come back. After eating, your brother and Jacob departed to play some video games and you held Andy back.

“Can we talk?”, you asked him and motioned him away from the living room to the small room you used as a study. He nodded and followed you, closing the door behind you.

“Everything okay?” He asked

“Andy, I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for me. You’ve been so kind and nice to me I feel completely indebted to you. I know you’ve been skirting around the money issue, but please, you need to let me pay you.” It was true. Anytime you brought up the topic of his payment he had changed the subject. You thought it had to do with the fact that your relationship was more than just attorney-client and more like friends and it made him uncomfortable to take money from you.

“I don’t want your money, Y/n”, Andy said firmly.

“Why the hell not? I don’t want your charity Andy. You’re my friend, and you helped me get back everything I thought I would lose. I don’t think I can ever repay you for your kindness, and money is the least I can do. Please”

Andy looked at you for moment before moving to stand right in front of you.

“I don’t want your money.” He repeated. “But you can repay me a different way.”

You looked at him speechlessly, not following. He raised a hand and gently moved a strand of your hair behind your ears.

“Andy…” You whispered.

“I don’t want your money. I want you.” He said and placed his hands on your waist, bringing you closer. Your heart beat a furious rhythm against your chest, and you forgot how to breath for a moment.

“I – what? I don’t understand” You said, trying to move away from him but he would let up. His hands tightened around you and kept you in place.

“I want you. I want you to be mine.” He said and your eyes widened. You pushed against his chest, needing to create some distance between you. You had not seen this coming. Never had you felt any untoward advances from him, he never touched you wrong. Hell, he didn’t even hug you for an unnecessary amount of time. Your relationship was the very definition of platonic. At least, that’s what you thought.

“Andy, what’s wrong with you. I thought we were friends. Please, let me go.” You said and surprisingly he released you and walked back a couple steps.

“We are friends, but I want more than that. I have wanted that for months, but I didn’t say because you had enough on your plate. I don’t want you going back to your house at night when you visit me. I want you under my roof, inside my bed and under me. Look how good you’re with Jacob too. We will be great together.”

You gaped at him and stumbled to a chair and sat down.

“I will not be your personal whore, Andy Barber!” You sneered at him and he started, shaking his head. He came and knelt before your feet, taking your hands in his.

“That’s not what I said at all. I would never do that to you.” He vehemently disagreed. “I want someone to love and cherish, I want a family. I know you can give it to me.”

You tried to jerk your hands out of his, but he held them fast.

“I’m sorry about how this is going. I wasn’t planning on talking about this tonight. But you forced my hand. I want you Y/n, and I will have you. Even if I had asked you out, I know you would have said no because you want to work and provide for your brother. Isn’t that true?” He asked.

He was right. You didn’t plan on dating anyone, anytime soon. You had to focus on your career and there was no place for a man in your life no matter how nice he was.

“You said I gave you back your life. You said you want to repay me. This is what I want. You.” He pressed a kiss on your hands and looked intently in your eyes.

“And what if that’s something I don’t want?” You asked.

Andy’s eyes darkened and he glared at you. He had spent months working tirelessly on your brother’s case and been nothing but a gentleman. He didn’t see any reason why you shouldn’t want him.

“In that case, I’ll make you want me.” He said. “I will never do anything to hurt you, trust me. But I can create situations where the only person who can help you will be me. You’ll run right back into my arms. I – I don’t want to do anything bad. I just want you. Be mine.”

He didn’t say it explicitly, but you got his meaning loud and clear. He’s an influential person, he could do any number of things to force your hand. He had been kind to you till now, but if you gave him reason to be cruel, he will be. This man could very well take away everything he gave you and you both knew that.

Later that night after Andy and Jacob left, you told your brother you want to move in with Andy. He was shocked by the suddenness of the news and you fed him some cock and bull story about falling for each other during the trial and not wanting to keep it a secret now that he was out of prison. Your brother was happy for you, telling you that he’s glad you’ve found someone like Andy who would always protect you. You agreed, Andy would always protect you from the world. But there was no one who could protect you from him.

A week later you moved into Andy’s house. Jacob greeted you at the door and took your stuff inside, apologizing that he couldn’t stay long as he’s spending the weekend at a friend’s. Your heart sank at the thought of being alone with Andy for the next two days. You hadn’t spoken much since he all but forced you to into living with him. You saw Andy in the kitchen, setting up the table and wiping the counters. He painted an utterly domestic figure, walking barefoot in his sweats and T-shirt. Seeing you arrive he smiled and moved closer to kiss your cheek and hug you.

“Welcome home, sweetheart”, He whispered in your ear, holding you close and pressing his forehead to yours. Your hands lay limp at your side and you tried to give a small smile and not push back. You heard an awkward cough from behind you and realized Jacob was fake gagging and giving his father a cheeky grin.

“Can you two like, not do this when I’m here?”, He teased and earned a playful swat from his father.

“You get out of here and don’t cause too much trouble.”, Andy said, and Jacob gave a thumbs up and wink to you both and hurried out. You heard the door shut and your hands became sweaty now that you were alone with Andy after a week. No sooner had Jacob departed that Andy’s hands cupped your face and he pressed a searing kiss on your lips. He put a hand behind your head and coaxed your mouth open, deepening the kiss and moaning. You put your hands around his wrists, closing your eyes.

“Come on, kiss me back like a good honey.” Andy said and you forced yourself to respond. His kisses were like molten fire, all passion and heat that lay over you like a warm blanket. Pulling away, Andy kissed your forehead and eyelids and then just looked at you. His eyes were blown wide and dark, his lips red and moist. You gulped as he kept his eyes on you, drinking in your sight in his arms. He hadn’t touched you that night at your place. Didn’t even kiss you. But now that you were here all alone with him, under his roof…you suppressed a shudder.

“I’m so glad you’re finally here. Come, dinner’s ready.” He led you over to the table and pulled out a chair for you. He sat beside you and filled your plate with your favorite dishes. You thanked him, eating quietly, and wondering what would happen to you tonight. Going by the way Andy’s hand was creeping up on your thigh, you knew you were in for a long night. Andy talked throughout dinner about his day and cranky clients. He shared things like a husband would to his wife and you resisted the urge to bolt out of his house. You made small noises of acknowledgment, too nervous to actually speak. There was much you wanted to ask about how things will progress from now.

“I’ve emptied one side of the closet. You can unpack tomorrow and then we can go shopping for whatever else you might need. We’ll ask Jake to click some pictures to hang around too. The walls are so bare now. Maybe a family portrait in the hall above?”

Your fork clattered to your plate as you heard him talk and you stared at him in disbelief. You’d been hear barely an hour and he was planning your life in a way that gave you chills. With every word he spoke, every plan he had, you felt like he added another bar to your prison.

“Andy, I think I should stay in another room.”, You said softly, and Andy frowned.

“Like hell you’ll stay in another room. You’ll stay with me, sleep in my bed right in my arms. You’re mine now, I think I made it very clear?”

You bit your lip and nervously played with your fingers, trying not to anger him.

“What about Jacob? Would he like it, me staying in your room? I mean, his mother lived there not too long ago and...” You stopped when Andy grabbed your chin and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“You just saw Jake. Did you see any hesitance in him when he welcomed you in? I’d already spoken to him anyway. He has no love for the woman who almost pushed him through death’s door. He likes you and he’s happy for me.”

You nodded and finished the rest of your dinner in silence. You offered to do the dishes, but Andy asked you to relax and see about the place while he tidied up. You wandered up the stairs, a part of house you had not been to before. You opened the first door on the left and found a messy room with a big screen and video games. Closing the door, you ventured forward and opened the door towards the end. This would most probably be your room. The bed was huge, and you moved inside to explore. There was an attached bathroom and a massive walk in closet where you could see Andy had cleared space for you. You sat on the bed and opened the first drawer in the bedside cabinet, finding medicine and phone charger. Opening the second, you found it scattered with stationary and other bits and bots. However, what caught your eye was the box of condom tucked in the back. You took it out and gulped in fear.

“I didn’t think you’d want a baby just right now.”, Andy said from the doorway, startling you. You turned to him and set the box down, moving backward subconsciously as he came towards you and shut the door behind him. He stood in front of you and cupped your jaw, stroking gently.

“You’re so beautiful, every time I look at you my heart stops.”, He whispered, then he bent down and kissed you deeply, his tongue in your mouth and hands roaming your sides. You gasped, your own hands fisting his t-shirt. Holding you around the waist, Andy pushed you back in the middle of the bed, climbing over you and starting to unbutton your shirt. You quickly held his hands, trembling slightly. He looked at you with that dark look in his eyes and you slowly retracted your hands and allowed him to strip you of your shirt. He sucked in a breath, pure worship in his eyes as he took in your shirtless body and reached behind you to unclasp your bra. His hands glided over your collarbones and breasts, gentle in their exploring and squeezed. You moaned despite yourself. You didn’t expect him to be this good to you. You thought he would ravish you like an animal in heat.

Andy kissed you then, one hand on your hip, the other beside your head holding his weight. You responded without really meaning to, getting lost in the heat of him. His smell smothered you until you could taste it on your tongue, and you let out a groan of pure satisfaction as he sucked a hickey into the juncture of your neck. Leaving a searing line of fire with his lips, he whispered in your ear.

“I will bath your body with my tongue until I own each and every part of you. I will mark you as mine and claim you completely. When this night is over, you will crave me with a frenzy that only my touch can quench. I’ll not just make you want me; I’ll make you thirst for me. You’ll beg me to touch you, to mark you and to fill you up.”

His words were a promise and you clenched your thighs in anticipation. That night, he proceeded to take you as his. His laved your body with his tongue, suckling, biting, and leaving marks. Your nipples were wet and sore from his attention, your core drenched and dripping. He made you cum first with his mouth, slurping on you, making you tremble and shout. Then he stretched you around his fingers, moaning dirty fantasies into your mouth while you shook under him. You remember him impaling you on his cock, remember feeling every vein of him even through the condom, you felt him stretching you wider than ever before and you cuming hard enough to see stars. He claimed your body in ways you didn’t think was possible, and you woke up the next day with bruises on parts you didn’t even know could bruise.

Your life with Andy was not unpleasant as such, but it was a golden cage. He got you what you wanted, he never stopped you from working or force you into something you didn’t want to do. You told him you didn’t want to try anal sex and he never pushed for it. You told him you missed your study and he converted a room into a library for you. In all aspects, he was the dream guy any woman could want. Only, you never had the option to make this choice. It was thrust upon you and you had to live it no matter what.

The only thing Andy insisted on was your loyalty and time. He told you in no uncertain terms that if he so much as smelled another man’s cologne on you, he’ll tie you up and edge you until you remembered who you belonged to. You didn’t think he was serious until one night Andy lost his cool after watching you hug a colleague who dropped you home. You ended up tied spread eagle on the bed, crying tears of frustration as he edged you with his mouth and a vibrator for hours. It wasn’t until you sobbed out, “I’m yours!” that he let you cum. The other thing he wanted was your time. He never interrupted your work, but if you’re home, he is the only thing that should be on your mind. He kept you close, always an arm on your waist or you in his lap. His possessiveness knew no bounds and Jacob often joked that he’d need a sawing machine to separate you.

You couldn’t say you hated Andy because you didn’t. Even when he had first forced you into a relationship, you didn’t hate him. He’d been a good friend to you and a great support. He had done too much for you to ever hate him, as you were reminded every time you saw your brother. But you couldn’t say you loved him either. The very fact that if you had a choice you wouldn’t be here gnawed at you. While you laughed with Andy when you saw movies or sighed in pleasure when he put those hands on you, you couldn’t bring yourself to love him. You cared for him, you loved to wake up with his face between your thighs or with your face between his. You loved it when you sat as a family to play scrabble and you and Jake teamed up to beat Andy. You loved it when he tickled you into submission or when you gave him a massage after a tough day at work. But you didn’t love him.

So, it was with trepidation that you looked at the ring you found in his underwear drawer. Settled into a small velvet box, it was a silver band with diamonds lining it. Your hand shook slightly, wondering what you’ll do once he asks you the question you’d been dreading for months now. Did you even have the choice to say no? Did you want to say no? You put the box back where you’d found it and went through your day acting like nothing happened. The next few days you lived in anticipation, wondering every time Andy went into the closet if this would be it. But the ring stayed where it was and with each passing day you became as annoyed as you became relieved.

“Come here, sweetheart”, he said to you one night, holding out his hand and pulling you in his lap on the bed. You snuggled against his chest, you head on his shoulder and arms around him. He stroked your back, placing a kiss on your head as he rocked you slowly.

“Do you want to go back to your brother’s house?” He asked softly and you pulled away to look at him with puzzled eyes.

“What?”

“If you want, you can go back to living with him.”

Your heart started pounding in your chest, breath coming out in stuttered gasps. You didn’t know why but tears filled your eyes as you looked at him in utter disbelief.

“You want me to go away?” Your voice was small, broken like that of a kicked puppy. Andy pulled you tight into himself, holding you close while he cooed at you and shushed.

“No, no baby. I never want you to go away. I just feel like you want to go away.” He said and you buried your head in his neck, not understanding why you weren’t leaping across the room and packing your stuff. This is what you always wanted, your freedom. And now when it was being put on a platter for you, you clung to your prison and your captor.

“I – I don’t know what I want”, you sobbed helplessly, and Andy held you as you cried. He patted your head and pulled your face up to look into your eyes.

“While I am deranged enough to keep you with me like this, even I won’t force you into a marriage. I know you saw the ring, and I know you’ve been withdrawn ever since. I love you, more than anything in the world. You know that, and I’m pretty sure everyone who sees us knows that. Which is exactly why I am willing to set you free. I may be a bad person, but I won’t be a monster. I am giving you the choice you have always wanted. You can go if you want, I won’t stop you. I will not hold anything over you. I want you to be happy, and if that is away from here, away from me, so be it. I won’t be the person holding your happiness at bay.” He said.

You remained silent and after a while Andy set you down on the bed and got up.

“Think about it, it is your choice this time.” He kissed your head and left the room. That was the first night in over a year you’d spent alone, and you cried yourself into a restless sleep, reaching out for the warm body not there. You woke up with eyes sealed shut by dried tears and your whole body aching. The sun was high in the sky meaning you slept well past noon. You walked downstairs into the kitchen, looking around for Andy. You needed to see him, touch him. You needed assurance that he was still there and hadn’t left you. You found Jacob working on his assignment and joined him at the table.

“Good afternoon”, he teased with a smile. Then he looked at your face and cringed. “Jeez, you look sick. Can I get you something? You want me to call dad?”

“I’m fine, just tired. Where is Andy?”, you asked with a raspy voice and gratefully accepted water from Jacob.

“He left early, I think. Left a note on the fridge saying he’ll be back later.” Seeing your face fall, Jacob got up and patted your arm. “You sit here while I get you some coffee. You look like you really need it.”

You nodded and tried not to sniffle. Here was a boy who felt like your own son despite you being not that much older to him. You had a family right here, even if you hadn’t asked for it this way. You held your head in your hands, confused.

Jacob got you coffee and some snacks to munch on. He kept looking at you out of the corner of his eyes, pretending to work. You put down your mug after a few silent minutes and asked him if something was wrong.

“Did you reject dad?” He asked you after hesitating. You gaped at him in shock.

“What? I – No. Why would you say that?”

Jacob turned red stuttered. “Its just…dad showed me the ring. I thought he asked you and well, you’re in such a state and he left early which he has never done since you got here, I thought you said no.” You looked down in your lap, wanting to go upstairs and cry in your pillow.

“Hey, I am so sorry. I just – please don’t say no because of me.” Jacob said earnestly. “I am okay with your relationship. More than okay, in fact. After mom, well, I thought I would never see dad smile again. And then he met you and he started cooking and humming songs again. Then once you moved in…it felt like life had gone back to normal. He became better than before. Mom and he used to fight all the time, but you and he click. So please, if you are worried about me, don’t be.”

You chocked out a pathetic sob and hugged a bewildered Jacob who tried his best to console you. You almost laughed as he let out a few “there there” and “it will be okay”. He was so much like his father.

“Jacob, I think I love your father.”, you said with tears rolling down your cheeks. Jacob grinned a smug smile and breathed out a quite laugh.

“Why do you say that as a bad thing?” He asked.

“Because I don’t know how to tell your father about it” you confessed. Jacob stood up and took you with him. Placing his hands on your shoulder, he turned you around.

“I don’t think you need to tell him anymore.”

Andy stood at the entrance, looking at you both with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He moved closer while you flushed in embarrassment, looking at the floor and shuffling like a naughty child caught causing mischief.

“You, leave.” Andy ordered his son who was smiling like Christmas had come early.

“As if I’d stay for what’s about to happen. I quite like the innocence of my eyes.” Jake joked and scampered when his father glared at him. Andy stood in front of you, looking down at you until you finally raised your head to peak at him from under your wet lashes.

“So…”, he trailed off and you almost stomped your feet once you saw the amusement in his eyes. He is going to milk this moment for all it was worth. You’d made him wait long enough for this.

“So…” You said as well.

“I take it you aren’t going back to your brother’s?”

“No”, you whispered. You wanted him to touch you, to make you his again. Spending one night away from him had driven you almost insane with loneliness. You needed him and yet he didn’t put a hand on you.

“Why not?” He asked instead, tracing his bottom lip with his finger. You squirmed as you watched his action, heat pooling between your legs at the thought of that sensual mouth.

“I – I changed my mind”

“You did, did you?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

You glared at him, making him smirk. You broke and took hold of his collar, pulling him close and brushing your lips against his.

“You know why!” You hissed, trying to kiss him harder but he resisted.

“I don’t know, I mean, is the sex that good?”

The bastard. He was teasing you here and enjoying your discomfort. To hell with everything. You should have just written it on a scrap of paper and dumped it on his lap or something. But then you looked in his eyes which were dancing in the afternoon light, his eyes which had only ever held affection for you. You pushed yourself on you toes and put your mouth against his.

“I love you”

You were in his arms then and he carried you upstairs before you realized what happened. Throwing you on the bed and locking the door, he removed his shirt and climbed over you.

“Again”, he ordered, his lips burning against your throat.

“I love you”, you cried. Your hands found their way into his hair and tugged, making him growl. Both of you tore at your clothes, mouths meeting and teeth gnashing in a desperation to get closer.

“Again”, he said, holding your naked body beneath his, his cock poised at your entrance.

“I love you”

He entered you in a smooth stroke, making you clench around him. He pulled back and looked into your eyes, thrusting slow and deep, relishing in your mewls. He made love to you and you sang the words in his mouth and ear until you both came with muffled cries.

Sweaty and laying in each other’s arms, you basked in the newfound feeling of togetherness. You knew this wasn’t how a normal person falls in love. You realized that someone else may think something was wrong with you. But it is what it is. You loved this man after everything he had done to do. You loved him and you will do your best to let him know that every chance you could.

“So, are you gonna give me that ring now?” You asked.

Andy laughed and looked at you tugged into his naked body.

“With how much you’ve made me wait, you should be the one getting down on your knees.” He joked.

You looked at him with a teasing smile and got up.

“You only had to ask”, you breathed against his mouth before moving down on his body and getting to your knees, ready to show him how much you loved him again and again.

#andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber #andy x reader #defending jacob #chris evans x reader #dark!chris evans #dark!chris evans x reader

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