#their keyboards must be disgusting

[chillentertainer]

thinkin' abt a little john wick conclave au where thomas lawrence is an aging assassin who keeps trying to retire but then is forcibly brought back for "one last hit" (first said to him half a dozen hits ago). lawrence is tired and depressed and he might be really good at his job (and that might be the only thing he's good at) but that Saddens him. because is his only purpose in life to be a Butcher?

not to mention he just recovered from prostate cancer and is now thinking a lot about the afterlife and god and sin etc etc. he's sure he's destined for hell no matter what he does now. is there even any point in changing?

one day he's in rome, surrounded by all these churches. and he enters one. he goes into a confession booth. every week, he confesses minor sins that turn into lovely but frivolous discussions with the anonymous priest, who lawrence can only identify through his gentle voice and bright, easily elicited laugh that reminds lawrence of morning birdsongs. over the weeks, this blossoms into a strange kind of friendship.

finally during a discussion about their favorite kinds of tea, lawrence interrupts the priest's recommendation of kahwah, which they had so often in their time in kabul, and was so delicious, and they just can't find anything close to what they had here, isn't that a shame, and i beg your pardon, what??

i kill people, lawrence repeats. all the time. i want to stop but i can't. i want to retire but they won't let me. i'm afraid being a murderer is how i spent most of my life, and i'm afraid it's how i'll spend the rest of my years, too. i'm the lowliest of sinners. i'm the evil that should be wiped clean from the earth. if god cast me down into the fires of hell for eternity, again and again, i would gladly welcome it.

and there is a heavy silence during which lawrence tenses, waiting for a horrified outburst or some rage.

but the priest says, with infinite compassion in his tone, you are still here on earth with us. and so god, in his mercy, has given you time to beg forgiveness and find redemption. make amends, however you can. take no more life, not for any reason. you say you want to stop. then stop. i believe you have good in your heart. you would not have come here if you did not.

thomas says, yes, yes i will, i swear on His name. i'm sorry for having wasted all your time these past weeks, i should not have done so.

and finally he says, goodbye. because there's no point in returning and attempting to continue this friendship, not when the priest must be so disgusted and would want nothing to do with lawrence any longer.

the priest says nothing in return and it hurts but lawrence knows he deserves it. he deserves far, far worse, and god, why can't he be punished now or just die and suffer eternal torment, and then, maybe, maybe, his soul could feel some bloody relief. but the priest said, make amends. can't make amends if you're dead.

so lawrence returns to his miserable apartment, to try and make amends, whatever that means. he decides to leave rome and begins to pack. he wanders the streets in a daze and gives all the euros he has on him to a beggar. on saturday, the day he would've gone to confession, he buys kahwah from a bemused shopkeeper.

he returns to find his next assignment on his kitchen counter in the form of a usb stick. he doesn't want to open it. but if he leaves it alone for too long, they'll send agents to track him down and he'll get an earful from aldo. better to open the assignment and fool them now. he'll disappear from rome right after.

lawrence plugs in the usb stick. there's a name he doesn't recognize. he clicks through the research on his next victim that ray had meticulously assembled. there is a video. he hits play. a voice starts speaking. and lawrence spills his hot cup of kahwah all over his keyboard and trousers but he doesn't care because fuck it all, he does know his victim after all.

it's the priest he sat next to week after week, chatting about the merits of herbal medicine and whether agatha christie or arthur conan doyle wrote better mystery novels and about the incompetence of world governments. it's the priest he just confessed to about his true nature, that he wasn't just some englishman adrift in rome, but a cold-blooded killer. it's the priest that heard this and offered him a way out, anyways.

it's vincent benitez.

the video continues, as benitez smiles and waves at a young child, his dark eyes luminescent and kind.

now he has a face and name to the voice, lawrence first thinks, in a daze. he’s even more beautiful than i imagined him to be.

his second thought: what the hell did benitez do to piss somebody off that badly that they want him dead?

[doctor-dusk]

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

your first time on omegle wasn’t that bad.

warnings: male masturbation, a bit of exhibitionism and voyeurism.

word count: 2.2k

the idea came to my head when i was working, lately i've been struggling with writing. maybe i'll turn it into a little series, idk. hope you enjoy it :3

you never thought about joining omegle ever. you saw compiled videos of people who entered, a simple platform that connected people from different parts of the world. it seemed fun, a perfect pass time. besides, you could meet someone nice. not that you're looking for it in the first place, but it was something you would accept if it came along. 

but you were aware of the cons. your friends used to say that it was a trap, especially because of the perverts on duty. for every 10 people you find on omegle, at least 7 are men masturbating in front of the camera. a proper “hello, nice to meet you”.

anyway, you decide to take a shot. friday night, your parents went out for dinner and you had the whole house to yourself for the night, or at least until 11pm. it was the perfect opportunity, you didn't want to be interrupted or that your parents knew that you were talking to strangers on the internet.

you were in your bedroom, the dim lights of the lamp bring a more comfortable environment to your room. you closed the curtains, then went to your small table that you used to study, picked up your laptop and placed it on the mattress of your bed, right between your legs.

it didn't take long for your laptop to turn on. your eager fingers typed on the browser's search bar to access the website. you wondered if it would be a good idea to show your face on camera. maybe not at first. so, you took your laptop from between your legs, placing it next to you while you pulled the covers up to cover yourself up to your nose, leaving only the area around your eyes visible.

you didn't really know what to expect, if you could stay there for just 1 minute or 1 hour. but you were determined to try. because, besides being curious, you were bored.

without wasting much time, you clicked to enter the website.

almost 30 minutes and you only had a five minute conversation with a girl from wisconsin because she saw your poster on your wall. the rest, just disappointing, even disgusting. it was really impossible for you to skip to the next conversation with someone else without a cock appearing on your screen, almost slapping on your face, if it were possible.

at this point, your finger was glued to the mouse, just clicking to skip the chat, without even introducing yourself or letting others introduce themselves. then, when you clicked on the next one, already thinking about passing, you came across something a bit unusual, but not so different from what you had seen before in previous "conversations".

yeah, it was a guy masturbating, naturally. but in a way, it was different. it wasn't as explicit as the others; it was something more shy, more subtle. the lights in the room where he was were like the ones in your bedroom, dim and cozy, but they didn't leave much to the imagination because his monitor screen illuminated what was in front of you.

he must have had a laptop like you, but it wasn't in a bed, but on a desk, perfectly positioned so that he could sit in a comfortable chair on his side. his toned body wasn't very lit, leaving little to your imagination. his left hand was on the desk, probably to use the mouse or keyboard, while his right hand was lowered.

oh, you were mesmerized, even though you hated to admit it.

the way he was moving his right hand torturously slowly, showing so little. you could only see its pink tip glistening, his thumb sliding easily there in a caress while the other fingers were wrapped in the rest of his length that you couldn't see. and just like you, he wasn't showing his face. he was just there, touching himself slowly, his chest rising and falling in the same calm rhythm. somehow, you liked that. you didn't know if you should say something, if you should leave.

you felt like you were interrupting the moment, but hey, if he was there on omegle, he wanted to be seen, right?

your eyes watched him intently, until you saw his left hand typing something on the keyboard. soon, the message popped on the chat.

''too stunned to speak?''

you blinked a few times, shaking your head and deciding to answer him without typing on the chat.

''kinda.'' you replied shyly. he chuckled lowly.

''i can show you more if you want.'' he replied back, his voice was low too, a bit rough.

''i think it's good like this.'' you said and he hummed, not showing more than you wanted to see. well, at least he was respectful. you thought he would move on to the next chat, but he just kept doing his thing, aware that you're watching him.

‘’you have pretty eyes." he said at one point. you raised your eyebrows. you weren't expecting a compliment at that moment.

''thanks. uhm... you got a nice... well...'' you said, trying to compliment him somehow, but you didn't know exactly how. a nice cock, definitely. at least from what you could see.

‘’a nice cock?’’ he chuckled, as if he were reading your thoughts. ‘’yeah, most people say it.’’

''you've shown it many times, i suppose.'' you replied, and he chuckled again. there was something about him chuckling that left you with a pool on your lower belly. something warming inside you.

''well, not that often. i'm a shy guy, ya' know?'' he said, his thumb pressing right on his slit, making him hiss and you shifted on your bed.

''a shy guy who shows his cock to the camera but doesn't show his face.'' you said, feeling bolder.

he hummed, his head lowering a bit so you could have a glimpse of his chin. besides having a nice cock, he also had a perfectly shaped jaw.

''guilty as charged. but what can i do? 'm just some guy trying to have some fun for free on the internet, don't mind me.'' he said, his forearm flexing a bit when he closed his fist on his tip, sliding down, the foreskin also coming down to show the tip more.

you're lucky he couldn't see your face from the nose down, or else he would see you licking your lips like you were looking at a full meal in front of you. you couldn't help yourself. he was teasing you, and he knew it.

''what about you? what are you doing here this friday night? no slumber party with friends?'' he asked, snapping you out of your reverie.

“i'm bored. i just wanted someone to talk to.'' you shrugged. you weren't lying, actually.

‘'kind of hard to find someone to talk to around here, huh?'' he asked, chuckling about the situation.

''yeah, but... we're talking now, aren't we?''

''while i'm jerking myself off, yeah.'' he added. ''hope you don't mind.''

''i don't mind, don't worry.''

''and why don't you mind?'' he asked, genuinely curious. not even you knew how to say that. at the moment, you were actually enjoying talking to him. especially since you could also see what he was doing.

you didn't need to lie, you were strangers to each other there. at worst, you could just skip the chat and he would be gone forever.

''i kind of liked watching you touch yourself. you're not like the others, explicit and stuff. i like how you do it.'' you replied, watching how his grip on his length seemed to tighten a little. he seemed to like what you said. fueled something inside him.

''yeah, you liked it, eh? that's good to know. i'm glad i'm being able to fill your boredom.'' he said, his hand moving up and down in a controlled rhythm. oh, you wish he could fill more than your boredom. ''you know, i like your voice. can you keep talking to me?''

''what do you want me to say?'' you asked, his left hand gesturing for you to say anything you wanted.

''anything. tell me what you like to do.'' he said, his hand keeping the pace, his breathing a bit ragged. fuck, you thought that it was so hot, you barely could think on tell something about you when you saw him touching himself like that.

‘’i like to read, to take some lazy afternoon’s strolls, listen to some old tunes from the 80’s and…’’ you listed, but you could barely concentrate. the sight of him was lingering in your mind more than you cared to admit, making you feel warmer and warmer, rubbing your thighs together under the blanket to get some kind of relief.

''mhm, keep talking, darling.'' he said in a whisper, his head was back against the back of the chair, his adam's apple was protruding even more as he swallowed hard, his chest moving up and down at the same pace as his hand.

you could praise him. you should praise him.

''and i like your body. the way your hand moves. pretty endearing and...'' you said, biting your lip slightly.

''oh fuck, i bet you wished that it was your hand here, eh?'' he hummed, his voice had a deep tone, a bit ragged from his breathing.

“maybe. i think i could take care of you in no time.” you countered, his hand moved faster, letting out a strangled moan as he came, the thick and slimy release hitting his chest, making a mess on himself.

“oh, fuck, fuck…” he panted, standing still for a few moments, his chest rose and fell rapidly, his hot and fresh cum running down his chest like tears of pleasure. 

you couldn't help but feel mesmerized by the scene. not that you've never seen it before, but somehow it was different. he was different.

“gotta clean this mess.” he muttered to himself after regain some of consciousness, looking at his own mess on his body. you watched as he got up, catching a brief glimpse of his boxers which were pulled down to mid-hip.

you kept silent, somehow thinking you should wait for him to clean himself up before you could say something. 

“just for the record, that never happened before. i mean… it usually only happened when the person was also doing something, touching herself, anyway..." he said as he sat again, holding a tissue on his right hand. he seemed kind of embarrassed that it had happened, and you felt sort of proud. you didn't needed to do anything more.

“it's okay, i liked it.” you replied, reassuring him as he wiped the last restraints off his stomach. then, you could see his face since he was looking down. 

he might not have even realized you saw his face, he was too worried about cleaning himself and you were too worried about seeing how handsome he was.

“you’re pretty.” you let it slip out your lips. he widened his eyes slightly, his eyeballs glanced at the screen, and soon he let out an awkward laugh.

“you weren't supposed to see my face, you know?" he chuckled, crumpling the tissue into a little ball, throwing it directly into the trash can where it was. 

“you faltered, i guess.” you shrugged. he repeated your motion, adjusting his camera so you could see him properly. pretty eyes, pretty lips. such a pretty and big nose. “pretty handsome.”

“yeah, too bad i can't say the same to you.” he teased and you frowned. “you're not showing your face, silly.”

it was a good move. you chuckled, wondering if it would be a good idea to show him your face. it wasn't like you were going to see each other again, was it?

you pulled the blanket off the other half of your face, showing yourself to him. he let out a low whistle and you rolled your eyes, slightly flattered.

“nothing special here.”

“how dare you? your face is as beautiful as your voice.” he complimented you. you couldn't help but feel the butterflies in your stomach do a flip. “i'm alex, by the way.”

right after you said your name back to him, you listened to the sound of your parents' car pulling into the garage of your house. you sighed, muttering a "shit" that he couldn't help but hear. 

“your parents arrived, hm?" he deduced and you gave a crooked smile, nodding with your head. 

“yeah, i have to go.” you gave a slight pout and he mimicked your gesture, eliciting a chuckle from you. you didn't want to leave, you wish you could talk to him more.

“yeah, don't worry. it was nice to talk to you.” he said, giving a slight and shy nod as if he wasn't jerking himself off a few minutes ago in front of you. 

you could listen to the footsteps of your parents around near the house, your father's heavy footsteps contrasting with the dry thud of your mother's heels as she came closer to open the front door.

“um, before you go…” he said before you could exit the site. “i'm here every friday night.”

“is this some kind of 'see you later', alex?” you raised your eyebrows, a smile tugging your lips. he shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but you could notice the flicker in his eyes, like a silent hope.

“only if you want to, love.”

[gureumz]

coffee and mathematical physics

rating: explicit

member: jake

notes: fem!reader, university au, student council vp jake x student council secretary reader, a very speedy friends to lovers, clothed sex, spitting, shy jake 180-ing to dom!jake, unprotected sex

a/n: i really wanted to write something nasty for jake (tho i can get nastier than this wink wink) after hearing him ramble about quantum entanglement bc hello nerdy boys are so hot ugh so anyways enjoy!

the words in front of you are starting to blur and the only other thought in your mind is that you need coffee at the soonest time possible.

end-of-year reports were always a pain in the ass, especially for the student council secretary, which, by your luck, is you.

"sunoo, can we get someone to buy us coffee?" you ask, shuffling through the papers in your hands.

"we can ask jake. he's on his way," sunoo points out, taking a seat beside you. he types away furiously on his laptop, the click-clack of the keyboard grating against your ears.

"great," you grumble. "text him."

sunoo makes a sound akin to being offended. "the last time i checked, i was vice president for internal affairs, a rank higher than you."

you turn to sunoo, scowling. he's smiling, obviously having not taken your command to heart.

"okay, okay, i'll text him," sunoo soothes, patting you on the back.

you feel a heaviness in your head as you try your hardest to remember the order the documents have to be in.

annex a, then annex b, then annex c-1, annex c-2...wait, was there an annex b-2? what's that supposed to contain? officer info? council info?

your internal tirade against the university bureaucracy is interrupted when sunoo gasps, giggling right after.

"how sweet, jake's already bought coffee even before i told him to."

"classic jake," you supply, a hint of a smile on your lips.

jake, as the vice president for external affairs, was expected to be the outgoing and agreeable one. true to his job description, jake always made an effort to make sure everyone in the council's mental health was accounted for. he knew when jay was about to bust a vein (and how to prevent it from happening altogether), he can tell when sunoo's getting overwhelmed with university grievances, and jake always somehow knew when you needed a cup of coffee.

always. without fail. just as you were thinking about it, jake would offer you a trip to starbucks.

"he does this whole coffee thing for you, you know," sunoo points out, nudging you with his arm.

"he does not," you argue, slamming the clear book cover shut. you push the papers away from you, your temples throbbing and your eyes aching from the strain.

"he does," sunoo insists, closing his laptop as well. "he told me once how he'd never bought coffee for someone so many times until you started working together."

"i never told him to do that," you mumble, your cheeks heating in embarrassment. "i don't tell him to pay, either, but he does about half the time."

"he's so down bad for you," sunoo giggles, getting up. he packs away his laptop, rummaging around his bag.

"are you leaving already?" you question, disappointed, as you thought you'd have another set of eyes and hands to help you with the report.

sunoo nods, pouting apologetically. "i promised ni-ki we'd eat dinner together."

you make a face. "he's so down bad for you," you repeat, imitating sunoo's high-pitched teasing.

he laughs, swatting at your shoulder.

before any of you can get another word in, the door to the council room opens. in walks jake, a paper bag in hand, and his oh-so-dazzling smile plastered on his face.

"someone asked for coffee?" jake says, eyes meeting yours. you can't help but smile back at him, having known for quite some time that jake's smile was just that contagious.

"we did!" sunoo replies cheerily, skipping over to jake. the latter hands him a cup.

"the usual," jake informs. "mint choco frappe, albeit disgusting, is a must for our mint choco lover."

sunoo punches jake lightly on the arm.

"and for our hardworking secretary," jake begins, walking over to you at the table. "an iced caramel macchiato."

you accept the drink, thanking jake as you do so.

"so caring," you comment, giving him your sweetest smile. "my dream guy, indeed."

"and that's my cue to leave," sunoo declares, walking over to the door, his bag in hand.

"let me know if you need any help, ______! i'll get back to you as soon as i can," sunoo calls out as he pulls the door open, exiting swiftly, but not before shooting you a knowing glance over his shoulder.

jake, most likely oblivious to the exchange of looks, takes a seat beside you, rifling through the papers you had just organized moments ago.

"these all look in order," jake observes, tongue sticking out from the corner of his lips. you stare, albeit unintentionally, cursing inwardly at how attractive this little habit of his is.

not that you'd admit that jake was attractive, not out loud, at least. sure, he was extremely good-looking, with sharp eyes and an equally sharp nose, and lips that are to die for, not to mention that personality that toed the line between warm golden boy and reckless frat boy. you don't even want to get started on how he gets around girls, especially the pretty ones and—

"what else is missing?" jake asks, turning to you. you blink rapidly, trying to regain some coherent thoughts in your head, but the only thing you can focus on at the moment is how good jake smells.

"uh...," you begin lamely. jake grins, raising his eyebrows as he moves his face closer to yours, the same way you would when encouraging a child to tell you about their day.

"evaluation forms," you conclude, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. "the evaluation forms from last year's events."

jake nods, turning away momentarily. he pulls his laptop out before powering it up.

"jungwon should have that covered, right? he's the one who audited and liquidated them, after all," jake wonders out loud as he types. your eyes drift down to his hands and an internal monologue threatens to fire up inside you once more.

"yeah," you reply, willing yourself to stare at his laptop screen instead. "i think he just hasn't come around to printing them, yet."

"but they should be in the drive," you add.

jake hums, focused on the task at hand. in the meantime, you busy yourself with your coffee, taking a long sip, and immediately feeling your headache ease up.

"thanks again for the coffee," you say, lightly bumping your shoulder against jake's.

jake turns to you, smiling. you stare at each other for a few seconds as you take another sip. after a while, jake chuckles.

"what?" you ask, fingers swiping at your cheek. "did i get something on my face?"

jake transitions to a full giggle before shaking his head. "no. it's just cute that you're drinking out of a cup with my name on it."

you cock your head to the side before turning the cup around. sure enough, jake's name is scribbled on the side. nothing unusual, seeing as he was the one that ordered your drink.

"okay...?"

"nothing, it's nothing," jake says with a shake of his head.

"no, tell me," you insist, pulling on jake's wrist. he giggles some more, turning away from you in an attempt to hide his face.

"jakeeee," you whine, tugging on his arm. he meets your gaze, and it's only then you notice just how close he's gotten.

"okay, don't get weirded out, but like, imagine if i posted a story of you drinking from that cup," jake explains, gesturing to the drink in your hand. you nod, your curiosity building.

"and it has my name on full display. and you're drinking from it. the cup, with my name on it," jake continues, eyebrows raised once more as he gesticulates broadly with his hands, as if trying to get an obvious point across.

"and? is that supposed to mean anything?" you question, crossing your arms in front of you.

"i guess? i mean—well, i don't know!" jake stammers, collapsing into another fit of his adorable giggles. you laugh along, genuinely lost at what he's trying to get at.

"what, is it supposed to come off as like some romantic gesture that you bought coffee for me?" you ask, not expecting any particular answer, but jake's face blanks out at your words, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words.

"i mean, yeah," jake says timidly.

"but, you buy coffee for everyone on the council," you point out.

"because i didn't want to seem so obvious," jake admits, scratching at the back of his neck. you stare at him for a moment, unsure of where this is going.

"obvious? obvious about what?"

jake sighs, wiping his hands on his pants. "that i was trying to impress you with the coffee."

your eyes widen almost comically at this admission. jake was trying to impress you?

"you didn't have to do all that," you protest, suddenly guilty at how oblivious you've been. in your defense, you didn't want to read into it too much, if at all, for that matter.

"but, we're having this conversation now, so i guess it worked," jake says with a shrug. silence washes over the two of you as you try to think of what to say next.

"sorry," jake mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

"what? no! it's cute. you're cute," you blurt out and jake catches onto the last sentence, eyebrows almost shooting off his forehead.

"no, for real," you continue in a rush. "it's very sweet of you, jake."

jake grins, unable to hide the blush blossoming on his neck and ears. you feel your own face warm up.

"right," jake replies, clearing his throat. "it's nothing, really, i mean, i was gonna ask you out eventually, but—well, i wasn't really sure when, it's just—"

jake cuts himself off, covering his face with both his hands.

"god, sorry, what do i even say to that?" jake complains, laughing, obviously too embarrassed to speak.

you laugh, reaching over to pull his hands off his face. he looks at you with wide, puppy-dog eyes and you're convinced you've never seen anything as adorable as jake in this moment.

"relax," you say as you take jake's hands in yours. you set your coffee cup down. "tell you what, let's just put that conversation away for now."

you pull your chair closer to jake's, your knees knocking against his. you thread your fingers between his own, turning your full attention to him.

"tell me about your day instead," you suggest, laying your other hand on your clasped ones. jake seems to visibly relax at this, squeezing your hand.

"okay," jake begins hesitantly. "well, i had one class today, which was mathematical physics."

you nod, encouraging him to go on.

"i don't wanna bore you with the specifics, so...," jake warns, seemingly unsure of whether to continue or not.

"you could never bore me," you reply, smiling. jake's whole face turns red this time and he can't help the peals of laughter that erupt from his lips.

"you can't say stuff like that," jake says with a pout. "you just can't!"

you grin, amused at jake's flustered state. "okay, okay, i won't. please, tell me about mathematical physics."

jake clears his throat again, cheeks still a shade of pink. "right, so it's a class that i really enjoy because, if you didn't know already, i love math and physics, so this is like their genius lovechild or something."

you nod, leaning closer to jake. if he notices, he doesn't say anything.

"it's mostly just theory since it bases on the mathematical foundation of theoretical physics," jake pauses. "duh jake, theoretical physics, so, of course, it's mostly theory."

you snicker at his little side commentary.

"so yeah, we had a lecture today, and not going into specifics again since you probably wouldn't understand much of it anyway, we touched on statistical mechanics."

you nod along, and as much as you hate to admit it, you've tuned out most of what jake's saying, too focused on the way his face lights up and shifts as he explains. he still uses his hands as he goes along, even the one that's holding yours.

it's cute.

you don't realize that he's stopped talking until he suddenly laughs, getting closer to your face.

"you're not listening, are you?" jake challenges, grinning mischievously.

you stutter for a few seconds, mentally kicking yourself because you're the one who convinced him to talk about his day and you're not going to listen to him in the end?

it's your turn to be embarrassed as he lets go of your hand in favor of resting his arm on your chair behind you, circling it around your shoulders.

"sorry," you murmur, a sudden warmth spreading over you. "i don't really care about physics. i just wanna hear you talk about it."

jake smiles. "oh?"

"yeah," you nod, shifting closer to him. you swing your legs over to rest on his lap, meaning it to be a wholesome gesture, just something to bring you physically closer to him.

jake doesn't seem as flustered now because he catches your legs, tucking his forearm behind your knees before pulling you completely off your chair and onto his thighs. his other arm supports your waist now, leaving you seated sideways on his lap.

your skirt has flipped outward and you were now sitting your bare ass on jake.

"you're such a nerd," you comment with a laugh, circling your arms around jake's neck. his eyes flick up and down between your eyes and lips.

you get the message.

"a hot nerd, i hope?" jake asks, tilting his head to the side.

"the hottest," you confirm before leaning in to press your lips to his.

jake groans, fingers curling into the material of your blouse as he pulls you even closer. you part your lips, his other hand delicately tucking strands of hair behind your ear. he grips one side of your face right after, angling his own head in order to kiss you even deeper.

your own hands find purchase in his perfectly gelled hair, the soft strands gliding in between your fingers. something about jake walking out of this room with messed up hair because of you sends a jolt of excitement through your body.

"sit on me, baby," jake requests, pulling away. he's panting, eyes dark as he looks at you with want.

"i already am," you say with a hint of confusion.

"you know what i mean," jake says, voice gruff as his hands grab your waist, maneuvering you around. you hurriedly slide off his lap, but only for a second.

you straddle jake, your thin lace underwear and his cotton sweatpants the only barriers between your heated core and his hard-on.

you swivel your hips forward experimentally and the friction has you moaning. jake throws his head back, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

you continue your movements at a steady pace, the only sounds coming from both of your labored breathing. it should be embarrassing how you're like a couple of horny teenagers just humping each other at school of all places, but neither of you has the capacity to care at the moment.

jake reaches under your skirt from behind, palms smoothing over your ass before he grabs at your cheeks, controlling your movements.

"fuck yeah," he curses under his breath, looking up at you through his long lashes. you reach down, undoing jake's button-up, all the way down to the last button, exposing his toned chest and abs.

"get off" jake whispers. "bend over the desk."

you inhale, practically scrambling off jake's lap. you do as you're told, pressing your upper body against the table, documents and all, exposing your ass to jake.

he flips your skirt over, dragging your panties down until they fall at your ankles. you step out of them, kicking them off to the side. you squeal when you feel jake's fingers running up and down between your folds, coating himself with your wetness.

"who knew a few cups of coffee over the course of a semester would lead to this," jake says, slipping a finger in. you bite your lip, trying to conceal the sounds that threaten to escape your lips.

jake adds another. "spread wide open for me."

jake slowly drags his fingers in and out of you and you have to clamp a hand down on your mouth. you clench around the thick digits, the pad of jake's thumb ghosting over your puckered rim. he teases it ever-so-slightly and you can't stop the whimper that leaves you.

jake covers the lower half of your face with his large hand. "sshh," jake coos in your ear as he leans down. "don't want anyone to discover the student council vice president and secretary getting it on in the council room now, do we?"

you shake your head, grabbing at jake's wrist. you mumble against his palm, but it comes out a garbled mess of words. he seems to take pity on you because he removes his hand momentarily to let you speak.

"please," you try to say as quietly as you can, despite jake's fingers shoved deep inside you. "fuck me, please."

you turn to look at jake and it's like all traces of the previous jake are gone. his face is serious but a dark glint is in his eyes, and you somehow know you're about to get fucked within an inch of your life.

jake forces your head down on the table, your cheek smushing against the smooth plastic. jake removes his fingers from inside you, leaving you clenching around nothing. you hear a wet pop and you immediately know he's helping himself to your arousal.

"delicious, babe," jake comments, leaning down to plant a kiss on your temple.

"if anything gets too much, our safe word is 'coffee'," jake reminds, kissing you again, this time on the cheek that isn't being pressed against the desk.

jake lets go of you for a second, but you don't dare move, both afraid and exhilarated at the idea of what might happen if you do. you hear rustling from behind you and you know jake has pulled his pants down.

you turn to take a peek and what you see has your mouth watering.

jake is of a highly commendable size. you'd say around 6 inches from where you're looking and girthy.

jake catches you staring and he snickers, giving his cock a few pumps.

"like what you see, sweetheart?" jake asks, thumbing at the precum spilling from his tip.

"yeah," you breathe out. "can't wait to have it inside me."

jake chuckles lowly. "no need to wait, baby."

jake rubs the length of your core once, twice, before pushing right in. a sound between a groan and a sigh escapes you, the feeling of fullness hitting you head-on.

"fuck," jake curses. "fuck yes."

jake starts to move, pulling out almost all the way before plunging back in. he goes in so deep, it. has your head spinning. you lay there, splayed out against the work you were poring over merely half an hour ago, wondering if the office would accept cumstained documents.

"up," jake commands. it takes you a second but you manage to hold yourself up with trembling arms, the desk's mechanical creaking loud inside the room.

jake takes hold of your neck his other arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you flush against him, thrusting up shallowly into your dripping pussy.

"good girl," jake croons in your ear. he tightens his fingers around your airway. "you're my good girl, right?"

you let out a sound, unable to find proper words to confirm that, yes, you're his good girl and you'd do anything he asks of you, whatever it is he wants, you'd gladly do it.

your meek whimpers turn into a whine of protest when you feel jake pull out. he leans over, shoving papers and other things to the very edge of the desk. some papers flutter off the table completely but both of you fail to notice.

"lie down," jake instructs, pushing you towards the desk. you turn around, hoisting yourself up on the desk before laying down as jake had said.

jake enters you again, resuming his previous pace. pressure builds up inside of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head with every brush of jake's cock against that one spot within.

"open," jake's voice cuts through the haze in your mind. you blink at him, unsure of what he's asking you to do. he makes a sound of impatience, grabbing your jaw.

"open your mouth," jake says, leaning over. you part your lips and jake aligns his face above yours. he gathers spit between his lips and before you can register what he's doing, he lets the liquid fall right into your awaiting mouth.

"swallow," jake orders, forcing your mouth shut. you oblige, your whole body flushing at the filth he's making you do.

jake speeds up his movements, seemingly satisfied. you gasp, grabbing onto jake's arm. he's holding onto your hips as if you were nothing, his grip on you so tight, like he might fling you around with no problem at all. he's fucking you like a man starved and you're loving every second of it.

"g-gonna cum," you whimper, fingers clumsily rubbing at your clit in an attempt to bring you closer to your orgasm.

"yeah?" jake responds. "gonna cum all over my cock, hm?"

you nod frantically, back arching off the table as you feel it approach.

"come on baby, cum all over this cock," jake eggs on. "so fucking hot, baby, cumming from this cock alone."

you cry out, a wave of pleasure crashing into you. your mouth hangs wide open, breathing labored as euphoria grips you from every side.

you hear jake groan from above you and you watch as your orgasm is fading away, jake pulling out and pumping his cock furiously. he finishes all over your exposed cunt, some of his cum staining your skirt.

yours and jake's breathing comes out loud, both of you spent from the harsh fucking you just did.

"fuck," jake mutters, rubbing his softening dick all over your swollen pussy. "that's hot."

you laugh breathlessly, propping yourself up on your elbows. jake looks at you, immediately bursting into laughter.

"well, damn," jake says, pulling back to survey the scene in front of him.

"that's one pretty picture if i've ever seen one," jake concludes, giving you a thumbs up.

you roll your eyes, peeking down to assess the mess you both made.

"shut up and help me clean up," you tease good-naturedly, sliding off the desk. jake smiles, leaning in to peck your lips.

"of course, my ever-so-hardworking secretary."

[noroi1000]

Love Hotel

Dom Gojo x Sub fem reader

Summary: The only hotel in the area is the love hotel. After completing the mission, you went there with your friend.To rest before returning to home. There is only one bed...And he also had a plan...While you were in the shower, he started masturbating...He asked you for help.

Warnings: NSFW (oral-men receiving; breeding kink, size difference kink; masturbation; degradation kink)

Words: 4k

"You really don't have two separate rooms?" you asked as you stood in front of the receptionist's counter.

Her face was hidden behind dull glass.

"Sorry. We only have this. All other rooms are occupied." She replied looking at you and Gojo next to you, even though she couldn't see your faces.

Love hotels must ensure discretion. And you just found one where the service is behind frosted glass.

This woman was wondering why you guys came to a love hotel if you want separate rooms anyway.

Either you have other partners or you want to sleep.

However, overnight bookings do not start until 10pm. There's still half an hour left.

However, even if you want to spend the night here, there is only one large room available.

You thought of something that might happen... Since people come here for a few hours just to have sex, maybe a room will open up soon.

"Are there any bookings that are ending?" you asked.

You'd be a little disgusted to sleep in a bed where someone just fucked, but this hotel looks expensive. So the staff will definitely change the sheets after each guest.

But you'd send Gojo there anyway.

You finished the mission an hour ago. However, you would have to wait two hours for the next train to Tokyo. And it's late.

That's why you wanted to sleep.

However, the closest possible hotel was a love hotel...

That's why you already casually went there with him...

But to spite you, there was only one room...

"Unfortunately, they all end in three hours. Or four." she said. You heard the computer keyboard tapping as she checked.

You sighed.

The woman looked again at the outline of the White Haired Man.

She thought you came to the love hotel with the old man... She really thought so... Because he has white hair, and he's a man...

He's just grey. And that's why this idea popped into her mind.

"The only room available is large. Larger than a typical double." she said.

There's a light bulb in your mind.

Larger than a double? So is there a chance there are two beds?

"We'll take it." Gojo said suddenly as he put his hand on your shoulder.

You looked at him with slightly furrowed brows.

The woman handed the terminal under the window so that he could pay. And you saw how he pays easily.

You took the key from her as she handed it to you. And you went to the elevator.

As you left, he leaned back lightly against the counter.

"What are the amenities of the room?" he asked with a small smile.

Good thing the receptionist didn't see his demonic mind.

He wanted to see your face when you see that there is one bed and you will have to sleep there together.

You're friends, but when he's around, you run away from him and you're able to hit him when he has weird ideas.

It's such a friendship.

You know each other from work, you talk to each other. You go to lunch sometimes. You go on missions when you don't need only destructive power and you need to find something.

You have nothing against your presence. Especially him because he loves when he can be with you. Everything he did with you was his good memories.

However, he very much wants to see your reaction to what he wants to do. will you scream? Run away? Will you beat him?

Or will everything go according to his plan and you agree? If you want him to stop, you'll have to agree.

He liked you. Even very much. But he liked watching your nervous reactions just as much.

That's why he wanted to do it.

And also to make sure you can get closer somehow.

"Um... King Size bed, access to bathroom with shower, TV. Locker facilities with extra bedding, towels and bathrobes."

"All right. Thanks for the info." He said cheerfully before walking off to join you in the elevator.

"Why are you smiling like that?" you asked, looking at the magnetic key to the door. They don't even have regular keys in this hotel, just these.... It's really one of the more expensive hotels...

"Oh, nothing ~." He nodded with the same smile.

"You know something I don't. Tell me now! Why are you smiling like that again?!"

"You'll find out soon~." He hummed, lifting one piece of the blindfold to look at you with one eye.

His voice was still humming as he watched as your cheeks scowled at his answer.

Moments later, you reached your floor and, walking in front of him, began to look for the correct number on the door.

And when you found it, the key opened the door for you. So you opened the door waiting for him to follow you as well.

But when you turned on the lights, you saw that the room is quite large, however most of the space is occupied by a large bed placed in the middle of the room. Opposite the end of the bed there is a TV set, the entrance to the bathroom is on the side.

It was nice but there was one problem...

It was supposed to be a larger than a standard double room...

"Are those jokes?! One bed?!" You moaned quite loudly and his big hand suddenly appeared over your mouth, covering half of your face.

"People have rooms all around." He said still with the same smile as he hushed you.

"Those walls are probably soundproof." You said as you grabbed his wrist, pushing his hand away. "I'll go down to the front desk to ask if they have any mattresses."

"Will you sleep on the floor?" he asked.

His hand appeared on the door before you could open it.

"You will sleep on the floor." You smiled victoriously. "For me it is important to get enough sleep. But since you don't want to be a gentleman, I can sleep on a mattress."

His hands suddenly appeared on either side of your body as he stood in front of you.

He held the door with one hand while he closed the lock with the other.

"That's not cool, Gojo..." You muttered as you tried to grab the key in his hand, but he quickly shoved it into the pocket of his top uniform.

"We can sleep in the same bed. It's big enough that it shouldn't be a problem for you. Besides, compared to me, you won't take up much space. We'll be a perfect match, so we'll both fit in."

You blushed slightly at the idea that you were sleeping with him in the same bed, under the same covers...

What did he mean by fitting in?

Won't you take up a lot of space?

"You know... You're shorter than me. So it will be easy for us to adjust the sizes somehow ~." He smiled as he walked closer and put his hand on your head, showing that you are shorter.

Hardly anyone is taller than a six-foot guy like him!

Not many people reach his height!

"Come on, we can sleep in the same bed one night. true, (y/n)~?"

You sighed and put your hand under his chest, pushing him slightly away from you.

"Fine... Since it's only one night..."

"One night, but there may be more later~." He thought as he saw you walk away to see if there were towels in the sliding wardrobe.

He himself didn't even know why he had such a plan. But somehow he figured it out when he found out there was only one room, and that you were in a love hotel.

And since love hotels are most often used only for sex, no one will throw him out of here.

The main reason for his plan is to tease you.

And the secondary reason is the desire to see if you would be able to do something with him ... Or be closer to him than just work friends.

Because since he knows you, he doesn't consider you someone who couldn't be closer to him.

He's already rooted you in his life, so why can't he see if you could do one thing closer to him?

There aren't many people that close to him, but he would like you to be even closer.

What if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you? You're nice and funny. Sweet. By the way, he likes you. So this plan is justified.

Besides, he'd like to see you blush when you see something he's planning.

"I'm going to take a shower. We'll sort out how we sleep later." You said as you walked around the bed and into the bathroom, giving him that look he loved.

An innocent look when you don't know what he's planning. Your normal face. It's so exciting.

Even if he didn't have a plan, he did the same. Because he wouldn't have anything to do here without you.

He couldn't go to sleep because he had to wait for you to come.

He grabbed the TV remote and turned on the screen as he sat on the edge of the bed.

As it should be in a love hotel, you could turn on a porn site on the TV.

Just as he expected.

He kept scrolling through the strip, but he couldn't think.

He finally found a video he liked. "A smaller girl fucked by a tall guy with a big cock."

As soon as the video started, he was imagining your face instead of the one in the video.

And instead of the guy who started fucking her mercilessly, it was him. He imagined his own cock disappearing into your pussy like in a video.

He kept seeing your face instead of the woman's face. And then he focused on the view of big cock stretching her pussy.

He already noticed that he was bigger than this guy, but he didn't complain since it was needed for his plan.

And just knowing that he was imagining it was you instead of that girl made his pants feel tight.

Therefore, not to delay any longer, he unbuckled his belt and pants, pulling out his already hardened penis from his boxers, which lay down softly on his stomach as he took off the top of his uniform to stay in his black T-shirt.

He lifted the blindfold, taking it off. And let his white hair fall over his face before running his fingers through it.

Staring at the close-up of the girl's pussy stretching in the video, he spat into his hand, and grabbed his dick lying on his shirt, smearing the skin to make it slippery.

Then he started moving his hand up and down with the pace the guy was fucking the girl with.

Your face was still in his eyes instead of hers.

That made him even more excited. It may not have been perfectly good and appropriate behavior and thoughts, however, at that moment, he couldn't stop thinking about you.

To make you a little nervous, to see your embarrassment as you see it, and to see if you can reach higher heights in your relationship.

He was very focused on the video and imagining him inside your pussy. So he mindlessly rocked his hips to fuck his saliva-slick fist.

What he didn't know was that a few minutes later you finished showering and entered the room.

As you adjust your robe over your spare set of clothes that you took just in case, you looked at the scene unfolding in front of you.

Porn on the screen and Satoru, sitting in front of the suspended TV, is fucking his fist. And he doesn't seem to see you at all!

He's more focused on watching!

If only you knew he was imagining your face...

With a red face at the sight of his hard (big) cock in his hand, you grabbed the first thing hanging from your arm. It was a wet towel.

And you threw it in his face, screaming in embarrassment.

"Satoru!"

He let go of his cock and took the towel off his face, setting it aside.

He looked at you questioningly and turned to you sideways.

A throbbing hard cock sticking out of his pants.

"You pervert!" you screamed, covering your eyes.

He laughed, and clicked pause on the video, the sounds of which echoed around the room.

"what?" he murmured.

"Go to the bathroom! Get dressed! You're so perverted!"

"I'm in a love hotel. Here you can do anything perverted." You could hear in his voice that he was smiling.

"Stop it!"

"What should I stop doing? Talk or jerk off?"

"Stop touching yourself!"

"Huh~..."

"Just go to the bathroom!" You pointed to the door while keeping your eyes closed. "And stop masturbating on the bed I'm supposed to sleep on!"

"If you want me to stop, help me with my boner."

He spoke, leaving your eyes suddenly wide.

"H-Help?!"

He suddenly got up and walked over to you.

You took two steps away from him because his erection was there, facing you.

You also couldn't help but think that if he came now, your clean body would be dirty.

"You know... It'll go faster if you help me..."

"Y-You're..."

"I politely ask for help. If you agree, it will be faster and we will forget about it sooner. We'll be able to go to sleep~."

You looked into his eyes, and you didn't read a single bit of a lie there.

You don't know if he was really telling the truth or if his eyes were just so mesmerizing that you couldn't think of him making fun of you.

"Satoru... You..."

"Will you help me?" he asked, looking at you sadly.

"...Fine..." you muttered with a red face.

Now you know what that means for you...

You have to help him by touching his cock... Your friend's cock...

You saw his smile when you said that, and he suddenly pulled you over and told you to sit on the bed.

Once you were positioned exactly on the soft mattress, you looked straight ahead, and quickly pulled your head back.

His red tip was in front of your face.

"You promised you'd help me..." he moaned sadly.

He really could play to make you feel sorry for him...

That sad voice he simulates to make you pay attention to him.

"Sā~ Touch me~." Hearing his voice, bordering on a whisper, you felt your body tense. All because of his voice.

You tentatively placed your fingers on his damp shaft until you wrapped your entire hand around it. Massaging the slightly stringy skin.

You looked up to see his little smile as he looked down at your smaller hand touching his cock.

You're as much smaller than he thought.

His cock will feel so good inside your tight little pussy...

You will fit well in his hands until you moan under him.

Your pussy must be as tight as he thought. Because if he were to talk about how he loves that you're smaller than him, everything would be different. Even though he's sure your pussy as well as your mouth and ass will be so tight for him.

He'll be able to fit you up with him and fill you with cum.

Watching his lovely little friend lie beneath him, totally fucked, with his cum flowing out of you.

That's what you do in a love hotel. He thinks about sex. He fucks with impunity.

You got a little closer to him, opening your mouth to let part of his tip inside. With the same blush. Or even deeper red.

It was then that his demonic side was fully revealed.

He placed his hand on your head, urging you to take more of his.

You opened your mouth tighter so that the entire tip of it showed up on your tongue. And then he lightly pushed his hips, showing that he wanted deeper.

He wanted to feel more of your lips.

You pulled it out, licking the tip with your tongue before he rubbed his fingers over your head and spoke.

"Can you suck me? It was so nice a moment ago..."

Turning your head away for a moment, you opened your mouth to take his tip again, but he stopped you.

"Pull out the tip of your tongue and keep it loose." he said, trotting your mouth open wider.

You did as he told you.

You still can't believe you agreed to give your friend a blowjob so you could go to sleep in peace...

It's your first time with your friend! Hell, Satoru was always just a work friend!

And now you're sitting in front of his hard cock, and you're taking his orders. Commands to make it easier for you to suck him. Or make it easier for him to get pleasure.

He brushed his thumb across your tongue before the tip slid into your mouth.

Such a good girl. You listen to him so closely.

You put your hand on his length, and began to move your head, putting it in your mouth more and more.

Until your mouth was full. Your eyes filled with tears as the tip touched the beginning of your throat.

And you were already fighting the gag reflex as you slowly massaged the rest of its length.

Why was he so big?

"Come on, take it easy. Enough of this." He said, pulling his hips away from your face.

And then he took off his shirt and pants, throwing himself on your body.

"Satoru–."

"Helping doesn't end with a short blowjob, baby~."

He threw you onto the bed and you didn't even notice when he started shoving his hard cock into your soaking wet pussy.

You were so naked underneath it.

You felt so exposed...

As you sucked it you got wet and your panties were uncomfortable. That's why he took it off.

To give relief to your dick waiting hole.

"Such a good girl." he murmured in your ear as he fucked your pussy mercilessly.

Your help has been invaluable. He wanted your help so badly.

Because he wanted to carry out his plan.

And now it works.

He put his lips on yours, putting his tongue in your mouth, catching your moans.

"This building has really soundproof walls. So you can moan as loud as you want." he bit into your neck as his hips accelerated against yours. "Moan when big dick fucks your tight pussy~."

He bent your legs, pressing your knees to your chest.

And he spat on your clit, collecting saliva with the tip of his cock before thrusting inside you again, enjoying the sound of his balls hitting your soft buttocks.

Your back arched as he thrust deeper, pushing your insides apart even more.

Then he kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth more.

His hips continued to bounce against yours. That's why your toes curled up as you looked at the shiny mess you'd made on his belly.

"So wet. So eager for cock... I didn't know my dear friend would enjoy being fucked by me so much~."

He grunted as he pushed himself off the bed to sit on his heels.

He pulled out of you, lowering your thighs to his.

He pressed himself against you, placing his length on your stomach.

You looked at what was inside of you. The greatness that hit your insides. A length that went deeper than anything else before. Thickness that stretches your poor walls.

But it's so good...

Your helping him is so good...

"I think where my dick reaches is deep enough that I can happily pour all the cum we have inside you, and watch you walk with my child later for sure."

His voice was dark but so sexy...

"Right?" he chuckled as he thrust himself into you again, hitting bottom instantly. "Would you like me to get you pregnant? Would you like to have my children?"

His pubic bone was pressed hard against your body with each thrust. So that he will pierce your cervix every time.

And this strange feeling combined with the pleasant one was unstoppable because he wanted to do it.

"Good girl... Veeryy gooood giirl..." he groaned as he felt that wonderful pressure against him. "I want to breed you... I want this so much..."

His thrusts sped up again as he began attacking your mouth.

You couldn't keep up with his thrusts. As you exhaled as he backed away, you were forced to moan and inhale as he moved back between your tight walls.

"Calm your breath. I don't want you to pass out." He laughed as he lifted your trembling legs with no strength.

You tried so hard to listen to him, but you couldn't because with every thrust from him, you couldn't help moaning as he pounded you from the inside out.

"You will look so cute being round and plump~ Do you want this? Want to get your friend's kids? Do you want my cum in you?" he said breathlessly.

You nodded slightly, feeling a little humiliated by his words. But it was so good...

"Tell me... Do you want my cum inside you? My cum inside your womb. You want to feel it, don't you?" he whispered in your ear as he leaned in. "You want that dick to fill your insides so deep, don't you?"

He pressed against your lower abdomen, and you felt his tip go straight to your lap, hitting the wall. Pressing even harder against your cervix.

"Do you want it? I can stop. You want me to stop before..."

"...No..." you groaned.

"No?"

"Don't stop..."

"Heh... How can I refuse to my sweet friend please?"

His hips attacked yours, pounding nonstop as he leaned over you, kissing your neck and your open mouth. Licking and kissing the tears on your cheeks.

With the brush of your clitoris by his pubic bone, the coil in your stomach snapped. Flooding its length with a new wave of your juices.

You saw how he frowned with a smile and clenched his jaw.

He plunged into you one last time, pressing his lips against yours as he let out a loud, guttural moan. And you felt more warmth inside you. How white floats inside you when he's finished.

He pulled out of you, leaving his cock on your stomach as he continued to kiss you. Drop the remaining cum from his orgasm on your skin.

"... Satoru..." you moaned softly.

He put a pillow under your head and gave you a glass of water from a pitcher on the table.

Your thighs quivering as cum oozed out of you.

He was really talking about breed you...

He laid down next to you, cuddling you against his chest as he kissed your forehead, cheek, and finally your lips.

"Thanks for your help, mochi~."

You cuddled up to him lightly.

"You don't even wear a condom..." you murmured, cheek against his bare chest.

"Aw, that's fine. I'll take all responsibility." He hugged you, wrapping his arms around your body. "We can live together now, right?"

"Live together?"

"We're friends for long time. Didn't you see that we're acting like a couple?"

You looked at him questioningly.

"I can't live without you. And if you're pregnant with my baby, we can't just still be friends."

"Satoru, you saying..."

"Be my girlfriend. That thing just now happened, show us that we can't be only job-friends. Especially if you're pregnant."

"You're really crazy with that thing you saying..."

"Don't you love me? Aren't we friends? I want you to live my side forever. If you don't love me, you will never agree to do that."

You cuddled up to him.

"I'm glad with that you're asking me to be your girlfriend..."

"And you agree?"

"...Yeah..."

He smiled and put his forehead on yours.

"Then, I love you, (y/n)."

Taglist: @weebotaku21; @yihona-san06; @mikkies; @raysheil; @dreeamiea; @safaia-47; @porridgesblog; @weebnk-popper; @mc-reborn

[zlobonessa]

hi-i-wrote-a-thing-for-a-fanweek. day one — memories (although it also fits heroes from day 3 and alternative universe from day 6 so we can pretend I'm not extra late). anyway it's reincarnation/modern au emijulisuba where julius tries archeology and finds it very thoughts-inducing. it's also on ao3 but not translated. enjoy.

Julius doesn't particularly expect his application to be approved: an email titled "Re: Volunteers for excavations" finds him in the process of drafting a loose idea of his diploma topic for the next academic year, with a third glass of white-chocolate-and-lavender iced coffee and almost zero thoughts related to archaeology. That prevents him neither from nearly flooding the laptop with lavender-white liquid while making an incomprehensible sound in the middle of a cafe nor from packing up his things that exact day and buying a ticket to a luxury train compartment to Pristella.

When the raging greenery of the Red Sun peak sweeps past the window, he is overtaken by — the smell of clothes fresh out of the laundry and hand cream for sensitive skin, the hum of students and the clatter of thousands of keyboard keys, an oversugared pastry from the cafeteria, columns of calculations in front of his eyes, a discussion of master's courses — the question is: what is he even doing?

Objectively speaking, this is a good question.

Objectively speaking, this is a very good question, and Julius pushes it as deep as possible into the depths of his brain, drowns it out with the sound of wheels hitting the rails, crushes it with the weight of bags on his back, and suffocates it with the smells of dust and cigarettes from Priestella central station. By the time he frowns and tries to force his mind to merge the two-dimensional directions of the navigator in the phone with the three-dimensional chaos of the city, the question goes almost quiet.

Almost.

It must be said, the navigator is of little use. Before even boarding the train, Julius firmly rejected the idea of calling a taxi to the train station: how could you do excavations in a city that you refuse to see? He had to admit that by the eighth missed turn this thought lost some of its freshness.

(Trying to spot a noticeable supermarket from the map, he almost slams into a pillar covered with ads and vulgar stickers, and, dodging this unpleasant fate, miraculously avoids a collision with a scooter rushing at full speed — and for some reason, disappointment wakes up in his chest with unexpected force and for no particular reason. It even leaves him standing in disbelief for a few seconds: the depth of it is so strange and painful, like a cut wound.)

But, as they say, all's well that ends well.

"As they say, all's well that ends well," laughs Anastasia, the head of the excavations and a leading archaeologist, Julius searched the internet for her name: her field of study is Alec Hoshin, and the period of the foundation of Kararagi. "Ya haven't fallen into the canals, have ya? There were cases, I had to send them home. The water there isn't especially clean, wouldn't advise taking a sip."

 Julius winces involuntarily, trying to overcome the wave of disgust. Anastasia studies him closely.

"How did ya end up here even?" she asks, kind of jokingly, casually, to keep up the conversation, but the depth of her gaze is a tell: she is serious. This is a type of question the answer to which determines the future — the type of question that, as his uncle explained, should be met with the best answer of all you have.

Julius replies:

"I don't know. "

The sunlight pours onto a roped-off piece of ground where they form a crowded circle — more like a square, sure, but that's not what matters. Julius's knees go weak, and he suddenly feels like a little rascal again, not taught to respect his elders. How can they stand over how — many centuries of history?

"It's nice to see everyone so captivated — and without a single swing of the shovel, wow," Anastasia laughs, and her voice rings with pride. "At this very place, four hundred and twenty years ago, one of the fights that decided the course of the battle for Priestella happened. Great timing, right? Everyone studied the battle for the Priestella at school, I hope, yea, I know, such a busy historical period, so many names, so many dates, but on the anniversary occasion, it doesn't hurt to refresh your memory. By the way, everyone remembers the briefing, I hope?"

The job — predictably enough — turns out to be dirty. There is something fascinating even about how quickly Julius gets covered in mud: he expected the gloves to lose their white in a matter of minutes, but the knees and elbows come as a surprise. Under the afternoon sun, a thick and sticky layer of sweat appears on his face, which, as Julius quickly realizes, should not be wiped with a dirty sleeve (and the decision not to cut the hair on his forehead begins to seem somewhat questionable), several times he has to push out the grains of sand gotten into his mouth with his tongue, his palm takes the shape of the handle of a trowel, and a sharp pebble gets into his shoe.

It's definitely not what he's used to—but when he looks at himself, covered in earth from head to toe, somewhere in his memory a thread stretches.

Maybe... no.

Father: in the middle of a garden black with moisture, planting seedlings in dirty old clothes and suddenly noticing Julius on the porch — he straightens up, waves at him, and smiles broadly.

That's what this memory is about.

"So this is what happens to children who were not allowed to play in the sandbox," a familiar voice is heard from the side when Julius takes a short break to get out of the excavation and do shoulder exercises. "I almost didn't believe my eyes. Would never have thought that you were capable of getting your hands dirty — like, on a physical level, I thought you would howl and turn into dust, you know, like a low-level monster from..."

"Subaru! It's very, veeery mean to say that!"

"That is, you agree with the content, but you are not satisfied with the presentation? Ha! Heard that, huh?

Sighing, Julius turns around.

"Subaru," glances from a t-shirt with a stupid print to a ribbon with flowers woven into a braid, "Emilia, what an unexpected meeting. Glad to see you."

Is he glad? He is not entirely honest, and this is gnawing at him: it is unfair to treat good friends like this, especially from the university where he will return in the Yellow-Sun anyway, but an obscure annoyance rises in his chest. As if they had done something wrong — as if they had...

Although — he does has the right reason for that.

"But what are you doing here?"

"Hey, hey, are you pointing fingers?!"

"We are here on vacation! T-together, that is. "

"E-emilia-tan!"

Julius allows himself a restrained — and maybe slightly teasing — smile.

"Is that so? Have a good time. But I meant," having lost the internal struggle, he stoops to the Subaru level and points his finger at where they are all standing, "right here. Outsiders are not allowed to enter the excavation area."

Subaru blushes rapidly and amusingly:

"Eh! .. is that so... oh."

"Oh," Julius nods, with the most serious face possible.

"Truly — oh!" Emilia gasps, also blushing. "Julius, we are so sorry!.. Subaru, you said we were positively definitely going the right way this time!"

"We were! — Subaru retorts, but the fire is lost. — Up until some point."

"I'm sorry again, we're already leaving, I hope we didn't break anything important!" Emilia shouts as she walks, pulling Subaru by the sleeve with the tenacity of a bulldozer: it's amusing to observe, for fairness' sake. Just before disappearing behind the corner, she turns for a second:

"Just in case, we will be glad to meet and have a chat sometime!"

And so she leaves.

The work is completed late in the evening, and the way to the three-and-a-half-star hotel is illuminated by the stars studying in the grayishly blue sky — and streetlights, of course. Fortunately, there are no channels lost in the dark on the way, but a hospital with a flickering sign comes across — which, he supposes, is rather convenient, but his insides get turned out by the urge to write to Joshua, which is ridiculous: it will ruin his sleeping schedule, and he was also so upset that he couldn't go with Julius, and so sincerely wished him to have a good time, and write to him now... Julius suppresses this urge firmly and even walks a few meters further with something like enthusiasm.

Each step, however, turns out to be harder than the past, his back and arms ache, the taste of dirt pervades his mouth, fatigue fills his bones with lead-like heaviness, and he can only hope for...

Well, it sure was a stupid hope.

A few days ago — when Julius, having found the hotel closest to the excavation site, patiently hung on the phone for twenty minutes, waiting for someone who could book him a room because he abandoned trying to figure out the interface of their sprawling website half an hour later — he had something like a romantic idea about a hidden underappreciated charm of small things in small hotels that the general public is picky about. Not that Julius had stayed in them previously: his uncle and aunt were meticulous about vacation planning and did not skimp on money, but the impeccable and faceless sterility of the five-star hotels they chose always repelled him. There had to be some kind of homeyness, he supposed. Some kind of soul, no matter how sentimental it sounds.

The lobby of the hotel he chose smells sickeningly of varnish, at the reception he is warned that there will be no hot water for the next three days, and the cold water in the shower barely hanging on the wall turns out to be rusty, dark spots appear on the ceiling on old wallpaper, and without glasses it is impossible to make out if it is mold, the wind is blowing from under the window frame, and this bed has probably the most uncomfortable mattress that Julius has ever lain on, and it doesn't help his back at all.

People tend to significantly embellish their fantasies about a way of life that they have never led, his uncle once said a long time ago. He didn't tell Julius this, Julius shouldn't have heard it at all, and it turned out otherwise almost by accident, and strictly speaking, he wasn't talking about his father, but Julius knew, knew that he meant his father, and even now this memory could ignite an unbearable heat in his chest and eyes.

But was his uncle wrong?

Julius has never expressed a desire to get a degree in history. He himself was aware of the absurdity of this idea: it was just a stupid childhood dream, pure fiction, sometimes floating through his subconscious when he allowed himself to entertain thoughts about some completely different reality with completely different circumstances. Here and now, someone had to inherit the family business, and Joshua would not be able to bear it, scientists are paid pennies, the work is thankless, and does he truly want to waste his talents digging in the ground?

Does he want to?

What is he even doing?

"Now you can't dodge the question," mumbles Subaru through a full mouth: Julius winces, and he makes a face in response, but swallows with effort and noise, allowing all patrons to watch a huge lump of food moving down his throat. "Spill the tea, why are you here, are you lost or something?"

The cafe on the corner where they squeezed in is small, but thankfully they managed to successfully occupy the seats. A cozy place that successfully combines the influence of Kararagi and Lugunika, with garlands, a chalkboard for customers — Subaru has already managed to write "E + S = ♡" there — an artificial tree in the middle of the room and paper lamps. The perfect cafe for the perfect "vibes" in photos for social media. Julius had spent many hours in places like these, typing his essays.

But now he can't get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth - he can't shake the thought: what was here a few centuries ago?

(He can’t help but feel a strange sense of déjà vu when he closes his eyes: as if he had already sat here once, meeting Emilia and Subaru, and the air between them was still filled with something unspoken.)

Pretending to be unperturbed, however, he shrugs:

"I've always wanted to participate in excavations."

 "Boring answer," Subaru snaps. "Come up with something better."

Carefully sipping his coffee—caramel cream latte—Julius raises his eyebrows at him:

"What, lie?"

Subaru rolls his eyes:

"Who in their right mind will go to study management when they have at least some hobby more interesting than cramming the most effective formulas for sorting spreadsheets?"

"Someone has to sort the spreadsheets, Subaru," Emilia remarks. The barista drew a kitten on the foam of her coffee: she thoughtfully twirls a straw in her hands, trying to figure out a way to drink without spoiling the drawing. "And Julius is doing a great job at it."

It is easy for Julius to imagine his future life: many, many spreadsheets filled with numbers.

"Thank you, Emilia," he says tersely. Trying to deflect the conversation from himself, he strikes back: "And why did you decide to go to Priestella?"

Subaru is blushing again. The color floods on his face in a single wave. The skin from the forehead to the neck is all the same shade, so thick that it feels like an invitation to dip a brush into a soft cheek and paint a sunset landscape.

"Well, I mean, why not here? The city is beautiful, the weather is warm, and there's water here... And the atmosphere is like, you know!... Such... Very... yeah.

Julius gives him a knowing grin. Subaru hunched his shoulders, sending him a vicious look from under his brows.

"Subaru!" Emilia snorts into her glass of coffee — a blush rises on her cheeks and spreads gently to the tips of her ears — and the drawing distorts. She looks at it upset. "Well, there you go. "

Sadness, however, does not remain on her face for long: sighing, she takes a sip of coffee and, having tasted it, squints with satisfaction.

"But the city is reaaally very, very beautiful," she agrees, and her words reach Julius with a slight delay. "So... a little magical, I don’t even know how to explain it. You know, you come here for the first time, and it feels like... like you’ve finally returned. We left the station, on the other side, remember, where the old buildings and the arch are, and I looked at them and I... it probably sounds absurd, but it felt like I recognized them, although I’ve never even been here in my life! As if they were waiting for me. Dreamlike, right? ...Do you know what I mean?

Julius doesn't immediately find the strength to nod and smile casually.

"Generally speaking, all the records we have about the battle for Priestella are incomplete and contradictory," says Anastasia, sitting right on the ground with a kind of simplicity that shows a habit. The excavation opens right at her knees, bathed in the evening dawn, and sometimes her gaze slips from the volunteers nearby to the ground that looks like a sliced layer cake. "Most sources of that time explain everything around them as witchcraft and magic, and it is extremely difficult to make out what actually happened, and in our case, we are talking about a clash of religious fanatics with the knights of Lugunica —  who, as I hope everyone remembers, were credited with powers of divine origin... "

"The Last of the Saints," Julius blurts out. Disapproving stares thrust into him, and a heat washes over his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to interrupt, I... have read about him, and... don't pay attention, please continue. "

But Anastasia doesn't seem upset at all — on the contrary, she snorts and nods gravely:

"What an educated young man, watch and learn! Yea, that's right. In those days, by the way, he was simply called the "The Sword Saint" — from what we know, it should be assumed that the title was inherited until it ceased to exist, and as to why — history, as they say, is silent. By the way, there is an interestin' moment connected with the battle for Pristella: some sources mention the presence of two Saints of the Sword in the city at once, the Last and his predecessor — while other sources claim that they died many years before! That's right, history is always a bit about being detectives. If ya are attracted ta a sense of mystery, then you have come to the right place, I will tell ya for sure."

"So what's the answer?" one of the volunteers, blonde and with a detached face, speaks up. Her name is Silver or something like that, Julius can't remember exactly. "Was that predecessor there or not?"

Anastasia laughs:

"And for a sense of the answer, unfortunately, your path lies in the exact sciences! Many scientists fought about that one, and all to no avail. And, mind ya, some," Anastasia leans forward, and a conspiratorial gleam appears in her eyes, "some scientists believe that the dynasty of Sword Saints never existed at all!"

“How is that possible?” Julius blurts out – again condemning glances, but he almost doesn’t care: for some reason, his chest hurts as if it was pierced by a rusty sword.

"It is what it is," Anastasia shrugs, clearly pleased with the effect. — "Primary sources are inconsistent, there's a complete lack of records after the beginning of the Golden Revolution, which, I remind you, was also a revolution in a cultural sense, the power of the holders of the status is clearly exaggerated many times and attributed to magical powers: the Last of the Saints, they say, could throw a man to the sun with his bare hands, which, you must admit, is incomprehensible! Many historians hold the position that the Sword Saints were a legend and served in fact as a collective image of outstanding warriors of that time. Who knows, here we are digging up the site of one of the fights of the Last of the Saints, and it can have nothing significant there at all — this happens!"

And through his tight trousers, Julius feels acutely every pebble digging into his legs. He wants to object — he wants to argue — he wants to refute, but the knowledge gap is opened up to him by an archaeological dig: he is not a scientist, not a historian, he is an amateur, a student who receives a bachelor's degree in management next Red Sun, but for some reason is tormented by his own foolishness and goes to excavations.

The contradiction in the story should be like an incorrectly written formula, corrected with a few clicks. Simple movements that reduce everything to flawlessly grounded mathematics.

"Not for the first time even: the discrepancies in the number of participants in this battle are especially significant," Anastasia continues mercilessly. "The Eucliuses, for example: one of the famous historical chronicles, written after the fact, claims that two descendants of the then famous knightly family of the Eucliuses participated in the battle, who in fact had no heirs at all! A very controversial chronicle, in fact: by all indirect signs, it is authentic, but at the same time the lexicon used in it for its time period is completely uncharacteristic — it is still a very big subject of debate. "The truest story about the adventures of the humble support of the great heroine Emilia", you can search it in your free time, it's a very funny read."

(Julius has read it. He has read it.)

It must be stupid: at the age of twenty-two, to believe in fairy tales.

Julius doesn't.

Just sometimes — just sometimes — he wanted so badly that it almost felt like a white cloak was fluttering on his shoulders, a sword was weighing down his hip, and magic, bright in taste and smelling of past rain, trembled in the air with the movement of his hand.

"Hey," Subaru's fingers snap in front of his face, "how's the weather at the cloud your head's now in?"

Julius almost stumbles over the asphalt with the toe of his boot. He freezes.

"Hm. I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"You almost fell down the steps, you idiot," Subaru hisses. "Think less, that's not what your face is so pretty for."

Blinking, Julius realizes that Subaru is right: the stairs start right in front of him, the steps leading to the canal embankment.

"Julius has a very multitasking head, Subaru, it's not nice to say such nasty things," Emilia pokes Subaru's cheekbone with a finger, looking instructively: he blushes and sulks. Then she looks at Julius with a worried look: "But you really should be careful. You can get so perilously hurt like that!

"Who in the twenty-first century says "perilously"...

"People who read actual books, not just teen comics, I think," Julius can't help himself, and this time Emilia's stern gaze turns out to be directed at him:

"And you too don't tease, Subaru reads books! Sometimes."

"Sometimes?! What do you mean "sometimes", do I need to read a book a day?! Emilia-tan, only posers who skip every other word read books at that pace, and in class, they just spit on the ceiling, don't be fooled by this show-off!.."

Julius raises his hands in defeat:

"Okay, well, I'm sorry. I wasn't going to question your intellectual abilities, Subaru. Strictly speaking, with my schedule... I'm afraid I read books only sometimes too."

"Exactly," Subaru snorts, folding his arms over his chest, but his face looks satisfied. He looks at Julius with an inquisitive look: "Well, what were you thinking about, thinker?"

Julius shrugs helplessly. They continue their walk: a boat sweeps past them along the canal, and one of the passengers throws the can overboard.

"Well, just how can they be so completely unashamed?" Emilia shakes her head ruefully; she is enrolled in the university's environmental community, Julius recalls.

They’re complete pigs,” Subaru agrees; Julius once caught him in the cafeteria picking up a glass and wrappers that had fallen past the trash can from someone’s tray during the previous break.

"I don't really know what I'm even doing," Julius shares.

"Huh."

"What do you mean?"

Belatedly, Julius realizes what he has said. They say that in the old days, the knights cut out their tongues when they realized that outrageous nonsense had come out of their mouths — it would be worth reviving this tradition, probably.

"Anyway, haha, never mind, don't worry about it, just some nonsense on my mind," he quickly tries to reduce the damage. It doesn't work - he can see it in their eyes that it doesn't work.

"Julius, what kind of nonsense can you have in your head?" With her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pursed, Emilia looks at him with pleading pity. "And if there is nonsense, then there is especially no need to keep it there since it needs to be released. What happened?"

"There are limits to perfection, huh?" Subaru tsks and twitches the corner of his mouth, then winces, looking at him with serious seriousness. "Come on, tell us."

"Nothing special, really, I'm sorry to bother you... " Julius sighs. "I study management. Instead of writing a draft diploma, I'm here in Priestella, digging in the ground. This is illogical. You're right. That's all."

"You like history," Emilia points out. "In my first year, you explained to me the entire genealogy of Astrea with an exact chronology."

"Eh?! And where I was at the time?"

"You hadn't transferred to us yet."

"Approximately the exact chronology, Emilia. I like history, but..." his lips crease involuntarily and tightly, "on an unprofessional level. There will be no career from this. This is childish at this point. "

"God, you sound like an old man. It's going to happen to me at twenty-two, too, huh?"

"Subaru!"

—Subaru," Julius finds the strength to just shake his head and doesn't even try too hard to hide his smile. "I... like history for... selfish reasons, I guess. Astrea... All those people... they went down in history for doing something important. Significant. Noticeable. No one remembers people for using the most optimal way to sort spreadsheets."

"Wow, you sure know how to cling to words."

"Learning from the best."

"So the point is that you want to go down in history, Julius?" Emilia looks into his face with her usual caring expression, and embarrassment fires up in his cheeks:

"Hmm," he pulls on the strands on his forehead, hoping to draw attention away from the skin tone, "with the way you said it, I look, perhaps, somewhat vain..."

"Well, you can't hide a cat in the bag... " Subaru parodies his gesture by twirling the short hair sticking out of his own hairstyle around his finger. "Hey, hey, Emilia, these are your words!"

"No, no, it's all right," Julius prevents Emilia's educational lesson that hangs in the air. "I really was quite arrogant as a child. I always dreamed of world fame... I don’t envy my family back then, to be honest. No, I didn’t want to become a great actor, or a great singer, or a great blogger, Subaru, thank you for your opinion,” this time he gets ahead of Subaru’s facial expression. “I wanted to be a great scientist — so that people like you could draw a mustache on my photo in textbooks, I guess.” 

"Blatant slander! I have never been involved in spoiling public property in my life, I wasn't raised like that. "

"I'll try to believe it. But no, now I think I'm mature enough to realize that I'm not cut out for fame. I'm not that outstanding. "

"Julius!" Emilia gasps. "Don't say that, you're very, very talented, and smart, and handsome..."

I appreciate the support, but...” Julius purses his lips, “well, that’s the objective truth.”

Subaru stares at him for a long time in disbelief.

“I’d like to give you a good punch,” he drawls dreamily. “Why is it that you all have such bad self-esteem, huh? No matter who you poke, everyone thinks they were admitted to the university by mistake, but in reality, they belong under the fence. A-grade students! That’s so stupid.”

Now Emilia is looking at Subaru intently.

"The pot calling the kettle black, Subaru."

"Eh?! Eh, eh, don't drag me into this! I'm just, well, a foreign student!!"

Palms ache. Julius does not immediately realize the cause: his own nails dig into the skin.

"Have you ever thought about what will happen after death?"

"Julius, are you all right? If anything, I remember the suicide hotline number, just ask!"

"Well, I don't think a bore like you will go to hell if that's what you're talking about."

"No, I mean... in, say, a year. Five years. Decades. Centuries. Self-absorbed, I know, but I'm thinking about it more and more often — what will remain after me? What the fact that I lived, that I got this diploma, and finally went to these damned excavations can even change? Will anyone — anything — remember me at all?"

He stops — no, not even like that. Some unknown force is pulling him to stop, only there are no unknown forces in this world, and it must be all about Julius's subconscious, his treacherous subconscious, pulling him to search for something that does not exist.

The control tower stands in the middle of kiosks, cafes, bicycle parking, and crowds of tourists. Julius had read about them on the internet, in a scant article that omitted many details: an ancient mechanism once built to control the water level. Over time, it was replaced with modern technologies, and the towers were planned to be demolished — but after the protests were left as a monument.

It would be better if they were demolished, Julius thinks and is horrified by his own thoughts, but he cannot get rid of them.  In the midst of the triumph of the twenty-first century, the building looks ugly. Out of place.

"Sometimes I like to imagine that I was born at the wrong time. Just like... this city, for example. He doesn't belong to modernity, have you noticed? It was built as an ambush for monsters — no one expected it to stand until the moment when we call them fairy tales." A queasy feeling spreads through the body. As if his skin was covered with saliva, sticky and viscous, smelling disgusting, and not even washing off with tar soap — even if you rip it off, because there is no more point in it. "I understand, though, that it is ambition that speaks in me. In the past, I would probably have disappeared from people's memory just as easily."

He imagines it clearly: the white cloak falling into a canal and dissolving in the water. Like in that video with the raccoon and cotton candy that Subaru once insistently showed him.

...Yes, Subaru really has a bad effect on his thought processes.

The culprit of the ridiculous associations examines his face with extreme skepticism.

"You're such an idiot. Like you can be forgotten so easily!" His index finger points accusingly at Julius's shoulder. "I can't forget your pretentious face even in my sleep, does that seem forgettable?!"

"Subaru-Subaru... That's just his way of comforting, don't get mad," Emilia hurriedly explains. "But you know, when everyone around knows your name, it's not always good. You don't even know what they're saying about you until it's too late, and then..." She bites her lip and shakes her head. "Your name will remain in history, but you will not recognize yourself in it. Isn't it better to do good just like that, without expecting fame in return? After all, the world gets a little better with every good deed — what do you need a personal signature for every change?"

Julius feels unbearably ashamed.

"I don't need it, of course. I'm just trying to say... Ordinary acts of kindness are not so significant... Hm, no, absolutely not, it sounded terrible, forget it, please. I probably want to say... after all, everyone can do them."

Emilia's lips form a bitter smile.

"But not everyone does."

Standing on tiptoes, she puts her hands on his shoulders—carefully, as if Julius is made of the most fragile glass—and pulls him into her arms.

A gurgle comes from Subaru's throat. Julius is afraid that now he will be pushed into the canal, but instead — the sounds do not stop — he is gently patted on the back.

"Don't try to save the world all at once, guys," Emilia says softly into his shirt.

Subaru lets out a laugh, nervous and inexplicable to Julius. He, however, wants to repeat it.

A cooing, pitiful sound begins in Emilia's chest. Her hot lips press against Julius somewhere behind his ear.

(And this is how the chronicle is written in the stars: that night, Julius does not return to the hotel. It feels like a a half-forgotten journey, made anew years later, where the unfamiliar becomes recognizable in one moment — where, a second before the hands intertwine, a non-existent old touch tickles and tears under the skin — and at the moment of contact everything comes together, as if a contradiction resolves. Perhaps this is the most historical of it all; perhaps humanity is connected to each other through the centuries by the clutch of hands.)

(And this is how the chronicle is written in the stars: in the "E + S = ♡" on a cafe chalkboard a narrowed "+ J" gets squeezed in.)

In the slow interval between day and dusk, when the sun has not yet touched the edge of the horizon, but its light reaches an evening viscosity of spilled honey, Julius's shoe — stepping on the cultural layer of the fifteenth century that was going to be left untouched — crunches an earring, and the heel sticks into the skull.

The entire skeleton is dug out faster than one might think, and with a tremulous reverence that suddenly makes Julius's chest ache: no matter how close they look, there are no remains of the coffin, no tombstone with a name, or any other trace of the grave. The tattered clothes on him are so torn that you can't tell the century they are from — but through them, you can see broken bones, dozens and hundreds, as if someone — of unprecedented strength — beat him for hours, crushed him with a huge boulder, or maybe dropped him from a great height.

"Come on, come on," Anastasia mutters, hastily flipping through the notes on her phone. "Museums will snatch up a find like this, I can tell it!"

Bending over the bones with a brush and an awl to clean the stuck soil, Julius feels inappropriately happy. He tries hard to convince himself that his eyes are watering from the setting sun.

[creatchie8]

Yellow Soul: Chapter Four

Persimmon

Chapter Summary: Things haven't been the same since the fight in Rhett's truck. The pressure is getting to you, and the feelings of self-doubt are not eased as others around you do not reveal their secrets.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI, Protected PinV sex, Choking (light), Cheating, Fighting (not physical, just some strong words), Risky sex (idk if it deserves a warning but it made me scared writing it lol)

Word Count: 5,000ish

A/N: As always, I love you all <3 I am really hoping to get another chapter out before the new year, as I am on break from uni!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist

“Whatcha workin’ on there?”

Royal’s voice made you jump. You had heard him come in, his big boots creaking on the floors. But you did not expect him to start chatting you up when he was supposed to be working outside with Rhett.  

“Hmm? Oh, just replying back to some internship opportunities I got. Nothing too interesting.” You chuckle as you get back to typing on your laptop. You were perched on a loveseat in the living room, soaking in the silence. Perry had gone to work a couple of hours ago, promising to bring you a donut if the little pastry place by the hardware store hadn’t run out by the time he got off work. 

It wasn't like he gave you much else to do than just wait for him, the roads were terrible and both of your parents were at work. 

“I’m actually a TA for an undergraduate class, too. Before I left Laramie I had to do a ton of grading so honestly I am just thankful I get to do stuff on my computer that is not looking at papers on Cultural Competence.” You joked, looking at the older man above your screen. 

Royal sat down in the armchair across from you, the old furniture creaking under his weight. 

“Your parents must be awfully proud of you. Bein’ some busy college girl who gets good grades.” Royal remarked, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees.  

“They are, and I am very thankful for it.” You confirm, nodding and smiling at him. This was kind of awkward. He sighed, the long breath coming from his nose as he stayed put.

Okay, this was really awkward.

The silence dragged on while you typed, glancing up at Royal a few times to see that he was just looking at his hands, picking at a scab on his wrist. Where was Cecilia? Surely she would be emerging from wherever she was hiding to break this uncomfortable tension between the two of you. 

“You know, uhm,” He cleared his throat, “Perry is a good boy and loves you to bits, right?” Royal says suddenly and your fingers still on the keyboard. Your palms were sweating now, heartbeat quickening. 

Did he know about you and Rhett? Did he see you two in the kitchen and Rhett didn't notice? Did Rhett tell him? 

“Of course I know that!” You smile and say lightheartedly, removing your laptop from your knees and placing it on the couch next to you, “Perry is a great man.” You add with forced enthusiasm. 

“Yes he is. He’s a lot like Cecilia, leads with his heart but not always with his brain sometimes. Just wants people to be happy, ya know?” 

“What are you tryin’ to say here, Royal?” You ask, smile faltering at his words. 

“Nothin’ sweetheart. Just… I want you to choose the life that makes you happy. I know you love my son, but remember that.” He concludes and gets up, groaning with the effort, “Rhett’s been waiting for me outside, I better get back to him.” 

Then he was gone. 

He knows. He has to know. There is no way in hell he doesn't know. God, you are so fucking screwed. 

Your stomach churns and you feel completely sick. Absolutely dirty and disgusted with yourself. This can't be happening. But you thought Royal would be furious if he found out. Not calm while telling you. You stand and rush over to the kitchen window and spot Rhett and Royal, just fixing the fence as usual. Not a fight or arguing. 

That might be good. Because if you didn't get chewed out, Rhett would absolutely be getting the worst of it. But instead, nothing. Maybe, Royal saw how unhappy you were since arriving here. He also was not a stranger to his older son’s bad mood and cruel tendencies. 

Did he want you to break up with his son? Was he warning you of something that you know nothing about yet? Why is Royal so vague and fucking confusing? 

A vibration in your pocket distracted you, pulling out your phone to see your mom was calling, but from her work phone. 

“Momma?” You hold the phone to your ear and sit down at the dining table. 

“Oh good! I am so glad you picked up. I completely forgot that your brother gets out early today, but I can’t leave work to pick him up. Can you please go to the house and wait there till I get home? I just don't trust him to be there by himself.” She explains, her words rushing out as static surrounded them. 

“Of course, I wasn't doing anything anyways.” You breathe a sigh of relief, “Let me put my things away and I’ll head over as soon as I can.” You are already up and in the living room, closing the laptop and zipping it away in the case. 

“You're an angel! If you are leaving now you’ll beat him by an hour or two, so you'll be home alone. Anyways, see you there!” She says and you can hear the smile in her voice before she hangs up. 

This is perfect. A perfect excuse to get out and stay somewhere Rhett and his dad are not. Quickly, you get up to Perry’s room and put your computer away and change into decent clothes to see your family. But as soon as you made your way to the front door, so far in fact that your hand was on the door handle, you remembered. 

Your fucking truck wouldn’t drive. Probably wouldn't even budge because of how long it had been sitting. Every time you went out you used Perry or Rhett’s truck, and you hadn't even looked at what was wrong with yours. 

Great. 

What do you do? Tell your mom you can't go? 

So you stare at your phone for a bit. Just looking at the crack in the screen protector from a long time ago. Maybe if you stare at it long enough it will come up with a solution for you? Probably not, unfortunately. 

So your fingers type and go to the first person you can think of. 

Me: Can I ask you a huge favor?

You wait so long for him to reply back you decide to sit on the bottom step of the stairs.

Rhett Abbott: What

Me: I need to go make sure my younger brother is okay but my truck won’t start. Please can I borrow yours?

You wait even longer for this message.

Rhett Abbott: Sure

Me: Thank you

When you go outside, you are confused by the sight. 

“My dad doesn't want you to go alone. Says the roads are too icy.” Rhett calls as he walks up the path to you, holding his keys in his gloved hand. His lips are pale and his nose is reddened, a sharp contrast to his light skin. Royal is still over working on the fence, down on his knees and fixing something in the frozen dirt. 

“I can drive myself.” You snapped, crossing your arms defensively. Your puffer jacket made a crinkly noise as you did so. 

“I’m not letting you drive my truck.” Rhett deadpanned, turning around before you could even protest and walking to his truck. Not even entertaining the thought of you driving. 

You all but stomped after him, upset at the change of events. 

But Royal wasn't kidding, the roads were very icy. Not enough to cause the truck to skid, but enough to make the tires spin for a few seconds when you took off. After a particularly concerning brake at a stop sign close to town, you were thankful you were not in charge of potentially crashing Rhett’s beloved truck. 

But you weren't going to admit that. 

“You really could have gone back to work and let me drive.” You huff, not bothering to look at him. 

“I don’t think you’re a very good driver.” Rhett retorted, slowing down to go over a speed bump as you got closer to the center of town.

“Not- oh my god! Not a good driver? Did Perry tell you that?” You scoff loudly, the familiar turns to your house making you sway, “I bet he did. Listen, the last time he ever let me drive was in eleventh grade and I had barely gotten my license!” Your face was hot with anger, the absolute audacity stunning you. 

“I was in the car with you guys! I was sittin’ in the back seat while you almost drove us right into the fuckin’ ditch.” He said, his normal gravely voice going up an octave as you fought, side-eyeing you the whole time. You seethed in your seat until he parked in the driveway, trying to come up with something to say.

“I was not about to run over some poor ground squirrel, that is just cruel!” You retorted, already opening the truck door.   

Slamming the door, you got out and marched to the house, cold hands fumbling with the keys on your lanyard. You were muttering curse words when you felt Rhett come up behind you, waiting for you to open the front door. 

When you finally found the right key you jammed it into the lock, jiggling until it gave way. The house was completely silent despite the constant string of curses coming out of your mouth. Rhett followed you in, which only made you angrier. You kicked your shoes off in frustration, ready to pull your hair out when Rhett did the same.  

“Why the fuck are you still here? I want to wait here by myself, not with you.” You snapped loudly, turning around when you heard the door shut and Rhett was still inside and not outside where he belonged. It was upsetting you more and more that he couldn't obey a single wish of yours. First the truck, now not leaving your own house. 

Jesus, you forgot he knew how to play the insufferable younger brother part perfectly. 

Opening your mouth to argue with him some more, you were silenced by Rhett slamming you back first into the nearest wall, getting the wind knocked out of your lungs. The family photos hanging above your head shifted with the sudden smack, their frames off-center now. 

While you were still dazed, you didn't notice that Rhett had his lips attached to your jaw, biting at the cold skin there. His hips were pressed to you and you could feel his hot erection through his jeans. 

“You're so annoying, you know that?” He muttered into your skin, and you couldn't help but knock his hat off to tangle your fingers into his hair, sharply tugging at the soft locks. 

“You don't seem to mind it though, do you?” You ask, already knowing the answer as you reach one hand down to palm roughly at his hard cock. Rhett hissed in response, the sound sharp through his teeth. The reaction made you smirk as you pushed him off of you. You fisted the opening of his jacket, unceremoniously shoving the tough fabric from his broad shoulders. 

Before he could protest, you were already walking swiftly to the living room, pulling off your jacket and sweater in quick succession. 

Rhett followed once he got the idea, stripping off the jacket that was already hanging from his elbows. You leaned on the taupe couch, fingers digging into the armrest while you still fumed with annoyance. 

Watching Rhett throw that damn jacket to the ground and stalk towards you with so much exasperation and purpose made your thighs clench together. Your cold exterior was slipping by the second. 

“Get on your knees.” Rhett commands when he gets closer to you, taking a few steps forward as he starts to undo his belt buckle. The forcefulness of his tone sends a zing straight to your pussy, the adrenaline practically making you vibrate in excitement. 

“Fuck you.” You spit before dropping to your knees before him, swatting his hands away to finish pulling out his dick yourself. He’s hard and throbbing, the tip flushed almost a purpley color. It makes your mouth water. But before you can admire him more, you feel a heavy hand on the back of your head, commanding you to suck his dick.

Fitting him in your mouth was no easy task, taking too much at once and making yourself gag on his cock. The lewd noise made him buck his hips, that firm hand pressing into the back of your skull. It was easier to draw back and fit your hand around what you couldn't comfortably fit, starting a rhythm of bobbing your head aided by Rhett’s hand. Drool gathered down your chin, his dick stretching your lips thin while you worked.

Arousal gathered in your panties, aided by the groans and gasps of the cowboy above you. Words of praise left his lips, too broken to really tell what they were. You reached up and cupped his balls, loving how he hissed as you massaged them firmly, reminding him that you were still mad. He reminded you of his own anger by giving a firm buck of his hips, leaving you sputtering and choking on his length. But you recovered quickly and with more vengeance, doubling your efforts to make him cum. 

“Fuck- stop, stop it now.” Rhett gasped before ripping your mouth off him, your nails gripping the jeans still at his thighs so he didn't back away. 

“Get down here and fuck me.” You demanded, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and sitting on your haunches. Lust bubbling under your skin as he did as he was told, dropping to his knees like an obedient dog. You felt lightheaded, almost stunned by how much it turned you on that he was doing whatever you said. 

As Rhett knelt down in front of you, he used one hand to push your shoulder. Taking the hint you laid back on the carpet. He immediately crowded over you, one hand roughly shoving under your sports bra to massage your breast and tweak your hard nipple. With a whine you arched up into him, hands flying to his shoulders. You claw at him, hopefully leaving raw scratches through his shirt to remind him of you. At that movement he pushes your shirt and bra up to rest above your breasts. 

A hand suddenly closes around your throat, actually gripping you this time and not at all like the last. His mouth closes around your other nipple, sucking and flicking it with his devilish tongue. All you could do was struggle against his grasp, pathetic noises tearing from your throat. If you could speak you would beg for some friction between your thighs, lifting them up in search for some relief. 

He was being mean now, purposely holding you down and ignoring your seeking hips. You pushed on his shoulders to get his attention and he let up enough for you to surge up and kiss him ferociously, clicking your teeth together mercilessly. 

“Rhett, I swear to god if you don’t fuck me I’ll make you leave.” You warn between messy kisses, feeling him hook a few fingers into your jeans before pulling them down in one fluid movement barely past the swell of your ass.

“Hands and knees.” He instructed and you did so, kissing him one last time before rolling over onto your tummy then pushing up on your forearms and knees. You spread your legs as wide as you can, baring your naked pussy for him. A finger swiped through your folds without warning, making you jump. It gently ghosted over your clit before it pulled away, the sounds of Rhett’s jeans being pushed down behind you followed by the foil of a condom being torn. 

Bracing yourself, sucking in a loud breath before gripping the carpet. His plush cock head smeared through your folds before entering in one sharp thrust, one you were expecting but one that was so unexpected. You shut your eyes at the sting, a whimper punched out of your lungs.

His cock was hot and heavy as it sat in you, a stuttering breath leaving your lungs in a pained whine. The carpet bit into your knees, embedding their fibers into your jeans. The feeling was no longer a foreign sensation, your body now familiar with the intrusion. 

“God, you’re such a fucking slut, taking my cock like you are made for it.” Rhett groans behind you, a hand slapping your ass, his palm connecting roughly with it. All you could do was sob, the noise coming from deep within you and rattling your chest.

You were thinking about getting violent as Rhett was paused, groping you with no shame. But as he moved you met him on every thrust, the sharp sounds of you two connecting filled the living room. Loud, embarrassing wails left your mouth as you demanded him to be deeper, rougher. 

Rhett was fucking straight through you, the head of his cock bruising your poor cervix. It felt incredibly animalistic, even the noises coming from the man behind you was akin to some feral beast on the mountains surrounding the sleepy town. 

A faint buzzing drew you out of the lustful haze you were lost in, the noise coming from the pocket of your jacket next to you. When you lifted your head from where it was hanging from between your shoulders, your stomach dropped out of you and straight to the floor. 

“S-stop, Rhett stop it.” You said with a shaky voice, the previous fire gone from your vocal cords. You lifted your foot up and smacked him in the thigh, the physical statement making him pause. But not only before he buried himself so deep that you couldn’t breathe, you swore you could feel his dick in your lungs. 

Pushing down the lump in your throat, hands shaking, you pulled the phone from the pocket, praying that it was a spam call from somewhere very far away. 

“It’s Perry.” You murmured in a small voice, the phone feeling clunky and huge in your hand as it continued to vibrate. A picture of him smiling was shining on the screen, the ‘slide to answer’ button glaring at you to use it. Your mouth felt dry and sticky, prompting you to open your mouth slightly and breathe out of it. 

It felt like you were being suffocated. 

After a long pause you attempted to slip it back into the pile of clothes on the floor, watching to forget about your boyfriend and just focus on the task at hand. But sharp fingers dug into your side, making you wince and pause.

“Answer it.” 

“What?” You asked dumbly, turning your head over your shoulder in an attempt to see him. Completely taken aback at his statement.

“You heard me. Answer it.” Rhett repeated, his voice dark. It made you gulp, fear twirling in your stomach as you looked back at the phone still buzzing loudly on the carpet. How long would it vibrate for? It felt like it had been going on for hours at this point, just staring at your vulnerable form this entire time. 

The dig of his fingers reminded you of his presence and you nodded, licking your lips in an attempt to unstick them. You felt like you were being possessed, grabbing the phone as you lowered to your elbows, sliding the button to answer the call and placing it firmly to your ear.

“Hey Per!” 

You answered as normally as you could, Rhett breathing heavily behind you. A calloused hand traveled up your spine softly, making you get goosebumps and shiver.

“Hey darlin’. Where are ya right now?” 

His voice cracked through the phone.

“Oh! Uhm… just at my mom’s house. She needed me to hang out here until she got home.” 

Your fingers dug into the carpet as Rhett began to move again, newfound heat licking at your belly. It was dizzying, trying to keep up with the conversation in your ear while also trying to listen to the cowboy behind you making the softest noises of pleasure. 

“Great then! I get off work in a bit, I’ll come over after I’m done. It’s closer than…” 

He started, but you stopped listening. Blood rushed through your ears, making it hard to hear anything due to your impending orgasm. Rhett’s fingers found your clit, dragging some of the creamy wetness from where you two are conjoined to ease the circles. 

“Y-yeah that sounds great!” 

You quickly responded, the hand that was clenching the carpet now coming up to smack around your mouth, noises threatening to slip. 

“What? Are you doin’ okay sweetheart?” 

Perry asked at your sudden response. You prayed he couldn’t hear the sticky wet smack of Rhett’s balls on your pussy, the sound becoming louder as your orgasm drew closer. 

“Hmm? Oh yeah-“ You rapidly blinked your eyelids, trying to regain focus. “Just fine! Sorry, I’m uh… I’m trying to get something heavy out of the closet. Could you- ah! Could you r-repeat what you said e-earlier?” 

Rhett’s hands on your hips moved you forcefully back and forth on his cock, spearing you like you were a piece of meat. He was letting little pants escape through his nose, and you were sure he was red faced and trying to pull it together. 

Perry laughed on the line, it sounded almost condescending. 

“I was saying- I’ll come over after work to join you. I need to talk to your dad anyway about some stuff.” 

He explained, still with that condescending tone, like you were incompetent. What did he have to say to your dad? What was so important it could not wait til like, Christmas dinner or something? 

His words made you seethe, well they would have if you didn’t have someone fucking you into oblivion. 

“Yeah, no- definitely when you’re done. Be safe driving here, the roads are slick.”

 You were out of breath, forehead completely smashed into the carpet and whole body rigid as you awaited the end of the phone call. 

“Alright, see ya later sweetheart.” 

Perry concluded, sounding distant as you writhed against the ground. 

“Yep!” It came out as a squeak, Rhett giving you a sharp thrust, “See you soon!” 

The dial tone was the sweetest sound you had ever heard and probably will hear after that. Immediately you dropped the phone and let out a loud sob, toes curling. 

“Fu- like that, Jesus Christ don’t you dare fucking stop, R-Rhett.” You growled, shoving your phone far away from your face, watching it slide under the couch. Your whole body was on fire and you felt close to hyperventilating.

 It was humiliating how he had you flattened to the ground besides your ass being in the air, a crick forming in your back. 

Rhett just grunted behind you, smoothing a hand down your inevitably sweaty lower back. Soon, the pace he set was jostling his other hand, the one so deliciously circling your clit. It was messy and not always hitting the right spots, so you decided to hit him away, replacing his hand with yours. 

You would have thought he would have protested like he did at church, but he happily took his hand back, using it to pull you harder against him on your hip. 

“Takin’ it so good- shit.” Rhett rumbled behind you between guttural noises, the sounds low in his throat. Praise always weakens you, fire crackling all the way through your body. It started at your core, zips of lightning coursing through your veins and to your fingertips. Quickly, your hindbrain took over and was controlling you out of instinct. 

“Yeah- all for you. Take it- all for you.” You barely managed to cry out before resorting to tiny ah ah ah ahs with your face pressed against the side of your bicep. There was a semi-familiar build up happening in the base of your pelvis, one that really only happens when you have your bullet vibrator pressed tight against your clit. 

As your breaths became more ragged, you felt lightheaded before you came. Eyes fluttering closed, it felt like you were soaring. Even your stomach dropped like when you ride roller coasters. 

A long, drawn-out moan left your lips and rattled your chest as you came. The feeling was unbelievable, like you were soaring high above all else. Rhett followed soon after, pulling you close while he emptied himself into the condom. His thick thighs pressed hard to your ass. A hand rubbed up and down the lower part of your spine, the gentle movement of it caused crackles of electricity to emerge in your chest.

To your dismay, Rhett pulled out. His hand that was resting on your back came down to grab a handful of your ass, making you squeak. 

“Jesus fuck- didnt think you liked my dick that much.” Rhett remarked sarcastically, out of breath as he tried to regain his composure. You sat up and turned to sit on your butt, trying to gracefully pull up your panties in a haze, your shirt and bra still sitting high up to your neck. 

“Don’t you have a condom you need to take off?” You muttered, annoyance settled back into you as you rolled your eyes and looked up.

He was staring at you, hands twitching in his lap. You blinked back, exhaling softly as your eyes locked. The sarcasm in his words didn't translate to his face, instead watching you with reverence. Even though your hair was a mess and you were sure there was drool and carpet imprints on your cheek. 

Your attention was brought back to his fidgety hands, watching as his fingers flitted together. There was a large cut on his right, the gash trailing from mid palm through the juncture between his thumb and pointer, ending just barely past that. It was scabbed over but the skin around it was still red and angry. 

Frowning, you subtly gestured to the lesion, “You should be more careful. When did you get that?” You asked softly. 

The moment was over as Rhett narrowed his eyes and swatted your arm with irritation before getting up to dispose of the condom. 

Quickly, you adjusted your clothing so it was like nothing ever happened, only the hot flush on your cheeks told anything. 

Fuck. 

The crackles in your chest turned to pangs of hurt as you watched Rhett leave to the bathroom. All this time you concluded the soreness in your heart to be feelings of guilt and self-hatred for cheating on Perry. 

Were you just actually fucking stupid? Of course you would be catching feelings. No one in the history of… well, ever would not fall in love- no, not love. Whatever this is, whatever you are doing with him can’t be love. 

You wouldn't allow it. 

It was useless to argue with yourself like this. Every waking moment was spent trying not to think about Rhett. When you saw his boots by the door it would send you into a spiral at seven o'clock in the morning when all you wanted to do was piss. When you scrolled through social media you searched up his name to look at the account he posts on once in a blue moon that you do not follow and just stare at his photos. The one time you had sex with Perry on this trip you forced your eyes shut-

You physically shake your head to rid yourself of that thought, warding it off like a bad omen. You were in denial, and you knew it. Feeling more lost now than ever before in your life. The thoughts made your lip quiver, and a headache formed around your skull like a tight rubber band. Quickly, you pressed your fingertips into your temples, trying to calm yourself as you looked down into your lap.

Socked feet stopped right in front of you, eyes trailing up his long legs and strong body to get to his face. Rhett had his hand extended towards you, calluses illuminated by the Christmas tree lights. After a moment's pause you accepted it and allowed yourself to be pulled up by him, amazed at how effortless Rhett made it seem.

Rhett did not let go of your hand when you stood at your full height. It was warm and solid, tough skin but holding your hand with all the delicateness in the world. His thumb swiped slowly across your knuckles, making you hyper aware of the chapped skin there. 

Quietly, you excused yourself to the bathroom, pulling your hand away from his. 

Finally alone in the small room, you fixed your appearance, soaking your hands in freezing water to press to your flushed cheeks. Groaning to yourself, you quickly finished up in the bathroom, not wanting to leave Rhett down there for too long by himself. 

Back in the living room, you found Rhett sitting on the couch with your phone in his lap. Watching you settle yourself on the furthest end away from him, Rhett passes over your phone, “Figured you didn't want to go digging around for your phone after you tossed it.” he remarked, running his fingers through his hair, pushing it back so he could put on his baseball cap. 

Looking over his shoulder, you saw he picked up your jackets and hung them in the foyer as well. When you looked back at him he was staring at you intently, his pretty blue eyes studying your movements carefully. 

“Thank you for picking up the jackets, and my phone.” You added gently as you turned your phone over in your hands nervously. Rhett simply nodded and went back to picking at his hands in his lap. 

After a moment of silence Rhett scratched the stubble on his jaw, the noise making you look over at him. You watched him get up with a grunt, hands coming down to adjust his jeans. 

“I better go back. Completely forgot about the work at home.” He explained, and you nodded. Rhett chewed his bottom lip, looking at you with what you could only assume was expectancy. Did he want you to say something? 

“Uhmm… I guess I’ll walk you out?” 

It was Rhett’s turn to nod, turning away from you and heading to the door. You followed him, slipping your phone into the back pocket of your jeans as you watched him shrug his coat on and slip on his boots. Avoiding the small puddles of melted snow on the tile floor you opted to stand on the rug near the door to not get your socks soaked. 

Crossing your arms defensively, Rhett stood toe to toe with you, reaching up to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. The touch softened you, dropping your arms to your sides almost instantly as you leaned into his palm, now resting gently on your cheek. 

Rhett leaned closer and captured your lips in a kiss. You could feel him smile the smallest bit as you kissed him back, igniting butterflies in your stomach. Pulling back, his thumb rubbed against your cheekbone.

“You should text me more.” Rhett stated, pecking you once again before opening the door and leaving.

Catch me on AO3 under Creatchie8 too! Happy Holidays!

[lordfreg]

💜Pang in the Heart💜

PT 1: JEALOUSY IS A POWERFUL THING

MAJOR TW// VERY GRAPHIC, YANDERE!DONNIE, IMPLIED SEXUAL ASSAULT & GORE !!

Donatello Hamato was an interesting man. He was very particular; things had to be done in a certain way, scenarios had to play out in a specific order, or he’d get upset.

But all of that was thrown out the window when he met (Y/N).

What an abrasive statement that was, the clear disgust and anger he had for them was embarrassing, almost. They were so charming it was gross, so pretty it made him hurl. They were absolutely astonishing, yet he almost hated them.

But, after getting to know them, he found himself thinking less of hate and more of adoration.

It was strange; he went from not thinking about them at all, to only thinking about them.

Their laugh, their smile. The way they would hide their face in their hoodie when they got embarrassed. The way the created like it was a part of them; their hands glided so easily over the paper and keyboard, that Donnie watched it like a dance.

They were so amazing in everything they did, he was a little jealous.

No, jealousy isn’t the right word. Envious? No. Adoring? Hmm, maybe.

Love?

…Yeah. That was it. He was in love with them. How could he be so stupid? I mean, his symptoms lined up perfectly.

The overwhelming crushing feeling in his chest, like he has being crushed by the Shredder all over again. The thoughts that plagued his mind about them. The sweaty hands as he slowly dragged a finger across their cheek. His flushed face as a stared at them, unconscious.

So peaceful, so helpless.

He could do anything to them, and they would have no idea.

He gave them a tender kiss on the cheek, before leaving their side once more. He looked back at them lovingly, as they grumbled and turned over, before escaping out their unlocked window.

The next day they came over. Date trouble, again. Donnie hated talking to them about that kind of thing. It was so infuriating. How could they not see Donnie loved them?

‘Ignorant,’ Donnie thought, blowing a breath out forcefully as (Y/N) continued ranting about their relationship issues.

“I just have no idea what anyone wants from me!” (Y/N) huffed, flopping on their bean bag. Donnie had made them a small corner in his lab, just for them, decked out in purple.

“Have you tired, oh, I don’t know, talking to this person?” Donnie raised an eyebrow, sitting backwards in his chair.

(Y/N) looked away, “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Donnie huffed, “Listen, you’re the most beautiful person I know, so if you just gain some confidence, you’ll have everyone!” Donnie cheered.

"You sure?" (Y/N) asked, a slight smile on their face.

"Absolutely," Donnie says, looking at them with this strange little glint in his eyes. "If your looks don't get them, your personality will."

"Awe, thanks, Don!" (Y/N) smiled, "You're a great friend!"

He hated that word. Friend. Tch, was a festering word. He wanted 'boy' to be paired with that word.

"Sure," Donnie said, turning back around with a huge fake smile, "No problem, any time."

He said it like a robot, like he was just going through the motions. His clear disgust for the word, he hid poorly, but it wasn't exactly obvious. He was completely absorbed in thought, completely unaware of the world around him. He did even notice (Y/N) leaving.

After a few hours, he turned around.

"Well, it's finished (Y/N)!" Donnie said proudly, turning around to be faced with an empty room.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)?" He called, "Huh. They must be back at school. No worries! I have a tracker for this..." He said, turning around and pulling up a program on his computer, showing all the small icons for his family.

(Y/N)'s and April's were at the high school, their little icons flashing. Donnie put a lot more effort into (Y/N)’s icon, making it match their amazing face perfectly.

He smiled as he rested his head on his arms, but staring at their icon wasn’t enough. He needed to see them face to face.

Donnie dragged himself off of his chair and activated his battle shell, grabbing his hoodie for disguise and leaving to the school.

(Y/N) was at their locker, pulling out their notebooks. They shut the locker, to be met with Donnie's stupid grinning face.

“AHH!” (Y/N) shrieked, quickly being hushed by Donnie.

“Shhh!” Donnie said, placing a finger to his mouth.

(Y/N) swatted his hand away from their mouth, which hurt his heart a little, “What are you doing here?!” They whisper shouted, giving him a mean stare.

“I just wanted to see my best friend in the world!” Donnie cheered, smiling widely at them. He had his hoodie on, the Sade over his eyes making him look a lot less friendly then he would have liked.

(Y/N) looked at him with a side frown, crossing their arms over their chest and huffing at him.

“Okay, and maybe I wanted to raid the computer lab,” Donnie admitted, tapping the tips of his fingers together shyly.

(Y/N) rolled their eyes and finished putting their book in their bag. A figure suddenly approached them, coming up behind (Y/N) and pulling them into a tight hug from behind.

(Y/N) smiled, laughing as they hugged back, “James, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the field house?”

“Yeah, but how could I resist coming to see my adorable (S/O)?” The appointed ‘James’ flirted.

Donnie watched in horror as they had a sweet moment together, carefully watching (Y/N)’s facial expressions, trying to pin down what exactly was going on.

It was horrific, seeing (Y/N) be all cuddly with someone else. Someone who wasn’t Donnie.

In that moment; Donnie didn’t know what he felt. Was it jealousy? It couldn’t have been, Donnie doesn’t get jealous! …Or maybe he did. Maybe, he got so jealous that he could slam James’ head right into the locker. Maybe he could continue smashing the hunk of meat into the locker until it was nothing more than a pile of goop in his hands. Maybe he could squeeze James’ brain into a fine paste in his hands, laughing as he did this.

“Donnie?” (Y/N) asked, concerned, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?” Donnie asked cheerfully, immediately snapping out of his fantasies.

“You we’re just spacey the entire time James was here,”

Oh, Donnie hated that name already.

“And I was just going to ask if you have a problem with him, or anything?” (Y/N) said, tilting their head to the side.

“Ah, you know, I do.” Donnie mentally smiled, a sick, twisted smile. He could just plant a small seed of doubt…

“Why? What’s wrong with James?” (Y/N) asked, looking at Donnie with an almost pleading stare.

“Well, he seems like the type to, how do I put this?” Donnie scratched the back of his neck with fake concern, “Cheat on you? Be unfaithful?”

“Donnie, you’re being irrational!” (Y/N) huffed as the bell rang, “We’ll talk about this more later.” They said hurrying off to class.

“Alright,” Donnie smiled wickedly, “See you then~!”

Donnie had plans for tonight; just plant a few fake texts between (Y/N)’s best friend and their boyfriend, and he should be set.

After the big break up, Donnie had prepared for, (Y/N) came over seeking his comfort. Several times, this had happened. (Y/N) starts dating a guy, something happens between them, they break up, back into Donnie’s arms.

Just, how Donnie planned.

Soon, (Y/N) came in crying one day. It wasn’t normal, break up sobs, it was worse. It was horrible. All the boys sat (Y/N) down, calmed them down, and asked what was wrong.

(Y/N) could barely speak, “I-I was at a party, l-last week…”

“And?” Leo urged, trying to show his concern while not forcing them to answer.

“An-And it happened,” They sobbed.

That was the breaking point for Donnie. That was it. The final straw.

“Who?” Donnie asked harshly.

“J-James,” (Y/N) sobbed harder at the name, hugging Raph tightly.

Donnie nodded, walking into his lab.

“Where is he going?” Leo asked, watching him leave.

“(Y/N)’s his best friend, I’m sure this is effecting him just as much,” Raph soothed (Y/N), rubbing their back.

Donnie stayed in his lab for hours; meticulously charting, plotting, planning and graphing his revenge. It would only be 2 more hours before he could go out and do what he wanted, no, needed to do.

Those two hours zipped by like seconds to Donnie, he snuck out of the lair and reached an alley way of Main and 2nd Street, awaiting his victim. No, not a victim. The only victim here was (Y/N), he was a monster. Donnie was the monster hunter.

“And that’s yer total,” Some scrounged up middle aged guy said, handing James a small baggie.

“Thanks,” James said, taking the bag, “See you next month.”

The scrounge left, letting Donnie creep into the alley way, cornering poor little James.

“How about see you never again?” Donnie suggested, making his presence known to James.

James spun around quickly, gasping when he was Donnie.

“What the hell are you?!” He sputtered, “Some kind of lizard man?!”

“Turtle, and no.” Donnie let out a dry chuckle, “I’m your demise.”

“My what?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Donnie said flatly, taking a step closer before his smile worked itself up again, “And I’m going to enjoy every nanosecond of it.”

“What the hell?” James held his fists up, “You wanna fight, punk?”

Donnie laughed, and laughed harder. Before Donnie could even process what his body was doing, he was on top of James, pinning him down. Donnie’s knee was on his back, crushing his spine, and holding his arms behind his back. Donnie grabbed his head, pulling it back roughly.

“Fight? This wasn’t even a scuffle!” Donnie laughed crazily.

“W-What do you want from me?!” James pleaded, “Don’t kill me, please!”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to touch my (Y/N). You hurt them, badly.” Donnie chuckled, “So now I hurt you. The law of equivalent exchange.”

James begged for his life, even starting to cry, but Donnie could care less. He was hellbent on one thing alone; making him hurt.

Donnie couldn’t even feel his arms, they were numb, but he felt every spark of electricity that shot through his nerves.

Donnie could feel the inhuman force that he was using to repeatedly slam James’ face into the concrete of the alleyway, his screams of pain and the splattering of blood going deaf as he continued.

Donnie slammed his head in over, and over, and over again. James’ skull was already broken, his flesh only being held on by a few tendons left. The side that Donnie smashed in was tore up, James’ jaw being broken open by the sheer force that Donnie used.

Donnie laughed as the earth came back into his world, he felt dizzy and lightheaded. Donnie dropped James’ head and picked himself up off of the body, making note of the tears that were still fresh on his face.

Donnie held a hand to his head, noticing his fever. He dragged a hand along the walls of the alleyway, making a streak of crimson blood on the wall.

“Damn, I have to get home,” Donnie thought of his brothers, “But first I have to clean up.”

After he was all tidied up, he took off running, not even bothering with the body. The police would find it, it would be all over the news and no one would know it was Donnie. Open and shut case.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it.

That all happened 4 weeks ago. Where was the body now? Had the authorities just not dealt with it? Why wasn't the news on top of this cold case?

Now this was driving him truly insane. The waiting, the hours ticking by like seconds and the minutes dragging on for months. Time was an obscure concept to the social isolation Donnie subjected himself to.

Donnie rocked himself back and forth, waiting for any headline to pop up on the topic. It couldn't have taken this long for a cold case to come out, right?

He stared blankly at the screen, gripping the flesh of his face, not even caring how his nails dug into the tender meat of his face. Or how he was going numb slowly. Or how he couldn't even remember what day it was or the last time he ate.

He could only survive so long without water, so he growled as he reluctantly got up and left his lab, going to the bathroom.

He didn't speak once to his brothers, ignoring them completely as he soaked in the bathtub. He went back into his lab, skipping the leftover pizza and going back to sitting in hi chair, staring blankly at the computer screen.

He did this for two days until Raph finally called (Y/N), begging them to come as quickly as they could.

"What?! What?!" (Y/N) called, almost slipped down the latter as they rushed into the lair.

"It's nad," Leo said, not even opening with a joke or a pun, "I-I think Donnie's gone insane."

(Y/N) looked at him with a hint of concern, but mostly confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"He's locked himself in his lab for days!" Miley cried, looking on the verge of tears. "He only comes out for water and food."

Raph takes (Y/N) by the shoulder, whispering quietly in their ear, "I hear him screaming at night, and sobbin' loudly. I don't think that's exactly normal."

They looked at Raph completely dumbfounded, "It's not."

They looked back, determined. "I'll talk to him."

"Be careful!" Mikey warned, a fearful expression on his face.

"I will..." They said, walking to the lab, "As careful as I can."

(Y/N) walked into the lab, peaking in to see Donnie sitting in his chair, rocking back and forth.

"H-Hey, Donnie." They said, walking to Donnie, "Are you okay?"

"Ah!" Donnie spun around, a huge, fake smile plastered on his face. It was almost scary.

"Just the person I wanted to see!" He said, embracing them in a hug. "God, I missed you so much."

"Donnie..." They said, hugging him back, a suprise to their tone. The sudden affection scared poor (Y/N). "Donnie, are you okay?" They asked again.

Donnie looked at them, his smile faulting. He pulled away and aggressively slapped a hand to his face, growling.

"Gah, no!" He hissed, "I-I just need your support..." He said in a defeated voice.

"Hey," (Y/N) pulled Donnie's hand away from his face, holding it for a second. "I can do that." They smiled.

Donnie sighed, hugging them once again. His eyes couldn't help but look back at the monitor, knowing that at any moment, it could pop up on his screen.

"Yeah..." Donnie finally said, "I would like that."

Donnie and (Y/N) laird down on his bed, (Y/N) resting peacefully as Donnie stared at the ceiling. His mind was racing.

At any moment, at any moment! His mind would sat over and over.

Suddenly, a ping came from the computer as Donnie shot up quickly, forcing (Y/N) up with him as they were laying on his chest.

Donnie slowly looked over, suddenly and sporadically jumping up out of bed and rushing to the computer.

He immediately put on the report of the body found in the alley way, watching his crime be talked about.

Donnie watched like he was playing the Purple Game all over again. A wide grin was on his face, completely ignoring his friend as they got off the bed and walked towards him.

"Donnie?" They asked, reaching out to touch him, "Are you okay?"

Donnie turned around quickly, almost making (Y/N) jump back in suprise.

"I did that." He said, his smile quivering. "I did that."

He pointed to the screen.

"The body was identified to be James Lastname, reportedly beat to death by an inhuman force..."

"Donnie..." They said, backing up slightly, "You... You didn't do that, you couldn't have."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)." He said sincerely, "I killed him, I did it for you. He hurt you, I-I couldn't let him get away with that!"

Each word Donnie took a step closer, reaching out to embrace (Y/N). He looked destroyed by this, utterly miserable. Still, he was smiling and chuckling nervously as he back poor (Y/N) in the wall.

"You..." (Y/N) could barely mutter. "You killed him..." They said, their voice weak and their eyes full of tears.

"I did it because I..." He smiled.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

》remember: your choice cannot be changed.

@yanteetle hope you enjoyed!!

[maryrouille]

La Pianiste as a timeless movie. About The Piano Teacher (2001) by Michael Haneke

If it were not for the gift I received in the form of books about Haneke's work, I wouldn't have watched this film so quickly. Although I've wanted to see that iconic bathroom scene for a long time. Anyway, have I, as I intertwined with film experts - which I am definitely not one of with my subjective selection of films - begun to enter the era of writing about film based on professional literature? Perhaps!

More than twenty years ago, the film adaptation of the novel Die Klavierspielerin written by Elfriede Jelinek was released. Michael Haneke not only changed it to the French La Pianiste, but also showed the story in a different way. I will not make a book-film comparison here, but I will only mention that the novel is more explicit and much less subtle, which is visible in its vulgar language of the narrator-critic of the broken world.

Sublimity and dirt. Sacred and profane

Knowing the plot of the film, it is easy to notice Erika's touching relationship with her disturbed mother, which results in the perverse development of her sexuality. The dramatic love relationship, as if from an ancient tragedy, of a piano teacher and her student Klemmer is also clearly exposed. But there is something else hidden beneath it. In the literature about La Pianiste, you can find a description of Erika's conflict. Classical music belongs to the world of culture, but the heroine's sexuality reduces her to the level of an unrestrained animal world, manifested in cheap pornography [R. Koschany, Open Composition. The Piano Teacher by Elfriede Jelinek and Michael Hanake, 2019].

Georges Bataille in Erotism: death and sensuality (1986, p. 144) wrote:

Beauty is desired in order that it may be befouled; not for its own sake, but for the joy brought by the certainty of profaning it.

The activities Erika engages in to satisfy her sexual desires seem deviant from the norm, even disgusting, to a stereotypical viewer. This, in combination with the beauty of the main character and her grace, the beauty of the music and the sterility of the rooms, and the perfection of the piano playing skills, creates a striking contrast. Erika seems to profane the beauty around her, and the destruction of the ideal becomes what excites her. Recalling Bataille, it is not the act itself that brings satisfaction, but making a scratch on the transparent glass. While remaining reserved towards psychoanalysis, it can be said that she rebels against her mother in a much more extreme form than teenagers do.

Nudity without a body

Haneke's film is shocking. However, he does not do this through direct images denuding the characters. Even in erotic scenes, the camera is directed not at the characters' body parts, but only at their facial expressions, from which we read the emotions they experience. Regardless, the viewer in this situation is still a voyeur and feels embarrassed to see something that makes him step out of his comfort zone [T. Heimerl, Michael Haneke und seine Filme. Eine Pathologie der Konsumgesellschaft, 2008]. I would say that La Pianiste shows the nudity of the characters, leaving their bodies almost completely covered. In this film, the part focused on eroticism is narrated by eyes staring at each other and hands circling the piano keyboard.

Reception in the 2020s

What would an analysis be, here in a telegraphic version, without reference to today. It must be admitted that the Internet is amazing, that such a film can be turned into memes that accurately comment on the reality presented in it. Were both Erika and Klemmer red flags? On the one hand, a woman with masochistic tendencies, and on the other, a boy who tries at all costs to win and become his teacher's lover. It seemed like the red lights were blinding their eyes from a mile away! However, I would question whether Erika was asexual. Her sexuality was somehow disturbed, unawakened or malformed, but I still think she had it to some extent. This may be a point of discussion.

Coming to the end, I think this is one of Haneke's best works and will be remembered for a long time. It also seems timeless because of the perspective of a female narrator, unusual for the cinema of the 2000s, and the presentation of an attractive woman as an object far from sex appeal, which is cold, strange and caricatured.

[royalydamned-archive]

Make Believe - act 1

(Merritt McKinney x Reader)

Summary: The Horsemen's plans are coming together, all according to schedule. One more step remains: taking you out as the possibility of leading the investigation. In order to get to you, one of them has to become your partner for the time being. That being said, Merritt didn't even expect to be part of the equation, let alone your ultimate choice.

-

OR: Merritt pretends to date you. Before knowing how, he starts to believe it's real too.

|AN|: I can't believe people are still reading the first Merritt fic (and so many!!!). I love this guy so much, I just love that lil' something Woody Harrelson adds to his characters, I don't care what anyone else says, it's attractive. Here's to me being THE Merritt writer.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but since I am dumb like this, it will be spread out into a few chapters, but it will allow me to write more parts (and again, make this longer than it needs to be but such is life).

_____________________

These were some of the strangest few weeks in Merritt's life. Undoubtedly not the weirdest but some of the weirdest. Maybe he will end up in prison, maybe he will finally prove something in his life, chances were 50-50. God, who was he kidding? They were likely 97-3, and he was massively fucked.

Well, at least it's going to be fun, right? Gotta go out with a bang.

"The most important part should be in motion." Pretending to be busy, Merritt quickly sat up as he heard Atlas burst through the door, laptop balanced only on his arm, furiously typing with the other. With every step and dab into its keyboard, the laptop swayed on its laughable support, it must have been that real magic they had promised him keeping that thing from crashing down. "Tressler's assistant contacted me about a meeting."

"Is he paying?" the man ignored his remark, unappreciative of the effort to lighten the mood, and rushed past him, already dialing the others. Not that they knew each other well enough, but that guy was a massive dick, that much was clear.

"What are you even doing here? It's a dump."

"It's filled with the warmth of comradeship and our effort, much homier than my apartment," Merritt smirked, watching Atlas run around in a mix of slight panic and thrill of success. "Jesus, Danny, you look so cute wagging your tail like that."

The only answer was to him was a disgusted look. Good enough, he thought to himself.

Daniel's phone rang for a few times, before the distinct sound of a voicemail came through, followed by a groan of frustration. God, if Merritt had known not being here would stress him out like that, he’d go for a nice long walk with a phone turned off – at least a little payback for the bossing around he had to endure from the guy. He wasn’t even aware they had a leader among them, let alone a self-appointed one. Maybe it was time for a mutiny. 

"Henley, come over to the apartment right now, we all need to talk." Canceling the call, Danny carelessly threw the phone on the small table, a bit too far to toss it like that, and ran his hand through his hair. "And where's Jack?"

"You should take a breath Danny-boy," Merritt said, teasingly.

"How about you help out? That would also be great."

"Whoa, I'm sensing hostility. Someone needs to let out some steam. You know I know a great girl you could– "

"I am not listening to that!" Daniel cut him off, already walking the opposite direction, hands thrown in the air.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help," he put his hands up in defense, fighting back a giggle. "It's not like Henley– "

"Henley what?" she asked, coming into the room, two paper cups in hand. She gave Merritt a pointed look, rising an eyebrow as she silently demanded an answer to whatever she had walked on in. If he knew the answer, he would have told her, but he hadn’t been given much to work with.

"Hey–"

"You're late," Daniel snapped, returning to the room, arms resting on his hips, the image reminding Merritt he truly is in their hideout more often than he would have like because somehow, it seemed normal.

“I’m not late, we don’t have a schedule. Here,” Henley handed Merritt one of the cups, on it with a black sharpie and a terrible handwriting was scribbled Baldy.

“Rude,” he complained with a frown to no one but himself as the two had already started arguing, and sat back onto the run-down couch him and Jack brought in last week since they were tired of sitting on the floor. It wasn’t bad, oh who was he lying to, they found it on the street, but at least it wasn’t the floor, despite both Henley and Atlas insisting they’d rather stand the whole time.

“Great, you’re late too!” Danny called out, breaking up the argument briefly when he noticed the youngest member in the doorway, who now stood frozen when all the attention turned to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I was supposed to come a specific hour,” Jack said, slowly moving to sit next to Merritt, who was delightfully watching the whole ordeal.

“Nobody did, kid,” he reassured him, receiving a nasty glare from the other.

“Alright, it doesn’t matter. Can we please start.” All four of them looked at each other in silence, and when nobody protested, Danny continued in much calmer manner. “So far, the most difficult part should be over. We have caught Tressler’s eye and if there are no unexpected surprises the Eye have not thought of – which I doubt – the rest of the Horsemen project will go smoothly.”

“That means that’s it, right?” Jack asked. “All we have to do is play along until we can go big enough with our shows.”

“No, absolutely not,” Atlas laughed dryly and grabbed his laptop, typing something furiously while explaining. “We still have to deal with the feds. Fortunately, the plan involves a clear way out with this. Most agents in there are described to be easily tricked with the right strategy and, of course, we have plenty. There’s a file on every single one of the people that might be involved and all of them have a pretty balanced record, some wins, significantly more loses, lucky for us, except one.”

“Perfect score. Might be fun to beat them,” Merritt said, looking around the room for support from the others. None came.

“Not really, we have to take them out of the game.”

“Whoa, hey, when we agreed to do this there was no mention of killing anyone,” Jack blurted out nervously.

“What? No, we’re killing anyone. Jesus. We’re going to make them not want to do the case, voluntarily take themselves out.”

“How would we do that? I suppose blackmail is off the table as well.” Danny shot Merritt an unamused glare and continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

“We need make them personally involved, so, I hope all of you are single, because one of us will date them as long as we need to.”

“How would we even get in contact with them?” Henley asked.

“Stalking, social media, dating sites– “ Merritt started counting on his fingers.

“And we have a general location of the area they live and spend time in. All we need is a few days of closer observation before we can narrow down some kind of a habit. Everybody has one. There, we will meet.”

“So, stalking it is, great choice.”

“What makes you think they even would be interested in any of us, even if we do find them?”

Danny turned the laptop over, showing your file, completed with a picture and general information. “Everybody will have to try, we have four shots at this, which are pretty favorable odds.”

“You guys can rest assured, very few can resist the good old McKinney charm.”

“Yeah, right. I was thinking more like Jack. Realistically speaking.”

As overdramatically as possible, Merritt placed a hand over his heart, faking shock. “You wound me, Daniel. I thought we had something.” The other man simply rolled his eyes, refusing the entertain him in such a situation – any situation, for that matter.  

“We are on the right track, let’s not screw it up with this.”

____________________________

“At least they’re hot,” Merritt stated, sitting tucked away in a booth, close enough to see you, yet far enough to remain hidden. The bar was pretty empty, and they seemed almost over-dressed – some more than others, he thought, watching Danny’s cry for help outfit – but the opportunity had presented itself for them. What was a better time to pick up a stranger sitting alone at the bar than Thursday evening, looking like they had just finished a magic show? Literally.

“Focus,” Atlas snapped, taking out a small stash of notes from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Not creepy at all. “This has to work, everybody read the cards?”

“The completely legally obtained extremely private information about a person we have been following for the last six days?” Merritt replied, sarcastically, receiving a glare. “Yes, memorized it in a very non-creepy way, in tune with this mission.”

“It’s not a mission.”

“Definitely feels like a mission, no pressure,” he mumbled to himself, stealing a secret glance at you. You were looking at your phone, trying to hide a smile with your hand, half drank glass by your side. Something came across his mind. “Hey guys, what do we do if they’re taken?”

“What?” Danny froze and started flipping through the papers. “No, that would be incorrect, every source says they are single and have not found any close personal connections, of course excluding family.”

“Again, not creepy,” he commented off-handedly. “Have seriously nobody thought of this possibility?”

“Nobody had to think of it because it’s not a factor,” Danny shot back through clenched teeth, his foot under the table tapping in an anxious rhythm. Not so sure, huh? Merritt lifted his arm in defense.

“I guess we will have to trust the Eye. And the wizard behind the curtain. They know what they’re doing,” said Henley in a calm voice, gaze fixated to the spot you were sitting in. “So, who goes first?”

“Jack will,” Daniel replied, leaving to room for others to protest. “It’s our best bet.”

“Put that pretty face to a good use for us Jacky, if this doesn’t go well Danny here might have an aneurism.”

“I won’t– “ he glared at Merritt before taking a deep breath to calm the obvious nerves buzzing under his skin. “Alright, fine. Make fun of me if caring about doing well is so funny.”

“A bit,” Henley interjected, still watching you in case you moved and disappeared from their sight. For a moment, Merritt wondered whether you could feel her intense glare stabbing your back.

“Alright, I’m going.” Slowly, Jack rose from his seat, cringing at the loud sound his chair made when scraping against the floor, and before disappearing, flashed them a reassuring smile.

“God, I remember when I looked like that,” Merritt muttered, watching the kid make his way to you with a confident smile, leaning over the bar by your side and flashed you a charming smile. He said something, a greeting, a pick-up line – not that it mattered when one looked like him – and you smiled back, answering immediately and forgetting whatever it was so engaging on your phone.

“In 1938?”

“Hilarious Danny, has your mother never taught you respect towards your elders?”

“Guys, shut up.” They exchanged a silent look, a challenge neither of them really meant, before dropping it per Henley’s request – well, command really – and turned their focus back towards the bar.

They couldn’t hear you two, it was nothing but a mute movie, leaving them guessing what you’re talking about, whether it’s doing well or…well, how else would it go? Jack had his way with people. Merritt could be the one reading them, controlling them even, but he didn’t have the social talent that just couldn’t be learned. It was natural, came as breathing. Merritt could try and make them laugh, make them uncomfortable and intimidated by his skills to gain the upper hand in the conversation, but sometimes he thought about how it must have been, to enter a room and be instantly liked.

Jack leaned over, getting closer to you, to which you smiled again, telling him something and he acted like he was listening intently, nodding his head with serious expression on his face. Merritt watched you lick your lips, studying his face. How easy was that? A mere few minutes and he had you wrapped around his finger, saving their whole plan – until he wasn’t. Until he understandingly nodded, polite smile still gracing his features, and pushed himself off of the bar, returning back to the remaining three Horsemen waiting for him.

“Wh– Jack what happened?” Daniel asked, confused as Jack finally came close enough to hear them. The younger man only shrugged and took his beer, taking a short sip.

“Wasn’t interested,” he answered simply and slipped back into his seat.

“What do you mean ‘wasn’t interested’ that wasn’t the plan.”

“Hey I did all I could, I can’t force myself on them.”

Danny groaned into the palms of his hands, trying to calm down. It was fine, surely it was fine. Strange, but fine, there were three more people at the table that could try – three more shots at success, but this is not what they had expected. It should have been done instantly, sending their best man for this type of work. If he hadn’t succeeded, there wasn’t too much hope for the others.

“Alright, it’s OK. A slight hitch, nothing we have not encountered or will not encounter along the way yet.” Danny started talking quietly, more to himself than the others, trying to calm all the thoughts and possibilities racing through his head so fast Merritt saw steam coming out of his ears. “Henley, you should try it.”

“What about a please?” she shot back calmly, seemingly enjoying his little breakdown.

“Please, don’t do this right now,” he sighed, his leg under the table speeding up. Merritt took a sip of his drink, trying to hide the grin behind his glass, and watched Henley make her way towards you, un-effortlessly striking up a conversation.

“What was it that got you rejected anyway? Did you say something creepy? Did you slip and tell them their personal detail we so legally obtained?”

“No, they just said I wasn’t their type.”

“Oh, great, so Henley should be ok,” Danny said, suddenly looking relieved, and leaned over the table where you and Henley were already chatting, as if trying to hear your conversation. “Wait, what is she doing?”

“What?” Merritt mumbled, his head snapping towards the pair at the bar. “Oh, she’s leaving too.”

“Fuck,” he said, flipping through his notes once more, eyes scanning the words, trying to find what he had missed. “God, I can’t believe we’re going to fail before we can even execute the plan.”

“Hey, look at it from the bright side, maybe this is the fastest someone had failed trying to get into the Eye,” Merritt grinned and raised his glass, offering Danny a toast, but shrugged and finished the drink on his own when he just sent him an annoyed look. “I mean, we still have two more shots.”

“We are fucked,” Danny murmured under his breath, eyes unfocused, looking at particularly nothing, just the few weeks of their work flashing before them like war flash-backs. “I’ll go now.”

Before Henley could have arrived back to the table, Daniel was already leaving, making his way towards you. With a charming smile, he leaned over the bar, but before he could open his mouth, with a friendly expression, you shook your head, presumably sending him away.

“Oh, ouch,” Merritt winced watching the interaction. “That one had to sting.”

“Eh, he got over worse,” Henley said, sitting down next to him, the glass in her hand refilled. “I take it you’re our last chance?”

“It all comes down to the McKinney charm. Like I said.”

“I don’t doubt its efficiency.” He winked at her as they shared a brief look of amusement before Daniel managed to get to the table.

“I’m going for a smoke first.”

“Are you kidding, everything now depends on you.” Merritt grimaced as he heard Danny’s voice, shouting in a shushed tone, way before he could feel his presence behind him, he was like a walking ball of stress that one could hear vibrating even from a distance. And moved surprisingly very quickly, like a little hamster. 

“I bet that one must have hurt to admit,” he grinned teasingly, and took out a box of cigarettes out of his pocket, waving way too close to the other’s face before his hand got slapped away. “Give me five minutes, I’m sure they need a break too.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past him, away from the overwhelming chatter and into a silent back alley. Nothing but a distant traffic and cold night surrounding him and suddenly, he felt like he could breathe again, every exhale visible in the cool air even before he managed to light one of his cigarettes.

Not even a year ago, he was just one bad evening away from quitting magic all together, losing the passion to the struggle of his everyday life, and to the fact he indeed, didn’t have any money. At all. Who besides middle-aged bored women believed in hypnotism anyway these days? No one. His stream had dried out, days of his glory way in the past and he just seemed like he had no hope, no future.

Barely he managed to blink, he was a part of a straight up insane scheme, one that could only had been set up by a complete madman – or a slightly insane genius – either way, whether the Eye exists or it’s one of the best manipulation tactics he had ever seen, he was well on his way on becoming a criminal for a possibility. Maybe even just an idea.

Maybe, at the end of this all, it would be revealed the Eye is just a concept, the work they have done and the justice – or well, so it appeared – they have brought. With Merritt’s luck, he will end up in jail, the warm feeling of using his “power” for the “greater good” the only thing warming him while he would be sleeping on a metal bench with a shared toilet right next to his head.

The door of the bar opened, and his head turned towards the sudden sound, a lone cigarette he had taken out of the box loosely hanging between his fingers. Before he could register what had happened, before he could he could have caught up on the reality he found himself standing in, one where you walked out the bar door, mumbling something about the weather under your breath as the unfavorable temperature hit you, your eyes landed on him, stopping for a few curious seconds before you slowly approached him.

“Hey, you were with the three others that took turns on me tonight.”

Slightly thrown off, he straightened his posture and fixed his hat. “So you noticed, huh?” he said with a smirk, surprised when you came even closer.

“Was very hard to miss. You had a bet or something?”

“God no, but there was an almost fight about who gets to try their luck first. You know how hard it is to come across good-looking people lately. We are a rare breed.”

You laughed, leaning against the wall next to him, arms crossed over your chest and one leg propped up. “Oh? A humble one, aren’t you?”

He just shrugged, putting the almost forgotten cigarette to his lips and lighting it. After a big drag, he rested his head on the cold brick wall. Watching you from the corner of his eye. In anyone else’s mind, the stars had aligned, the last struck of luck – a destiny maybe, but despite being a magician, Merritt didn’t believe in magic.

“I have to ask though,” you said into the silence, turning your head towards him, studying his profile for a few seconds. He hummed in response, his own head slightly rolling to the side, straining his neck so he could watch you directly. Notice every detail he needed, every slight twitch of a muscle, every time you avoided direct eye contact. He couldn’t forget this wasn’t his everyday life, this wasn’t a fun banter with a hope for a night with a happy ending. This mattered, and even though he would rather lick the inside of Atlas’ mouth than to admit it, it scared him. “Why were you the only one that didn’t come to try?”

“I am trying right now, aren’t I?”

“Are you really?”

“That depends.” Now, he turned his whole body towards you, the shoulder he was leaning his whole weight on suddenly painfully crushed by the wall, but that way, he could see your fully – your form, your face, the subtle gestures of your fingers and the way you stood (leaned) in front of him. “Is it working?”

“And if it is?” you asked, voice low, and Merritt had to look away for a second to fight a smirk.

“Then I’ll have to run back to my colleagues there and gloat a little, I’m afraid.” You laughed again, Merritt found himself enjoying the sound, not many even had such a positive reaction, if any, truly. “But maybe I could invite you somewhere, ideally less cold. With food as a bonus?”

“I’d like that.”

Tags: @wicked1will0sparkles

[herrlindemann]

Sonic Seducer - September 2004, interview with Till and Flake - part 1

Thanks to ramjohn for the scans!

For a long time it was quiet around frontman Till Lindemann's scandalous, muscle-bound troupe, who completely cut themselves off from current music events after their last album 'Mutter' and, apart from the DVD 'Lichtspielhaus' at the end of last year, didn't let anything be heard of themselves.

But from July 26, the Berlin Neue Deutsche Härte flagship rockers will break their strict news ban with their single 'Mein Teil' and the fourth album that will follow at the end of September, in order to once again put the tolerance limits to a hard test after their abstinence and in domestic bourgeois idylls again blowing the deer antlers, cuckoo clocks and dusty Spitzweg oil ham with their bombast metal from the oak paneled walls.

Rammstein are back — with a vengeance! For a good year and a half, singer Till Lindemann, drummer Christoph Schneider, keyboarder Christian 'Flake' Lorenz, guitarists Richard Kruspe-Bernstein and Paul Landers as well as bassist Oliver Riedel have holed up with regular producer Jacob Kellner to work on Album number 4 (whose ultimate title at the time was not 100% certain when this issue went to print, after having already discarded working titles such as 'Reise, Reise' or 'Das rote Album') to go into group dynamics intensively, to collect oneself and to discuss the impatiently awaited successor to the controversial one in Stockholm, completely undisturbed 2001's chart-busting ‘Mutter’ to work. The fact that a lot has happened in the meantime with the notorious Provo Rock pyromaniacs from the Spree can now be clearly heard on the first single release 'Mein Teil', with which Rammstein, after numerous heated discussions, settled for artistic freedom , good taste, piety or political views in the past once again best recommend as probably the most controversial and most polarizing German band of the hour: In the usual ambiguous manner, 'Mein Teil' invites you to a macabre feast, the source of inspiration from the sensational cannibal murder trial of Rotenburg is fed in the middle of last year. After its successful general overhaul, the battleship Rammstein is once again tackling all existing conventions and moral concepts - and it's not just musically that you shoot out of all guns, as Till and Flake, who lined up for the six-eyes talk, make clear in great detail in our multi-part interview.

However, the Berlin command center is not aware of any concerns about finally breaking the bank with his calculated taboo. Fire free for Rammstein: "I wouldn't expect anyone to get upset about 'Mein Teil'. Making a song about something that really happened is the most normal thing in the world to me! Nobody complains to the spokesman for the Tagesschau either, what horror reports he reads again”, says Flake indignantly. "Of course people will get upset again — whether I understand it now or not," Till Lindemann, in the past rather reluctant to be interviewed, also intervened. “With the last album, the headline in BILD was about us: 'Disgusting - dead baby as record cover! This band should be banned!' I was really happy about that and thought for the first time: We've really made it... I think there will be something really, really bad to read about us this time too... “ (smiles). And even with songs like 'Mein Teil', 'Daila Lama (Fear of Flying)' or 'Amerika' the chances of a respectable repeat success in terms of page 1 scandal band are more than good. Since the release of the 1995 debut 'Herzeleid', the blameless average citizen has had a highly allergic reaction to the distorting mirror held up by the widely misunderstood metal satirists and will presumably also react to the new tracks about plane crashes, the Iraq war or masturbation of any kind of humor or Traditionally closed to sarcasm. Entertainment or derailment - as with all uncomfortable artists, the crucial question, the answer to which each listener must be left to themselves against the background of great art. “Actually, you can go just a little bit deeper into the subject matter of the individual songs, read the lyrics or take a look at us, you can't misinterpret Rammstein - unless you're really really stupid!” “Or malicious,” adds Lindemann. “I very often have the feeling that Rammstein is dragged through the dirt with spiteful superiority! I do not know why. There is absolutely nothing to misunderstand with us.”

Such discussions have been held too often and for too long in the past, against more or less unfounded accusations, false suspicions and nasty slander, for one to still feel any great desire today to explain oneself and one's texts to the masses like a mantra . Although, as in the case of some of the content on the last album, this seems to have been a matter of urgency for some. Rammstein is undoubtedly one of the very few German/German-singing bands whose lyrics and forms of expression make you reflect and question them, as Till Lindemann's very own (thought) world and lyrical expressionism are not always easy to understand; the quirky, deep black humor and latent sarcasm are not always immediately apparent and misunderstandings seem to be inevitable. “Many will once again not understand it and will be terribly outraged at us... But you simply cannot change the world, and so we don't care anymore! Let them get upset with us as much and for as long as they want!” That the relationship between Rammstein./. While the general public is irreparably shattered, Flake also has to admit: "One example: I don't like Daniel Küblböck either, but I would never scold him or call him an asshole or a spasm. He gives me no reason to get upset with him and no one forces me to listen to his music either! That's why I can't understand why people complain about us — we don't force anyone to listen to our records either! If people don't bother to find out what our songs are about and if we possibly do things, then they have no right to judge us!”

“It's getting on our nerves so much now, talking about these stories over and over again, discussing it, evaluating everything... - our success simply proves us right! However, the fun stops at these malicious things: If the press writes things that we didn't say, or cuts our statements together incorrectly, then there's a bomb in the leg, as is well known, someone must have noticed that painfully (a few years ago Rammstein played on at a festival, they 'pranked' the then MTV program executive by tying him to a chair and tying a smoke grenade to his leg because the TV station had spread falsehoods about the band). That's just the last thing for me, you just don't do that! Then the journalists should just pull something out of their fingers and write about us in their newspapers and just leave us alone! But if you meet face to face and it is then distorted or lied to afterwards, then it's on the mouth!” Unmistakably clear words from Till Lindemann, who, however, cannot really deny that the cultivated middle-class household shock effect has always been a more or less important part of Rammstein's artistic identity.

With the tongue-in-cheek to sarcastic anti-USA song 'Amerika', they venture into completely unknown territory for the first time; This time, Rammstein pull the manic national pride and the almost totalitarian American Way Of Life hysteria of the American throwaway culture through the cocoa in an almost cabaret manner.

In the past they repeatedly emphasized that they wanted to do without deeper messages in their songs, but this time they seem to be making an exception. “We don't transport a message in 'Amerika', but state facts and facts in a slightly sarcastic way. We dealt a lot with the Iraq war at the time of writing the song and felt that now was the time to say something about it.” Flake adds: “Everyone is quite outraged by the lyrics and asks us how dare we suddenly say something about politics. (laughs). We tried to make a song that sounds very positive and beautiful at first and which is also in a little bit of English so that Americans would be happy! We look forward to the moment when Americans think they're being courted and that Rammstein also ended up writing an anthem to America and that everyone — even Rammstein — would end up loving it now. We think it's a great gag, since anyone who listens to the song more closely will immediately understand what the lyrics are actually about. When it comes to the live implementation of 'Amerika', I could very well imagine that we will drop a few bombs, you could do a great job here with pyro and airplanes...” Rammsteiner-style humor, with many a politically correct joker saying this this time too Laughter should get stuck in your throat...

But it gets even funnier: The second part of our big Rammstein interview will follow in the next issue! No animals had to suffer for this photo session. It is a photomontage.

[poemsfromtheedge]

1:04311024

How to speak with intelligence, but also humility, warmth, and care

Are you thinking too much

It should be easy

Let the words fall out onto the paper, the pavement, the keyboard

What obstructs this ease

Other people

Other problems

No one exists individually or in their individuality

being human means being a part of humanity and its festering history

Let it not weigh on your mind Or do you, should you

Your history is pain it does well to know not to repeat it

Avoidance is not acceptance

And Acceptance is not embracement

And Embracement is not easy

Nothing good is easy

Because what's life without death

That nicotine hit after a break

The burn of a breakdown lessening as your mood lifts with the sky

Balance is what is

No need to argue

What is will always be no matter what thought of feeling

Like a cement wall punching you in the face

You simply walked right into it

Whos fault can it be

For it was always there

And you are only here now

In this moment

Truly only in this moment

Your consciousness exists in the space we give it

It changes every moment

Everytime you think of it

Do we die every second? Birthing new thoughts, new brain pathways, and new bain

What dies must die

So that life may live

Even for a second longer

Rot is our only certainty

A self-prepared clean up

Oil, and grease, and fluid, and muck

Washed away in time

In its glorious uncertainty

Linearity is known not experienced

What do your memories mean to you here

Do they take you back? How far?

Are you transported

What does being in a space truly mean

And what does the being in that space gain or lose

Oh the woes of the mind

Back to back to back to back

The tired brain

The sad brain

The envious creature your heart bargains with

A mise en scene creation would have no meaning

What end can be without a beginning

All you can hope for is a epilogue that doesn’t mischaracterise, despise or incinerate

Derivative fiction is all we think

Blinking through gas and sound too loud for thoughts

How can you even speak

What motivation is found in this energy

Well what gives life must also take from something else

Do what we will, we take from ourselves

A substance paradigm

If im even using that correctly

Does it really matter

Youre reading despite the rambling

And i'm typing despite it too

That and the tiredness

Stifling and wailing away

An internal scream, the first kick inside

The movie never ends but the characters die in our minds

A gluttonous franchise bent back on expectation

All just premeditated disaster

That's all we are

But there is a joy in that

In knowing what you are

A disgusting fool

We are the ones who survive.

[fiendishartist2]

she's gonna be a lot like me; but i don't wanna be at all like me- petscop

Once again, Paul finds himself in a waiting room. The room is quiet, but filled with the low murmur of anxious ambience; mothers kill time by tapping aimlessly on their phones, patients waiting to be called shuffle and tap their feet impatiently, the man at the front desk clicks the keys on his keyboard, on and off, as he fills out paperwork. In the corner of the room, a clock on the wall ticks.

The longer Paul stared at his shoes– how readily they met the carpet, laying flat against the ground– a horrible twisting in his chest began. His heart started to beat just slightly to the left; lungs trapped underneath it as his breath grew shallow.

Paul felt the anxious energy, eyes glued to the carpet. It is coarse and green with pinpricks of blue sewn in. He scrapes his old sneakers against the carpet, adding to the noise. It’s a soothing action. Spurred on by his own boredom, Paul tapped his feet and the thick clomp it makes is disconcerting, like the sound of running barefoot on grass.

Paul should not be this tall. He should not fill the chair like he does. The quiet ambience should be louder, obtrusive; office workers click away at their keyboards, children chase each other through the halls, squealing all the way. A paper shredder bursts to life across the room, teachers walk through brusquely without a word of acknowledgement, adults chat and laugh above him. He stared at his feet, hands pulled close in his lap, clutching a thin children’s book. Paul’s feet dangle past the lip of a faded red chair, lifeless. The sight of pink sneakers, scuffed and stained green and brown, makes tears spring to his eyes. They’re ruined. She ruined them, made them disgusting and ugly and it’s all her fault.

The door separating the waiting room from the rest of his therapist’s office creaked open. A nicely dressed woman with a wide smile stood in the doorway.

“Paul? Paul Leskowitz?”

“Um- that’s me.” Paul answered. He rose from his chair slowly as the unfamiliar woman beckoned him. Fog swirled in his head and obscured his memory.

She nodded, smiling again, “Come on through then.”

Paul followed her through the hall. It’s somewhat uncomfortable; not quite small enough to squeeze, but claustrophobic all the same. He would hate to pass by another person in there.

They came upon a door, painted a warm yellow. It stood out against the sterile white walls of the rest of the place. Although, he supposed it matched the eclectic blue and green carpet of the waiting room. On the door was a plaque, engraved with the name “Dr. Patricia Miller” and below it, “Psychotherapist”. The name didn't spark any recognition, but her title did. Paul is often taken out of class to see a counsellor, so he must be having another session.

Dr. Miller held open the door for Paul, motioning him to sit. There’s a long, grey couch on one end of the room, facing an armchair. A neatly folded blanket hangs over the back, covering half of the couch. Paul sat on the other end, but worries one of the blanket’s tassels between his fingers. It’s soft and fuzzy; Paul was grateful for something to look at while Dr. Miller got herself sorted.

“So, how are you today–” she checked a paper in her clipboard, “Paul?”

He was struck by the silence in the room and almost felt too awkward to speak.

“Uh-” Paul started, voice reedy with disuse. He cleared his throat before trying again, “Sorry, where am I?”

Embarrassment flooded him when Dr. Miller’s eyebrows rose. Paul knew he should remember the significance of this place, but right now he was drawing a blank. Dr. Miller’s laugh-lined face and curly auburn hair didn’t strike him as significant and neither did the softly lit office he found himself in.

Still, she recovered from her surprise quickly. Her features softened to a look of gentle concern.

“I’m your new therapist. You booked this appointment last Friday, I believe. Here, I can give you…” She drew out the last syllable, rummaging around in the purse sat by her feet. Dr. Miller procured a small card and handed it across the coffee table separating them.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief when he read the information on Dr. Miller’s business card. Recognition sparked at the long address of the “ClearView Wellness Center”; Belle texted him multiple times over the past week with the location, even calling him this morning to make sure he got there without any issue. Ironically, the issues started after he had already arrived.

Dr. Miller uncapped a pen, holding it poised to write on her clipboard, “Don’t worry about this, by the way,” she said, kindly, “I only take notes to better understand you and your situation. Anything you say will not leave this room and I will be the only person reading these.”

He nodded wordlessly.

She started simple, “Do you often forget your surroundings?”

He met her expectant gaze, before shifting back to the blanket. Paul cleared his throat again.

“Um- sometimes, yeah. I guess.” He bit the inside of his cheek, “It uh- it used to happen a lot, I think, but it kinda stopped after I left highschool.”

She nodded, taking a moment to scribble down a few notes. As she wrote, she asked her next question.

“Does it still happen to you or do you believe it’s fully gone away?”

He shifted uncomfortably. The blanket is pilling.

“It- I think it’s back, kinda?”

She looked up at him, “What do you mean by that?”

Paul couldn’t answer. His jaw was locked around the words he couldn’t articulate. Nothing was trapped in his throat, he just– didn’t know what to say to that. Dr. Miller let the question hang between them for a minute before changing her trajectory.

“Is there a reason for this behaviour?” She posed clinically, “Any sort of strenuous situation or pent up stress?”

Anna was waiting for him at her house. He left abruptly last Thursday, after his latest session with the game left him drained and afraid of… whatever unseen threat lurked behind his screen, surely. Paul chastised himself for forgetting what exactly it was, but Belle understood. She hadn’t let him answer Anna’s incessant calls and encouraged him to talk to someone– even a one-off appointment like this– to mitigate his stress. Still, his hands itched for the controller and he’s sure he’ll be back in that horrible house sooner or later. The family knows how to break someone down like that.

“There’s a um…” He said, voice crackling. He knew he couldn't mention the game, but he wanted to talk to her, no matter how discomforting this place is.

“My–” How does he explain to her who Anna is to him? She’s not his mother, not anymore. He decided to start somewhere else, “I cut ties with my blood relatives a long time ago, but I uh- I- I’m talking to them again. Um, I’m actually partially living with my biological mother.”

Before Dr. Miller can cut in, Paul elaborated, “I don’t know if I really want to be there? I don’t– I don’t want to be there.”

“Why is that?”

Paul paused, deliberating. He knows why– the family is awful and he doesn’t like them. But, articulating that is difficult. His head hurts.

“I think um…” He shifted, slouching over to pick at his hands, “I think it’s making me paranoid.”

Scratching pen on paper fills the room. When it stopped, Dr. Miller gave him a reassuring smile.

“It’s easy to feel intimidated when in an unfamiliar situation, especially when your relationship with whoever you’re living with is strained. What do you feel makes you paranoid at your biological mother’s house?”

Paul swallowed thickly.

“I don’t… uh- I don’t really know? I just feel like- like something is waiting for me there.”

“Waiting for you? Is it something physically waiting or a kind of negative interaction?”

“Both? I don’t like talking to Anna, but I’m not um- afraid of her, or anything. Being there just makes me get all… jumpy and- and irritable, I guess. Sometimes…” He trailed off. Part of him didn’t want to put words to this particular fear– it was irrational and fleeting. Saying it out loud gave it merit.

“It’s alright, you can continue.” She encouraged.

Paul drew in a deep breath, “Sometimes I… when I have trouble sleeping, it feels like something bad is going to happen. It’s not as bad in the daytime, but I just- I don’t like sleeping at her house.”

Dr. Miller nodded, “Do you feel like this all the time or only at Anna’s house?”

“Recently, it’s just been at Anna’s. I remember being a really light sleeper as a kid, but uh- that’s really it. I stopped being afraid of the dark a while ago.” Paul tried at a joke, laughing weakly to fill the empty air. Dr. Miller spared him a pity smile.

“Right. You said you don’t like talking to Anna, why is that? Is it related to why you don’t speak with her anymore?”

Cold sweat beaded on Paul’s forehead, in stark contrast to the red-hot spark of anxiety under his skin.

“I- I don’t know.”

“… You don’t know?”

Paul’s hands tightened in his lap.

“I don’t- I mean, she’s overbearing and intrusive and I get- I get kinda um…” He drew his shoulders, “I feel weird when she’s around. She– and the whole family, I guess– they’re uh- they’re dismissive. And she’s really emotional. I feel like I need to make her feel better when I’m there, but I don’t really know her?”

Dr. Miller looked up at him quizzically.

“We left when I was a kid. I don’t really remember why anymore, just that um- my- my mom– sorry, my adoptive mom, Lina– she took me away to live with her and my sister, Belle. There was family drama, or something like that…” He refuses to think about the game and it’s fucked up story– it’s not real, just the backwards revenge plot of a distant relative in his backwards family. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Do you know what that drama was?” She asked simply.

Paul didn’t answer.

“Was there perhaps an incident where your mother felt the need to remove you from Anna’s care? Any sort of mistreatment or neglect that–”

Paul drifted out of the conversation and into another. The consistent rumbling of Lina’s new car on gravel road drowned out the dulcet tones of Dr. Miller. They hit a bump and jumped a few inches above their seats, squealing all the way down. Glitzy pop music streamed through the speakers and Lina turned it up loud enough to hear over Belle’s singing. Paul joined in, quieter than Belle, always quieter– but singing along nonetheless. He dug his fingers into the thin plastic bag in his lap, watching it warp around his tiny fingers. It’s filled to bursting with his belongings, but gives easily. When he pulled away, he noticed the angry red cuts trailing up from her fingertips to the backs of her hands. They hit another bump, and this time she screamed.

“-aul, are you okay? Paul? Can you hear me?”

A woman with aged olive skin and copper hair is leaning towards him across a low table. She must be important, because she is dressed in a crisp blouse and slacks. The woman’s face is contorted into a thin-lipped smile. Paul felt sick.

“I’m sorry- I- I need to make- I need to call someone. Ex-excuse me.”

[noroi1000]

❝𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮-𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐢❞ Chapter 08

Satoru-Sensei | ←Previous chapter • Next Chapter →

Summary: Gojo is old and lonely? That's what Kugisaki thought. But that was the day they found out that Gojo Satoru actually had a girlfriend.

A/n: I just saw in my notebook how many drafts I have completed and I realized that I need to share more often... I also loved writing this because I got into Kugisaki's personality so much lol. I'm always an attention-seeking author... What do you think about this story so far?

"Itadori-senpai, please help." the blue eyed teen whispered into his phone.

He stood in front of the slightly open door to their classroom to see his sensei sitting in his chair with his feet on the desk, smiling as he did something on his phone.. His fingers move on the bottom of the screen, clearly showing that he is typing something on the keyboard.

He waited a moment and then chuckled and started writing again.

He was texting someone. That was for sure.

But it's the first time they see their sensei smiling like that. He's never smiled so much into the phone! At least not in front of them!

"Nantō-kun? What happened?!" His Senpai asked quickly.

"Sensei is texting someone and still smiling! More and more!" He said with a more scared and squealing voice.

"What?! Is this really happening?! What a smile that is?!"

"This is not the smile with which he smiles at us!"

"Huh?!" he groaned. Suddenly the younger boy heard a quieter voice. “Kugisaki, Gojo-sensei is..."

Soft voices could be heard in the room they were in. The teenager waited for his senpai's response.

This is the first time he's seen something like this.

Is it possible that their sensei had a girlfriend?!

"He's acting like he's texting a woman!" Itadori said to the girl.

"Eh? I haven't heard of him having a girlfriend in three years! We have to check that! Where is he?!" He heard her voice closer to his senpai's phone. "Are you talking to Nantō? Nantō! Where are you?! Where is he?!"

"In class... I'm next to him and he's still smiling like that!" He said and hid so that his Sensei wouldn't hear or see him.

Can he really hide from him??

Yes. Because right now he wasn't paying attention to anything else but the phone. Because he was getting messages from you.

A moment later, the two older students ran there and knelt in the corridor, looking at their Sensei's cat-like and goofy smile.

"Oh shit! This smile is really different from the smile he always has! Judging by the smile and the slight color of his cheeks, as well as the speed of his texting, he is texting with a woman!" Kugisaki said, very analyzing his expression.

It seemed as if all his thoughts were humming.

"We have to help him!" she said, turning to the two boys next to her.

"Kugisaki-senpai... How can we help him?" Nantō asked.

"He is almost 30 years old! And he doesn't have a woman! If not now he will be alone forever! We have to help him so he doesn't drive that poor girl away with his weird talk!"

"What should we do? Or maybe Sensei doesn't text with a woman? Maybe he already has a girlfriend?" Itadori said.

"I've never seen this man with a woman! He doesn't have a wedding ring, which means he's not married! For a moment I was disgusted with him because he probably chose women with his appearance! But now I know there's something wrong if he's behaving like this! This is typical behavior of a man who texts with the woman he loves!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Pfff! Years of practice and studying the behavior of lovers! Every woman deserves a guy who has a face like this when he texts her! Even though when I think it's my former teacher it makes me cringe! I'll help this poor guy not destroy his possible love of his life! Sensei!"

She stood up and quickly entered the room, automatically drawing his attention.

"Oh, Nobara. Do you need anything?" He asked and placed the phone on the desk and gave her a small smile.

"Don't write strange jokes to women! And also don't act like a complete macho! You must remember that you cannot lie at all costs! Don't show that stupid side you have right away!"

"What are you talking about?" he asked with a questioning look on his face.

"About the woman you're texting! You finally have a chance to not be old and lonely, so don't ruin it!"

"I'm sorry about her, Sensei! She takes the possibility that you might be texting some woman too seriously!" Itadori said.

"We don't want to interfere in your private matters." Nantō added nervously.

"Ah, do you mean that I'm texting someone?" he asked, pointing to the phone and sitting up straight, taking his feet off the desk.

"It's a woman, right?!" The girl asked.

Her pride will suffer if it turns out that he has not written with a woman. Did her intuition fail?

"Yeah." he said, but before he could continue, she started talking.

"If you don't want to be old and lonely, listen to my advice and she will be yours! With the way you act sometimes, you might just embarrass her! Listen to me and everything will end well! Even a wedding! I know how to give relationship advice!

"So far, she hasn't managed to find a boyfriend and because of her, neither me nor Fushiguro has one." The pink-haired man whispered to the brunette next to him.

"Eeeh? Really? I wanted to ask her for advice, but I think I'll give it up..." he muttered in response.

She heard it.

"You idiots won't have a girlfriend any sooner than I have a boyfriend! There's no way I'd let you do that!" She screamed at them. "But Gojo-san is different! Can't you see this lonely, rejected heart? If I don't help him, he will be lonely for the rest of his life!

"You know... That wasn't nice..." Gojo said, his mouth hanging open in embarrassment.

"So tell me the details! I'll help you! Just trust me!" she said with a big smile and pointed at her with her thumb. "I will do everything to get you married this year!

"Actually, Nobara... She's already my girlfriend." he said calmly and stood up, walking around the desk and leaning against the furniture.

He moved his phone closer, looking at your next message. He left the device and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the girl's facial expressions.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened.

"Huuuuh??!!!!! Since when does Sensei have a girlfriend?!" She screamed.

"For two years!" he laughed and waved one hand.

"Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh???!!!!!!!" she screamed loudly, causing the boys behind her to cover their ears.

"Why are you screaming so much?!"

Everyone turned to look at Fushiguro who entered with Nantō's brother.

"He has a girlfriend!" She pointed to the white-haired man and they both stood on the other side of the room.

They started talking. And at that time, Hokusei saw their teacher's phone turn on and vibrate, signaling the arrival of a message.

He turned his head to look at the screen and smiled slightly.

And then he saw his student looking intently at his phone. It was as if he wanted to see who he was texting.

His hand turned off the phone and, looking at him under the blindfold, he hid the phone behind his body, shielding the messages from the teenager's watchful gaze.

To avoid recognition, his face was turned the other way. But his eyes watched carefully as Hokusei's red eyes looked at his hand moving the phone.

So that he doesn't notice anything.

Their sensei is hiding something, isn't he?

Taglist: @mc-reborn ; @yihona-san06 ; @yerinsshi ; @erisfayred ; @tohsri

[kurtsascot]

getting older- KWS 2023 Day 2

written for klaine word scramble day 2!

been writing a lot of angst in my wip so i felt inspired to write some fluff- this challenge was super fun;;

i will crosspost on ao3 once i get back from vacation.

enjoy married klaine that is canon (?) compliant

blaine anderson/kurt hummel

rated T, 2394 words

summary: blaine discovers he needs glasses. kurt helps him cope with getting older.

words used: realign, linger, gel, glare, angle

Blaine always knew that this was a possibility, but he didn’t think today would be the day.

“You need glasses,” the shopping mall optometrist says with a degree of nonchalance that only annoys Blaine further. He’s tapping away at his chunky, dated keyboard, working to pull up Blaine’s vision prescription, avoiding eye contact. Blaine has determined that his vision must be so horrendously disgusting that looking him in the eye is out of the question. “You’re getting older, and so are your eyes.”

“I don’t wear glasses,” Blaine says, like it’s a valid argument. “I can’t need glasses.”

The optometrist doesn’t look back. He hits print. “Well, you do need them.” He swivels in his chair and faces Blaine, eyebrows raised, with a face that mimics parental disappointment. “And you should wear them.”

He gets up to leave and Blaine is on his heels. “You don’t get it,” Blaine says, and he’s whining, but this guy really just doesn’t get it. “I’m an actor. Stage makeup is already enough of a headache without glasses or contacts. I can’t have my roles limited.” There’s another optometrist in Blaine’s path, and Blaine does a quick side step to avoid running straight into her. He nicks the back of his optometrist’s-he just met the guy and Blaine’s not possessive but right now this guy is his- heels in the stumble. “Shit, sorry.”

The man hands Blaine’s file off to the receptionist. “Are you really arguing with me?” He straightens out his lab coat, and Blaine tries not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Why does this guy have a lab coat on in the middle of an Ohio mall? He’s not even a real doctor-why is Blaine listening to him? “Look, you can’t see up close, and your distance vision needs a little help. Since you are more farsighted, you can probably get away with not wearing any glasses on stage and see just fine.”

“Probably?” Blaine needs something definitive.

Fake-doctor guy just shrugs. “I don’t know what you do for a living, man, and I really don’t care.” He gestures with his working, perfect eyes behind Blaine. “Go pick out some frames. We have a buy-one-get-one sale going on.”

Blaine doesn’t move. He shuffles on his feet. His hand roots around his pants pocket for his phone. “This can’t be happening,” he mutters to himself.

The receptionist gives the optometrist a worried look. He just shrugs again and walks off into the back.

Blaine momentarily entertains following him- he wasn’t even done talking to him- but, no, that’d be crazy and controlling. Blaine’s trying to not be like that anymore.

The receptionist’s voice pulls Blaine out of his crisis. She sounds mousy. “Glasses aren’t that bad,” she tries. “They can help elevate your personal style.”

“My style does not need elevated,” Blaine defends, shooting a text. He’s squinting at the screen as he sends it, hoping that whatever blurred jargon he typed actually meant something. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“If this is the worst day of your life, can we switch places?” Her expression is less affectionate now, and she gives Blaine a pointed look. “I have to deal with disgruntled customers arguing with our staff and moping.”

Blaine’s eyes may narrow at her, but it’s honestly half a squint. He lets out a huff. “It’s not personal. I’m not mad at you specifically.”

“Right, but you are taking it out on me.”

Blaine opens his mouth to defend himself, but stops. He knows she’s right. “I’m sorry,” he offers. For the first time since stepping in the store, he actually looks around. “Any of the frames here will work with the sale?”

She offers Blaine a soft smile. “Any frames. You will have to let me know if you want two pairs bifocals, or one pair of bifocals and one pair for distance, or-“ She starts shuffling through Blaine’s file, and her gaze stops mid-way on the page. “I would recommend bifocals.” She looks up at Blaine. “How long have you not been able to see?”

Now, Blaine’s embarrassed. He looks around the store and no one is pointing and laughing at him, so, that’s good. No ones even paying attention to him.

Somehow, it still feels like they are. “I’m going to go look at frames,” he mutters, saying it aloud to hold himself accountable, and steps away from the counter.

Shopping for glasses, Blaine discovers, should be a torture tactic that the US government reserves for enemies of the state. The frames look promising displayed, but none look right on his face. Certain frames look so similar that the price jump is laughable. Other frames Blaine doesn’t even attempt to try on because, well, there is a reason some of them are so cheap. They look clunky or dated.

Like the frames, Blaine feels dated. He isn’t one to get hung up on age, but he’s in his thirties now, and today, well, he is feeling that old.

Older, even. He should just check himself into an retirement village at this point. First his eyes, then his mobility-his mind surely is soon to follow, if he hasn’t started to lose it already.

Blaine might currently be losing it.

Blaine loves sunglasses shopping. Sunglasses shopping makes him feel chic. Why is this so painful?

Blaine’s just staring at the discarded, already tried-on and not instantly hated frames lined up in front of him when Kurt shows up.

“I got your text.” Kurt looks a little flustered. He hangs his sunglasses off the neckline of his shirt. “What’s the emergency?” Across his collarbone there’s a thin sheen of sweat from the summer heat, and Blaine can’t help but look. “Hey-my eyes are up here.”

Blaine tears his focus away from Kurt’s neck and up to his face. He is looking at Blaine with a soft, amused expression, but there’s some tension held in his jaw. “You came.”

“What’s the emergency?” Kurt asks. He plays with Blaine’s hair a top of his head. It was humid today, and Blaine had to use some gel. He wishes he would have been able to keep his hair fluffy-maybe this whole ordeal wouldn’t feel so restrictive. “Are your eyes going to fall out of your head?”

“I need glasses,” Blaine laments.

Kurt blinks at him, then steps back and scoffs. “I left work early because you need glasses?!”

“Shit-I forgot what day it was.”

“I can’t skip out on rehearsal, Blaine. I can’t set a bad example for all the fresh-out-of-college extras.”

“I know.” Blaine groans. “I’m sorry. I was-I am freaking out, okay.”

“I got that from your text,” Kurt deadpans, but gets closer to him nonetheless, so they are standing shoulder to shoulder. His eyes survey the plethora of frames in front of them. “You need glasses?” The question sounds softer now, more emphatic.

“Bifocals,” Blaine corrects with a grimace. “I’m officially old.”

“I’m older than you.”

“And yet, you don’t need glasses.”

Kurt picks up a frame holds it up to the light, turning his hand to take it in from a different angle. “I take care of my eyes,” he says, not looking at Blaine. “I told you those exercises I do are important.” He tilts his head and passes Blaine a glance. “You should stretch your eyes, especially when you insist on reading in low light. Or, at least put on a lamp.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, but he’s not really listening. He’s focusing on the endless variety of frames in front of him and how they are all terrible and make him feel terrible.

“Hey.” Kurt places a hand on Blaine’s shoulder and holds him steady, rubbing his thumb in small circles. “Do you want my help?”

Tension is released from Blaine’s shoulders that Blaine wasn’t aware he was holding. He visibly exhales and hangs his head. “Yes.” He rolls his shoulders back and picks up one of the glasses frames he has been eyeing, putting them quickly over his ears. “What do you think of these?” Blaine asks as he turns away from the mirror and towards Kurt.

Kurt fights off a nose twitch and steps back. “Those are-“ He knows Blaine is going through it, and he’s trying to be polite-“Different.” A beat. “I don’t think they suit you.”

“You can say they look bad on me.”

Kurt exhales a sigh of relief. “They look bad on you,” he admits. “You look like a cartoon character,” he adds without thought.

Blaine laughs and puts the glasses back on the display, far away from his pile of maybes. He picks up another pair, puts them on, and turns towards Kurt. “Okay. And these?”

Kurt blinks at him. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.” He looks up. “You know, with the lighting and the glare.”

“I can get anti-glare lenses.”

“Yeah…” Kurt trails off.

Blaine takes off the glasses and puts them back with an amused hum.

“Look,” Kurt says. He starts going through Blaine’s pile and putting the ones back that he hates, not even asking Blaine to try them on. “You can get frames anywhere. It doesn’t have to be here. We can order a bunch online and try them on at home.”

“Yeah, but,” Blaine clears his throat and picks up a pair that Kurt hasn’t gotten to yet. He puts them on and says to his reflection, “If I don’t get them today, I feel like I won’t get them at all.”

Kurt watches Blaine in the mirror. There’s a moment where Kurt studies Blaine’s face, and then, he lets out a sigh. “Okay.” He steps forward and looks at the frames in front of him, only this time, he is actually looking at them. “Let’s do this then.”

Instantly, Kurt picks up a pair from the wall and hands them to Blaine by one of the ear pieces. “This one,” Kurt says, sounding so sure of himself. Blaine falls a little more in love with him. “This one is nice.”

Blaine swaps the pair he has on for Kurt’s selection. It’s different from the others he tried on, but they look okay, Blaine thinks- they aren’t prescription yet, so, like, he can’t be sure he doesn’t look stupid. “I like them.” Blaine means it when he says it, but he’s not entirely convinced that he can be someone that just…wears glasses. “Do you like them?”

Kurt nods. “I do. You look distinguished.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow and leans closer to the mirror. “You think?” He turns his face side to side. “Isn’t distinguished a nicer way to say old?”

“No, it’s something entirely different.” Kurt places both his hands on Blaine’s shoulders and gives them a little rub. “Distinguished is hot.” He pecks Blaine’s cheek, his lips against his stubble. “You look hot.”

Blaine feels the smile before he sees it. He straightens his posture a bit, and gives himself another look. “Okay, you’re right. I like them.” He turns to face Kurt on his heels, snaking his hands around his lower back. “Thank you.”

Kurt hums in response, a small smile spread across his face. He gives Blaine’s shoulders a squeeze and brings his lips down to meet Blaine’s. It’s mostly innocent-they are in public- but Kurt’s affection always gives Blaine a lingering, floaty feeling, and now that they have settled on a pair of glasses, Blaine’s mind is floating away along with his restraint to keep this kiss simple and chaste.

When Kurt pulls back, he takes a bit of Blaine’s heart with him. Blaine thinks he has a bit of Kurt’s heart too- if they were keeping score over all these years, Blaine thinks there’s an even split. “I love you, you know that right.” Kurt pulls the glasses down Blaine’s face by the nose bridge, letting them rest on the tip. “Bad eyesight and all.”

Blaine’s grinning like an idiot, but he doesn’t care. He pushes the frames back to realign them. “I love you too,” Blaine says. He glances back towards the receptionist, who waves them over, looking entertained. “We should pay for these. If you are serious about them.”

Kurt steps back and pulls the frames off of Blaine’s face. “I didn’t even look at the price,” he mumbles as they make their way towards the counter. In a couple weeks, they’ll have to come back once the lenses come in to get the frames fitted, but today, it feels like the glasses are already Blaine’s.

Then, Kurt lets out an unsettled, amused squeak as he eyes the price tag, and his cheeks pinken.

Blaine attempts to decipher the number, but Kurt holds the frames over Blaine’s head and passes them to the secretary, taking advantage of their slight height difference. “Don’t worry about it,” Kurt says, pulling out his wallet “My treat.”

“Kurt-“

“Blaine, if you knew how much they were,” he says as the woman swipes his card, “you wouldn’t get them.”

Blaine blinks. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Hey,” Kurt leans on the counter and Blaine’s eyes naturally follow the motion. “They make you happy. You like them. Let me get you something you like-I splurge on my own wardrobe often enough.” The receptionist hands Kurt’s card back, and Kurt grabs it between two fingers. “We can invest in something that you wear every day.”

“You make me happy,” Blaine corrects, watching as Kurt places the card back in his wallet. “I don’t need anything expensive.”

“Well, buying you this makes me happy.” Kurt hold’s Blaine’s forearm and gives it a squeeze. It’s like Kurt knows Blaine’s floating, and he’s prepared to anchor him. “Let me be happy.”

Blaine finds himself nodding because, really, there isn’t another option when Kurt is looking at him like that, with a fondness that seems intuitive, as natural as breathing. “Alright.” He’s smiling and presses a kiss to Kurt’s lips. It’s half teeth, but it’s perfect. “Let’s be happy together.”

A little later, as they shuffle around car seats to find space for Kurt’s impromptu clothing haul and throw away half-opened water bottles and their daughter’s forgotten candy wrappers, Blaine realizes that getting older isn’t so bad, as long as he can do it with Kurt.

Glasses have a way of letting you see things clearly.

[francesminos-tt]

Our actions, our regrets.

“What changed?” Daeron asked.

“Not your business, Uncle.” Joffrey snapped. Where did this boldness come suddenly? He had no idea. “What I want from you is obvious. The question is, what do you want from me?”

“Slow down, Dragon,” Daeron said. “I want to know. You looked like you wanted to punch me, and now you are here.”

Joffrey thought about telling Daeron everything, but why would he care? Daeron's family was one of the reasons for the disgrace of Joffrey's family. He never cared in all these years. “I decided my pride did not worth 300.000 dollars.”

“Get to the point. What can I do for you? Be mine, what does that mean? Do you wanna marry me?” Joffrey said. Daeron laughed humorlessly. He stopped and considered for a while.

“I want to fuck you. I want to have you.” Daeron said in a quiet voice.

“Fine. For how long?” Joffrey says through clenched teeth.

“A year.” “Half blood valerian, brown eyes, beautiful curls, nice body... Yes, a prostitute in your calibre would cost a thousand dollars a night. So, yes, roughly a year.”

Joffrey turned his gaze to the ground. He felt so humiliated and disgusted with himself.

"Look at me, nephew," said Daeron. Daeron dropped his hand to Joffrey's chest as their eyes met.

Daeron smiled. "I have two rules. Number one. Professional life and private life must be kept separate. Don't expect me to favor you because you're my nephew or my whore." He removed his hand from Joffrey's grip. "Rule number two: you don't disobey me."

Hi, anon! Following is my vision of their first time. Hope you enjoy it. It’s not betaed so I apologize for any mistakes!

When Joffrey stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a nightgown, he shivered from the cold. The air-conditioner in the penthouse was in full force, making the temperature so low that goosebumps began to creep up Joffrey’s arms.

Daeron was nowhere to be seen. Joffrey bit his lower lip, his fingers tightening around the metal collar in his hand. Daeron had instructed him to take a shower and put the collar on after Joffrey showed up in the penthouse. Joffrey looked over his shoulder, taking a final look at the pile of clothes he left in the bathroom, shabby sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Joffrey knew there would be no turning back if he put the collar on. His identity, his dignity, his pride, would all be taken from him. He would truly become Daeron’s whore.

Joffrey shivered again. He closed his eyes for a moment before walking towards the study, where he could hear some faint keyboard sound from.

Compared to Joffrey’s near nakedness, Daeron was dressed handsomely. He was in his usual business attire, crisply ironed button-down shirt, light purple tie that matched his eyes and a pair of dragon cufflinks. He looked up from his laptop and frowned at Joffrey’s appearance.

“I told you to put the collar on.” Daeron said coldly.

Joffrey clenched the collar, the pointed metal heads embedding in his palm.

“What’s the No.2 rule we’ve agreed on?” Daeron leaned back in his chair, “If you are not willing to cooperate, I will have to deduct your payment today. Say, 100 dollars off.”

“It’s not fair!” Joffrey spoke for the first time tonight.

“200.” Daeron sneered, “One more word and it’s 300. Now put the collar on and get to work, Joffrey. The money won’t come by itself.”

Joffrey had no choice but to obey. He put the black leather around his neck clumsily, the sharp metal cutting open his finger, leaving a small red stain on the collar.

“Come.” Daeron let Joffrey settle between his legs as he cupped the brunette’s face in his palm, “Now, tell me, have you sucked cock before?”

Joffrey shook his head.

“Well, you will tonight.” Daeron pushed Joffrey’s face to his crotch, “Be good and warm my cock with your mouth when I am attending a conference call.”

A musky scent invaded Joffrey’s nostril. He was not lying; he had never sucked another man’s cock. Why would he? He was no whore. With trembling hands, Joffrey unzipped Daeron’s pants, taking out the blonde’s soft cock.

Daeron’s cock showed no sign of arousal, as if a naked Joffrey between his legs was not enough to arouse Daeron’s interest. Joffrey swallowed as he gently stroked Daeron’s cock a few times before taking it into his mouth.

Joffrey didn’t dare to suck immediately. He took some time to get used to the feeling of cock in his mouth, the softness of its tip brushing against the back of his throat. Daeron’s cock tasted like fresh shower gel and salty sweat. Joffrey had no idea what to do, so he just took a wild guess and ran his tongue over the tip of Daeron’s cock. That was what he would have liked if he was the one being blown.

Daeron said something to the headphone, something about a mis-calculated number in the cash flow statement. His voice was so calm that no one would have guessed that Daeron was having his cock sucked. Daeron kept one his hand on the back of Joffrey’s head, threading his fingers in the thick curls, scratching, tugging and rubbing, playing with Joffrey’s hair as if he was playing with a puppy.

Joffrey had no idea how much time had passed. He forced himself to concentrate on sucking, the only way to keep his mind present. He kept telling himself that he was no longer Joffrey, just a warm hole for Daeron’s cock.

“Enough.” Daeron ended the conference call and pushed Joffrey away, “You are a shit cock sucker, Joff. I am disappointed.”

Joffrey landed on his butt. He kept his head down, too ashamed to look up. He had made a fool of himself. His jaw was covered in drool and pre-cum, his lips swollen and his cheeks sore from all the sucking. Daeron’s cock dangled between his legs, half-hard and covered in Joffrey’s saliva.

“Speak.” Daeron demanded as he pulled Joffrey’s collar, forcing the brunette to look at him in the eye, “I didn’t hire a mute, did I?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear me.” Joffrey replied, shameful tears threatening to slide down his cheek, “You said you would deduct 300 dollars from my payment if I said one more word.”

Daeron’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent for a moment.

“Playing smart, are you?” Daeron pulled Joffrey up by his collar, before pinning the brunette on the pristine working desk, “Your mouth is hopeless. Let’s see if your other hole would be better.”

Joffrey let out a surprised squeal as Daeron flipped him over, spread his legs and pushed one finger in without warning. Joffrey’s breath caught from the sudden intrusion. Even though he had prepared himself as best as he could, the pain and the humiliation made him tremble miserably.

“You are loose.” Daeron observed, “Did you prepare yourself?”

“Y-yes.” Joffrey chocked, his legs shaking, the tears finally breaking free.

“How? Tell me.” Daeron pushed in another finger and began to scissor, his other hand pulling Joffrey’s collar, suffocating the poor brunette.

“I-in the shower, with my fingers,” Joffrey struggled to voice his words because the collar had become too tight around his neck, “a-and lube.”

Daeon laughed as he nibbled Joffrey’s pink ear. He soon replaced his fingers with his cock, finally in full arousal. Joffrey’s tears excited him, filling him with the satisfaction that he had conquered a strong-willed warrior.

“This hole is not too bad.” Daeron said before beginning to thrust.

Joffrey screamed in pain as his hole was stretched to its limit, Daeron’s cock invading him mercilessly, opening him up like an explorer discovering a new land. No matter how well he had prepared himself, it was still not enough. Daeron was too cruel, too demanding, too merciless that Joffrey wished he had never agreed to such arrangements.

Daeron kept fucking him with passion. Joffrey could do nothing but whine, submitting himself to Daeron completely. Joffrey heard some rustling sound before feeling something thin pressed on his back.

Joffrey tried to look back, but Daeron wouldn’t allow him. Fortunately, the pressure was gone as quickly as it had appeared. A piece of paper was pushed into Joffrey’s blurred vision.

“Here. Your check, Joffrey. Take it.”

Take it? How? Joffrey’s arms were twisted back, so he couldn’t use his hands. The only thing he could now was his mouth, still wet and swollen from the blow session. Joffrey realized soon enough that Daeron meant for him to take the check with his mouth.

Joffrey obeyed. He took the check between his teeth, careful not to stain it with the overflowing saliva.

“Good boy.” Daeron whispered in his ear.

[j-a-nuary]

Carrier

Almost Normal

<< first | previous | masterlist | next >>

Stray Kids Urban fantasy AU (feat. Ateez from time to time) | A “carrier service” exists, seemingly only to get people (usually women) home safe after the trains stop running.

Heavy on bad boys with hearts of… some kind of shiny metal, probably.

Warnings: nothing too wild in this chapter. Some medical-ish stuff (wound description), Vasilisa is ornery with Hyunjin.

=====

"There you are! Goodness,” Tempawan's coworker, Sunmi, openly gawked at her neck, "what on earth happened to you?"

Tempawan grimaced.

"It's going to sound crazy."

Sunmi gave her a sarcastic look, "it already looks crazy."

She wasn't wrong. The bite mark on her shoulder was being stubborn. Despite a lack of infection, it was refusing to simply scab over and get on with healing. While she wasn't actively bleeding anymore, it was still gross - a disgusting raw mess that was always slightly moist. So Tempawan was left with packing gauze onto it, holding it in place with ribbon-like medical tape.

"Fair enough," Tempawan sighed, "I got attacked by a dog."

Sunmi's eyes widened in shock.

"How on earth? What happened?"

"I don't really remember," Tempawan shrugged, "I went out on Wednesday night and then… woke up in a hospital room on Thursday."

"Jeezy creezy," Sunmi muttered, "well, director Kang was looking for you yesterday."

"I think this," she gestured towards the bandage that was visible under the edge of her collar, "will give me an excuse for missing a day or two of work."

"Not really his job," Sunmi shrugged, then looked a little embarrassed.

"Can," she gave Tempawan a secretive smile, "can I see?"

Tempawan rolled her eyes, but leaned forward to indulge her friend. She winced slightly as she peeled back a strip of tape, "I'll warn you, it's kind of gross."

With an encouraging nod from Sunmi, she shook her head and slowly revealed the glossy puncture marks.

Sunmi gasped, physically recoiling.

"Holy…"

"Yeah," Tempawan pulled her foundation cushion out of her bag. She flipped it open, using the mirror to check the wound. "Like I said: gross."

"No kidding. Does it still hurt?"

"Not really," she started re-securing her bandage, "but that's only because the doctor gave me some medicine. It's worse when I sleep."

Satisfied with her gauze placement, Tempawan clicked shut the compact. She quickly readjusted her top so it didn't tug against the patch.

"Well," she stood, resigning herself to her fate, "I guess I should go see the director. If you don’t hear from me, I've been fired and you should come get me from the bar."

=====

"Director Kang?"

She cautiously peeked around the door to the director's office. Everyone knew that if it was propped open, they were free to enter. But she didn't particularly want to enter. Even though her absence was undeniably excusable, even with the proof still leaking into bandages on her neck, she was convinced she was going to be in trouble.

"Is that you Miss Shim?"

Kang Seungyoon didn't look up from his computer. His fingers were flying across his keyboard with an urgency that Tempawan recognized as just gotta finish this email.

"Yes sir."

He vaguely nodded towards the seat in front of his desk, eyes still glued to his screen, "take a seat. This will just be a second."

Tempawan stiffly dipped into the chair. It was probably comfortable when you weren't nervous, but she was trying to be on her best behavior.

The room was silent, save for the muted taps of the director's fingers on his keyboard. Finally, the tap-tap-tap was punctuated by a click from the mouse.

"Alright," he leaned his head back, rolling his neck and shoulders, "sorry about that. It was somewhat urgent."

"Not a problem sir."

"Now then, I wanted to che-"

Tempawan’s eyes had strayed to her own fingers as she waited, but the abrupt way the director cut off his own words alerted her to the fact that he must have finally looked at her.

Like so many things that one would hope others wouldn't notice, the bandage on her neck appeared exigent. Well, perhaps not the bandage itself. The accompanying bruising however seemed to trigger empathy, even in strangers… such as the barista that handed her coffee over this morning.

Director Kang's reaction did not inspire her to meet his gaze, but she couldn't so blatantly avoid it without coming across as rude. Or would he go easier on her if she played up the "traumatizing event" angle?

Her decision was made for her when she heard the unmistakable sounds of the director standing up and moving.

She looked up and saw him cross the office to open the door.

"Come. We'll have the clinic staff take a look at it."

He stood by the door expectantly.

Tempawan hesitated. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she was gripped with the idea that she might get pulled from the trial. And if she got pulled, that probably meant that Dhia would get pulled as well. And if Dhia got pulled, she'd have to start over with a new fertility clinic. One that she'd have to pay for, rather than getting paid by.

"Miss Shim?"

She shook her head, finally standing up.

"Sorry," she bowed quickly, "I got a little lost in thought."

Director Kang took a step back into the office, letting the door close again.

"Is there an issue?"

He sounded sincere. As sincere as a professional could, anyway. He even looked sincere - a faint frown creasing his brow, but not reaching much further than that.

"It's just…" Tempawan licked her lips nervously, "it won't impact my eligibility, will it?"

The director's face relaxed slightly. He even allowed himself a small smile.

"You don't have to worry about that," he reassured her. "I just want to make sure my team's health is properly looked after."

=====

Working for a multinational corporation definitely had benefits. Working for one that was aggressively expanding its medical research divisions had even more.

Tempawan shivered slightly as a cool gel was applied to her wound. After a few minutes, the dull ache was nearly gone.

“This isn’t anything addictive, is it?”

“Not chemically or physically,” the clinician assured her, “just in the way that, say, your favorite food might be addictive.”

Tempawan frowned, trying to parse that sentence before deciding to be straightforward.

“So it’s not an opioid?”

The clinician laughed, shaking her head.

“Absolutely not. Regardless of addiction concerns, opiates aren’t nearly as effective as they’ve been advertised to be.” She shook her head, “they’re more effective at making patients lose lucidity than actually stopping pain.”

“Oh,” Tempawan nodded, not entirely sure if that was true or not. “Then what is this?”

“Marketing is still working on a name for it. We just call it The Slime,” the clinician laughed.

“I’m assuming since you’re laughing that everything is okay?” Director Kang asked from behind the privacy curtain.

The clinician shot Tempawan a smile that landed somewhere between embarrassed and conspiratorial. They had both forgotten the man behind the curtain.

"I think everything is all set," she spoke in a more professional tone now, "the hospital you went to did a good job."

=====

"Not to sound like some sort of drug dealer," Vasilisa hummed, "but I'm assuming if your ending your business with me that you've found a new supplier."

The witch stood over an electric rice cooker. Her familiar, a chubby fuzzy thing, was handing her vegetables to chop. Hyunjin nodded, before remembering that she had her back turned and starting to speak.

"Ye-"

"I see."

He hated it when they did that. He didn't know for sure, but he was pretty sure that the witch could see through her familiar's eyes. Or maybe they were connected telepathically. Either way, he hated it.

"It's not some shady donor scheme, is it?" She kept her back to him. The round rodent moved aside, scrabbling the unused ends of vegetable into the sink as the witch started on some cut of meat.

"No ma'am," Hyunjin murmured. "It's… ah…"

He paused, realizing that he didn't actually know where Chan and his company obtained their blood.

"It's a…?" Vasilisa prompted him to continue.

"It's through my new job."

The witch huffed slightly, but still didn't turn to face him. An uncomfortable silence fell as she worked the extraneous fat off the hunk of meat.

After plopping all of the ingredients into the rice cooker, she finally spoke again.

"That sounds like something one of those trafficking rings would say."

Hyunjin frowned. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that he didn't actually know what Bang Chan's source was.

"I don't think they'd do that. Their business seems to be somewhat based on keeping people safe."

He watched her hands go still. Her fingers twitched, the motion mimicked by her familiar. Were they talking - thinking? - about him?

Vasilisa turned on her heel, fixing a hard look on Hyunjin.

"Bang Chan isn't trying to use you due to your…" her nose crinkled in distaste, "past hobbies, is he?"

Hyunjin shook his head quickly.

"No ma'am," he protested, "Chan doesn't even know about what I am- I mean was! What I was."

Something moving faster than you is scary enough for humans.

For vampires, it's downright terrifying.

Before he could even finish blinking, Vasilisa's ladle was under his chin. He resisted the urge to gulp down his nerves.

"That's right Jinnie. Was. Because we know better than to mess with that shit again," she tapped the ladle against his chin, firm, "right?"

He managed a jerky nod. It earned him another tap.

"Right, Jinnie?"

This time, he forced words out.

"Yes ma'am."