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chronic-ghost · 9 months

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Chapter 7 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 13903

chapter summary: Promotion for the film begins and Chloe comes back to him … again, this time with a request that comes maybe a little too late. Two questions are asked that alter the course of his life forever.

chapter warnings/tags: darker themes, drug-coerced physical aggression (nothing graphic, but a little more intense that in prior chapters), rough sex, casual drug use

a/n: It has to get worse before it gets better . . .

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ScreenGrab

August, 3rd

13:16:29 PICTURE UP, BEGIN B-ROLL:

CUT TO:

Focuses and unfocuses on DIETER BRAVO as he thumbs through his phone. Someone next to him out of frame says something to him and he laughs. The camera pans out to include NATALIE LORRAINE in the shot. They both sit in black director chairs.

She mutters something else and strokes a strand of hair off his forehead. The movement is gentle, intimate. His look to her verges on adoration.

He mouths, thank you.

CUT TO BLACK

13:18:01

CUT TO: INTERVIEW WITH DIETER BRAVO AND NATALIE LORRAINE

INTERVIEWER: So tell me, why did you sign onto this project?

DIETER BRAVO: I’d worked with Heidi Morgan in the past and when she approached me with this, I was really taken by the story and Heidi’s direction. There was a lot to work with and I really felt a solid connection to Ben’s character arc.

INTERVIEWER: Because of your past with drug abuse?

DB: Sure. You could say that.

NATALIE LORRAINE: You told me you liked the role because you got to play the guitar again.

DB: When they’d let me. But yeah, that was also a big factor. I got to walk around my trailer, strumming my guitar. Too bad for everyone else it wasn’t soundproof.

INTERVIEWER: What about you, Natalie?

NATALIE LORRAINE: My past history of drug abuse or my guitar? Oh, you mean the role. Yeah, I wanted a challenge and felt like Taylor’s struggle to balance stardom and her own past was something I could do a lot with.

DB: You just liked the flowy, sheer dresses.

NL: You are welcome to borrow mine. They’ll change your life.

INTERVIEWER: What was it like working with someone you’d never met before in such an intense role? Natalie, you first this time.

NL: Oh, um . . . it was great. Dieter is a great scene partner, one of the best. He made me feel very, um, comfortable. I’ve never had a role like this before and he made the experience truly memorable. I can’t ever thank him enough.

INTERVIEWER: That’s a lot of high praise.

NL: He deserves it.

INTERVIEWER: And you, Dieter, what was it like working with someone so much younger than you?

DB: Ah, wow, way to cut deep there. But, uh, Natalie is one of a kind. She made me feel . . . really good, about the role. I think my life has been made better by knowing her.

NL: Aw. You sap.

INTERVIEWER: The rumors say that early on in shooting you two didn’t like each other. Is that true?

DB: Rumors are always exaggerated, but, uh, yeah, early on, we had some, um, creative differences.

INTERVIEWER: How did you overcome them?

NL: Same way anyone else does, I guess. Just . . . talked it out.

INTERVIEWER: My time is almost up, so I gotta ask, is this real?

DB: What do you mean?

INTERVIEWER: The chemistry between you two is palpable. Are you two secretly hooking up?

NL: No. Why would you ask that?

DB: I’m married.

NL: He’s married.

INTERVIEWER: Ah, well, had to try. Thanks for your time.

Movie Burn

August, 3rd

15:20:45

INTERVIEWER: Did you have any concerns about backsliding, Dieter, after coming out of rehab so quickly?

DB: No.

INTERVIEWER: Are you guys secretly dating?

DB/NL: NO.

Chatter Media

August, 3rd

17:17:21

INTERVIEWER: Natalie, what was your workout regimen for this film?

NL: Adderall and American Spirits.

INTERVIEWER: Really? You look so hot.

NL: Thanks. I crushed up the pills into my green enema smoothie every morning.

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with Dieter?

NL: No.

INTERVIEWER: Are you sleeping with anyone? Got any secret boyfriends?

NL: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Oh, really? Can you tell me who?

NL: No.

JemJem News

August, 4th

08:38:01

INTERVIEWER: Have you ever kissed outside of filming?

DB: No.

INTERVIEWER: Ever thought about it?

NL: Could have kissed him when he brought me a water bottle today.

INTERVIEWER: Did you?

NL: No.

Bra$h Talk

August, 4th

10:21:23

CUT TO:

*Off-screen* INTERVIEWER: So, you don’t know where they are?

CAMERA focuses on Mark Bronson. His hands fidget with a water bottle. He’s looking over the sight-line of the camera.

MARK BRONSON: No. I don’t know. They were here earlier.

INTERVIEWER: Do you have his number? Or –

*unintelligible*

CUT TO:

MARK BRONSON: I’m calling, but she’s not picking up.

INTERVIEWER: Shit.

PRODUCER: Alright. Take five. Sorry, Mr. Bronson. Give us a second.

MB: No problem. I–

CUT OFF.

He breathes in, the powder tickling the inside of his nose, the back of his brain. Burning, like a fire ant bite. The porcelain of the toilet lid is cold against the tip of his nose, his palm. It always makes him a bit dizzy, that first one. He leans back, against the wall, careful to avoid the silver railing, rubbing his nose, and catches your eyes over the rim of the seat.

Cold tile, stale air. Fluorescent lighting. This public hotel bathroom is not anything like the cottage in New Orleans. But it’ll have to do. You’re the only warm thing in the room. He stretches out his leg to knock his boot against your thigh. You glance at it briefly before inhaling the coke on the lid.

“Why do they give you all the good questions, huh?” You glower, voice rough.

“Oh, you mean the ones about my stint in rehab or my arrest?”

“Okay, that’s, like, a third of the time. Most of my questions are about my ass or tits.”

Dieter smirks. “Can you blame them, baby?.”

“And if one more of those shits ask me if I’m fucking you,” you narrow your eyes at him, “I’m taking my Starbucks cup and shoving it up their asses.”

“But you are. A lot and often.” He bends around the toilet and takes your ankle in his hand. He smooths his palm up to the back of your knee, then back down. He never wants to stop touching you. You are so warm.

“Maybe not enough,” you smirk at him, familiar enough with his every little tell to know that he’s half-hard already.

The bite in his brain has turned to a simmer, greasy bits crackling in the fire. He tugs on your ankle, pulling you around until you’re in his lap. He settles back against the hotel bathroom wall, smiling, and cups your cheek, rings knocking against your jaw bone. Your arms fold across the back of his shoulders as your nose turns into his.

“You’ll get some good questions, eventually.”

“Yeah, when? How?”

“Just stop being a woman with fantastic tits.”

“Dieter!”

He chuckles and softly bites your jaw. You giggle and squirm, and he lets go, dropping his head back against the tile. He’s quiet. Thinking.

“How did I ever get through these things without you?” He hums, eyes closing and opening slowly. You smell like lilac and cigarettes.

“You didn’t have to split your coke, for one.” You mutter, playfully, and he pinches your chin.

“That’s not what I meant.”

The hand at his shoulder crawls up into his hair.

“I know, Dieter. I know.”

He tilts your head down as you press his up and that brush of connection, his mouth folding over yours– it sparks something in his chest. You were wrong. He didn’t need the coke if he had you. You make his skin buzz. You spin his brain around and around until he’s dizzy. He feels awake when you’re underneath him.

Everything seemed like it had been shifted slightly to the left, since coming back. Everything was the same but nothing at all. He worries it is too plainly written across his face. He worries that the media vultures will see it, that Mark or Heidi would see it too. He worries that you will catch him staring and hate what you see in his eyes.

The longer he is with you, the more real the shared “pocket universe” feels, the one you shared with him. That this is where he was meant to be and everything before New Orleans was someone else’s life. With you, he isn’t exactly Dieter Bravo but he isn’t himself either. Maybe that was partially because being high off and on for two weeks straight tends to cause feelings of disassociation, but it’s more than that.

The longer he is around you, he knows he’s building his own funeral pyre higher and higher. But the farther he feels from the ashes of his life, the more he wants you. So, Dieter did what Dieter always does: he follows what feels right.

He pulls back, that ache, that need, to bury himself in you already stretching in his gut, but he has to say this. You have to know.

“Move in with me.”

You still. You become immobile, trapped in amber, with your hands still in his hair. You’ve never been meek, never will be, but somehow you’ve shrunk.

“What did you say?”

His chest surges with affection. This feels right, so it has to be. But he knows you’ll run if you think he’s fucking with you. He wants to cradle you to his chest but he has to wait for the air raid sirens to stop ringing in your ears.

“You heard me,” he says softly. He ducks his head to lift your gaze and you follow. There’s fear in your eyes. He thumbs the hinge of your jaw. “I want you to move in with me.”

There’s much more malice in your voice than betrayed by your eyes. You sit back, away from him, on his knees, not his lap. “Move into your house with you? The same one you share with your wife?”

“No.”

Your mouth twists and panic gets the better of you. You stand up from him and haul yourself across the small bathroom, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “So you want me to be just your dirty secret? In some sleazy apartment up town? A kept fucking woman–,”

“No.” He isn’t going to be patient with you when you’re like this. He overwhelms you in two steps– takes your jaw in his hand and again you stiffen, lips pulled into a snarl like a cornered street cat. He wraps his other hand around your wrist as if to preemptively keep you from scratching him. “Stop talking like that. Just tell me– do you want me?”

Not, do you want to live with me?

Not, do you want a relationship with me?

Not, do you want me to leave my wife for you?

Do you want me?

He doesn’t realize it but the coke is ratcheting up those dark, fringe feelings– his obsession for you, his possessiveness, his near-delirium that he cannot simply have all of you. His hand around your wrist tightens. You try and yank your jaw from his grasp, but he holds on tighter, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Do you want me?” He hisses.

You want to snap at him, to yell – does he understand what he’s asking of you – but you’re sleep deprived, coked out, and increasingly raw around him. The unexpected wave of emotion, of unchecked vulnerability, is surprising as it is powerful. Your knees shake.

Did you want him?

Did you want to breathe?

Did you want to sleep at night?

Did you want to eat food, to feel nourished and full?

Did you want to be happy?

Your bottom lip trembles.

“Dieter–,”

“Just say yes.” His grip leaves your wrist and tenses around your waist. His eyelids hover half-closed as he presses you harshly up against the door. It’s the only bare wall that doesn’t have a metal safety bar around the edges. You feel as though you’re being dragged beneath the waves by a hurricane. “Just say you want me. Tell me you don’t want to fuck anyone else—,”

His teeth bite into your neck, as if to suck the words directly from your blood. Your touch is like electricity everywhere on his skin and any semblance of thought is slowly squeezed from his brain as his grip turns rougher and rougher. When his lips find yours, they’re still pulled back into a snarl.

His deft fingers are tugging your shirt out of your waistband, as your hands slip to his belt, his zipper. One more time, he thinks, one more fuck and then there’ll be some clarity.

“Say it, Natalie,” he growls and bites your earlobe not at all gently. You gasp and the noise has his cock straining against his pants. His hand rises and slides around your throat. “Say it before I take it from you.”

“Dieter, I want–,” your voice is high-pitch, yearning, and a bit of him breaks off like an ice pick tearing up glass shards. Snik. Snik. Splinters.

His fingers around your throat tighten. Your flesh gives beneath his touch and you sputter and squirm beneath him.

“Yeah? Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He’s not asking nicely, he’s begging. How do I keep you? How do I stop you from leaving me? He’s frantic about it.

Fuck, he took too much coke and now he’s emotional. Bleeding. Vacillating between rational and irrational. Wavering. He wants so much. Too much. It’s the coke and it’s making him want to eat you.

He yanks you up into his arms, your skirt up around your waist and you gasp, the enormity of what he feels for you pressing down into you. The door shudders as he holds you against it. His warm cock wedges itself against your stomach and your thigh.

“Baby, please, tell me– I need to know–,”

He’s worried. God, he’s so worried. He buries his face in your chest.

You groan, strained and overwhelmed. There might be tears in your eyes.

“Yes, Dieter, I want you. I want you so fucking badly I can’t breathe right.”

The groan he makes is one of relief and he’s not even inside of you.

“But, please, please, fuck me, Dieter. I need to— you have to–,”

Fighting with the fabric of your skirt, you pull your underwear to the side. He drags his hips forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. It’s wet and warm and he thinks his heart is going to beat out of his chest.

“You’re gonna stay, right? You’re gonna be with me, after this?” He’s already out of breath, out of his mind. You nod and he thinks he might cry.

“I’ll stay.” You swallow, your eyes closed, head against the wooden door. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

One arm wrapped around your low back, and the other holding the both of you against the door, he slides up, breaching you – “fuck, fuck, fuck–,” “I know, baby, I know–,” all the way to the very end of you in a single, hot stroke. The moan you share is harsh, ragged, pained with the force of it. He feels the sound in his chest, your own pressed up against his. You knock your head back against the door, mouth open, as if awestruck that it could feel this good.

Your knees hitched around his waist pull him closer. “I gotta– I want– more–,”

“Baby–,” his nose turns your mouth to him and he open-mouth kisses you, tongue licking the inside of your mouth. His hands hitch you higher, cupping your hips to take even more of him, and he starts fucking you.

That’s what this is. A good, hard, mean fuck.

The door rattles behind you and thankfully is already locked. His thrusts are deep, fast, hips punching into yours.

“I wanna look. I wanna watch me fuck you.” He murmurs in your neck. Your eyes are closed, mouth twisted in pleasure, as you scratch his back to hold on. “But I don’t wanna drop you.”

He wants to brand your chest with his own.

He shouldn’t be fucking you in a public hotel bathroom, he knows, but New Orleans is gone. The light, and the white bed, and the paint, all gone. You are caught in between universes, in between realms, between what is and what should be. He doesn’t want to be here, in this one, if it means he can’t have you. If he has to go back to whatever his life was before you. This can’t be the end.

Your moans climb higher and higher, your cunt fluttering around him. He knows he should clap a hand over your mouth, but the sounds you make dig under his skin, claw at his blood. They make him feel so good. So wanted.

“Dieter, you’re so deep. You’re going to bruise me.”

“Your little pussy likes it when I’m mean to her–,” he shifts his pelvis, adjusting you against the door, and grinds so hard, the tip of his cock brushes against something that has you mewling.

He wants the leverage of the floor, to hold himself over you, to watch as he splits you apart. But the airlessness, the proximity to you, to that fucked-out look in your eyes, he can’t part with it.

He doesn’t know how to make love. It’s been too long since he’s tried, unable to conjure the memories or the feeling to do it. He only knows frantic clawing, hot skin. But he wants to learn, for you. He doesn't know how to verbalize it, but he needs you to know.

He turns his face from the cup between your neck and shoulder, into your cheek and catches your gaze. You lock eyes and he nearly comes right then and there.

Maybe you already do, know.

“It’s good, Dieter,” you murmur, eyes glassy and cheeks red, “it’s so good.”

It’s too much. Your cunt is sucking him in, shuddering around him as he pounds up into you. Your whimpers are rubbing his nerve endings raw. He has to come before he burns up. He bites into your shoulder and you wail.

He lets go, whining– hot spurts filling your insides and his cock throbs, you moan at the sensation, the warmth, and he’s still coming as your cunt contracts, wavering, and then his hips and thighs are soaked in you.

He wants to fold you into his ribs but instead, presses warm, wet kisses to your cheek, your flushed neck, and then your nose and forehead. Instead of pulling away, setting you down, he pulls you closer, flush against him. He can feel your thighs trembling around him, every breath ragged and heavy.

He’s shaking too.

“Natalie, I–,”

“We should get back.” You won’t look him in the eyes all of a sudden and that hurts, stings something very soft inside of him. He nods, but gives you one more kiss against the plush of your lips, his hand cradling your head, before he slowly, carefully, extracts himself and pulls his softening cock out of you.

“That’s always the worst part,” you groan, face twisted.

He wants you to say, that’s always the worst part– when you leave me.

“Hurts me too,” he mutters quietly as he slowly lowers you to the ground. You wobble, but your grip on his shoulders holds you up right. He lets go of you long enough to take some paper towels from the dispenser and he offers them to you.

Your eyes are soft as you wipe yourself clean from his sticky cum. “Thanks.”

You toss away the used paper as he turns back to the last bits of coke on the toilet. He gathers as much of it as he can and rubs it on his gums. You’re watching him through the mirror as he wipes off the rest and rubs his hands on his jeans.

“Oh, sorry, did you want any?”

You shake your head, a smile in your eyes not on your lips.

“What?”

You reach out to him and as though magnetized, he comes to you, hand sliding around your waist and the other cupping the back of your neck.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” You say, your fingertips rimming his collar. “What you asked before . . . it’s a lot. But I’ll think about it.”

He nods, heart pounding in his chest. How is he going to make it through three more days of this with you? How can he keep away from you now?

“Take your time. But, uh, don’t take too long.”

You nod up at him, bright eyes twinkling, and he bends and kisses you again. It’s brief, subtle, but it makes his ribs expand all the same.

Your hand goes and unlocks the door. “Gimme one second. Gotta check if the coast is clear.”

He lets you go, and you stick your head through the small crack between the door and the wall. Satisfied that you weren’t about to be tackled by reporters from The Rolling Stone, you wink at him and disappear around the corner.

You can’t touch her out there. Only here. In the dark.

He follows you and is hit in the face with a painful, bright light from the sun’s reflection on the marble floor. His eyes watering, he walks forward, towards the shadow, the silhouette he presumes is you.

The lobby is full of people and sounds. No one seems to have heard a single thing, haven’t got a single clue about what just went on in the very public bathroom. His eyes adjust and there you are, in the center of the hustle. You aren’t moving.

“C’mon, we’ve got to get back to the–,”

“Dieter?”

It’s not you asking.

It’s her.

He’d know that voice anywhere, even if he felt like it belonged to a version of himself he had long since abandoned.

Guests and hotel employees and camera crews weave around the three of you.

She wasn’t supposed to come back.

Her hair is as straight as her posture, eyes hidden behind round, thick sunglasses. Her cream, wide-brimmed hat matches her pantsuit, with gold accents. In a word, she is stunning. The ideal movie star wife.

His heart lurches. He half-expects for it to tear out of his chest and slump along the floor like a dying rat, blood splattering on the nice white marble.

“Dieter, how are you?” Chloe doesn’t take off her glasses to address him. She hasn’t seen you yet, he supposes.

“I-I’m,” he tries to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth, “I’m fine. Good. What are you doing here?”

It’s more accusatory than he means for it to be, but his heart is still pounding in his chest, an after-effect of fucking you.

Behind his wife, the revolving door to the hotel glitters in the slanted gold evening light as children play with it, around adults trying to get through. It makes him think of the time his mother took him to the Coney Island pier and put him on the merry-go-round. He was six and nervous because she’d be out of his sight for a minute each time the carousel turned.

“I’ll be right here waiting,” she said with a smile. “I’ll always come back for you. It’s a promise.”

Why he is thinking of that memory right now is beyond comprehension so he blinks, trying to claw his way through the mounting agitation.

His tone makes Chloe stand up straighter.

“We need to talk, Dieter. About our marriage.”

There’s a gurgling sound, something smothered and choked, behind him and her immaculate face turns over his shoulder.

You’re pale. You’re pale and afraid and he’s ruined you.

“Hello,” Chloe says smoothly. “Do you know Dieter or are you a fan?”

You blink as though she had slapped you. “A fan–?”

“Chloe, this is m-my co-star, Natalie Lorraine. We’re, uh, meant to be at a press junket right now. We got a break . . . and went to get something to eat.”

“Was it good?”

He nearly snaps his neck in half looking back at her. She still hasn’t moved an inch, only her head, her hands clasped neatly across her lap.

“What?”

“Was the food good?” She asks. “You both look a bit ill.”

“No. Food was terrible. I recommend you avoid it.” As though you had been possessed by the ghost of formality itself, face lit with a brilliant smile, you step forward, hand outstretched.

Chloe takes it after a moment and you shake. Dieter has to fight the urge to break your hands apart.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Chloe. I think we just missed each other at the party at Scott’s house.”

She tenses, but not at you. “Yes, well, that was a very busy night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

It’s scary, your face. How serene and calm you are.

“I love this blouse,” you say, gently tugging on the cream silk. “It’s gorgeous on you.”

Chloe smiles genuinely and Dieter’s heart withers to his stomach. “Thanks. It was a gift from my father.”

“The artist, right? Dieter’s told me so much about you. Told all of us. Can’t get him to shut up about it, really.”

Your eyes graze him with the sharpness of a glinting scalpel before smiling back at Chloe.

Her own is stiff. “That’s what I keep hearing.”

Why are you still talking to her? Why are you still here?

“Are you going to be in town lo–,”

“Natalie, we need to get back to the press.” He wants to haul you over his shoulder. “We’ve delayed them enough as it is.”

“Oh, c’mon, Dieter, they can wait a few more minutes. Your wife–,”

“Let’s go—,”

Chloe’s shoulders are taught. Stretched thin.

“I came here to talk, Dieter. When can we do that?”

“Yeah, you should make your wife a priority, Dieter.”

He’s losing his grip on everything. You stand by Chloe as if you were sisters. His gaze leaps to her.

“An hour. Alright? Can you wait an hour? I have to tell them something.”

“Or you can just go now. I’ll tell them an emergency’s come up.” You walk past him and pat him on the chest. He thinks your nails sting him for a second. “Nothing should come between you and the woman you love.”

He wants to take you by the wrists. “Natalie–,”

But you slide around him, waving to Chloe as you go. “Wonderful to meet you.”

You are swallowed up into the crowd of the lobby. No, no, no, no–

“Dieter.” She calls him back. “I have to check in, so you can have an hour.”

“Thank you.”

And he’s weaving into the crowd after you.

He’s shaking when he bursts through the adjacent private hotel room, meant for refreshments and make-up touch ups.

It’s not a panic attack, not yet, but something is mounting in him. It’s clawing up his throat, its talons razor sharp and an inch deep. His throat burns as if he had thrown up – did he? Maybe he did? – but he’s not thinking clearly. None of this feels right.

He’ll come up with some excuse to tell her why he suddenly vanished, but if he doesn’t wrangle back some control, he feels like he’s moments away from walking straight into traffic.

He doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to get out.

But half of the cast of his very successful movie is just on the other side of this room, along with cameras and recording phones that would just love to get a glimpse of the Old Dieter. The barely-holding-on Dieter. The fucked up one.

Your compact mirror clatters as it falls from his hand onto the bathroom counter. He flips open the secret compartment in the back and is suddenly overwhelmed by the decisions. It feels like there’s a tornado siren going off in his head.

Are yellows uppers or downers? What did you say about the red ones? No, it’s the one with the T on the back that are uppers. No, wait, it’s –

He hears the door open behind him, the sharp light from the window catching on the door handle and sparking in the mirror in front of him.

Fuck it. He grabs three of the ones he thinks are right and throws them into the back of his throat and swallows so hard, his teeth grind together.

“Dieter?” It’s Mark and his gut turns over. “What are you doing–,”

There’s no point in hiding it. He knows Mark saw the open compact of unidentifiable pills.

So much for that fucking drink among friends.

Dieter unhurriedly shuts the compact and slides it into his pocket. He can’t turn around but instead stills himself for an argument, an accusation, a reaming he really deserves, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Mark is just . . . shocked.

“I really didn’t think that. . .” His mouth closes, as if words have failed him. “But she was right. Chloe was right. You are using again.”

It’s not a question or an accusation. It’s just . . . reality.

He has them all ready. The lies he tells himself –

I’ve got it under control

I can stop when I want

This isn’t a relapse

– but for some reason, he can’t say them outloud. Each time he tries, the words stick themselves against his throat. He can see Mark’s expression devolving into anger over his shoulder in the mirror the longer his words remain, unanswered, unchallenged. He would love it for Mark to hit him.

“I don’t get you, man. I don’t.” Mark shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. “Everything was going so fuckin’ well. Why are you throwing it all away now? Why didn’t you come to me? Or Heidi? We could have helped you.”

Dieter shrugs. Something goes dark in Mark’s eyes.

The sun shifts and the light is now permanently blinding his eyes. He closes them and steps out of the bathroom. He swears he can hear the tune of the carousel, the jingle – something starting to give him a headache. Grunting softly, he presses a thumb to the inner corner of his eye.

I’ll always come back for you

“Have you told Chloe?”

Dieter shakes his head, dropping onto the edge of the bed. He thinks there’s a black spot in his vision forming in his right eye. Mark is blurry as he stands over him.

“Are you going to?”

He can feel something slide off of him, or into him. Either way, it’s clogging up his airways. “She’ll find out eventually. She always does.”

Mark’s mouth drops open in disgust. “That’s fucked up, man.”

The jingle is clear now. The door handle sparks like it’s on fire.

“And it’s not your fucking problem. I don’t care what you think.”

“Well, shit, Dieter, I used to think a lot of you. I really did. I’d heard all the shit you’ve gone through in the past few years and to see you on that set being the best version of yourself, I was so fucking proud of you, man. But now that I know that you’re this . . . You really fucking had me there for a second.”

Dieter lowers his thumb from the arch of his eyebrow and meets Mark’s glare. “Now, you know.”

Mark narrows his eyes. “Yeah, now I know.”

Dieter goes back to the bathroom to wash his hands in the sink. They feel sticky for some reason. He has nothing to hold onto.

“When’s the next session? I know we running late, but–,”

“Nevermind about that. Canceled for the day,” Mark growls, “I’ve got a question for you. Are you fucking Natalie?”

His knees nearly give out. “What?”

Over his shoulder in the mirror, Mark crosses his arms. “I said, are you fucking Natalie?”

“Why do you–,”

“I don’t know if you’ve fucked her yet, but there is something going on,” Mark says slowly as if he hadn’t said anything, his gaze focus on the floor. “I wanted to act like I didn’t see it, but if you’re using again . . .”

“Just because I’m high, doesn’t mean I’d cheat on my wife.”

“If you are, just tell her. Leave her. Don’t let it go public.”

Why doesn’t he just tell Mark? Just confess. Just confess that he can’t stand being married to Chloe anymore. That you are unlike anything he’s ever known, ever felt. Sure, Mark’d be mad but maybe, with time, he’d be happy for the both of you– he knows what it feels like to be in love—

Whoa.

Where did that come from? He can’t actually–

His knees buckle as his head spins faster and faster and he clutches the counter to stay upright. He grinds his teeth. “There’s nothing to go public about.”

“Just go home to her, Dieter. You can still fix things–,”

“Stop lecturing me.”

“Don’t go out tonight. We’ll all understand. I’ll tell Roxie you had other things–,”

“Why does Roxie care?” He leaps at the distraction. “Is there something going on?”

Mark clenches his jaw, but Dieter pounces the chance to see you again so soon, even if Chloe comes along. Of course she is, some part of his brain rages, she’s your wife.

“Great. Chloe wants to meet everyone anyway.”

“C’mon, man, don’t do this. Don’t do this to Chloe. Don’t do this to yourself. What happened, Dieter?” He’s pleading. He’s sincere. His brown eyes are deep with concern and it makes Dieter want to vomit.

He goes to leave – his hands only shake once – when Mark grabs him by the shoulder.

He is physically blinded by the color red, just for a minute.

destroy destroy destroy

He can’t even blame the coke. He wants the violence. The pain. The rips in his skin.

His knuckles collide with Mark’s jaw and every nerve in his body roars in victory. The force of Dieter’s punch sends Mark reeling, stumbling back, and he staggers into the wall.

more more more more!

Dieter blinks, the spike in adrenaline making him dizzy. Mark clutches his jaw, already swelling, again more shocked than angry. Dieter squeezes his fists, joints cracking, his right hand throbbing.

“This doesn’t concern you.” he says, quietly, empty of anger. “Leave me alone. Leave Natalie alone.”

He had all but admitted to the affair. He has to tear his feet from the floor, Mark’s jaw now purple, and he storms out the door, to go see his wife.

Chloe was always beautiful. Always stunning. She walked into a room and people stared.

When he met her at that cast party, she was modeling for DKNY. Her boyfriend, at the time, was a photographer and given who her father is, he (like many other past relationships) had hopes that international connections would further his career. But it didn’t and the ex-boyfriend was more mad about the loss of potential fame than the end of the relationship.

Dieter hadn’t been like that. He had been successful and good-looking enough that when she told him who she was, her last name didn’t even register. Of course, it helped that he was tripping on shrooms that one of the PAs had given him, but at the time it didn’t matter to her. He looked at her like she – and she alone – hung the moon.

At least, that’s how she remembered it and, more importantly, that’s what she told him that morning in her apartment before he officially checked into court-mandated rehab. They were only six months into dating then, but when she told him, the way she told him, he felt something change. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be sober because someone else wanted him to be sober. And not just anyone, but this someone. This beautiful, smart, patient, sweet woman valued him, for some unfathomable reason. So, impulsively as always, he got down on one knee and proposed to her in that shitty studio apartment. Maybe it said something about her that she said yes– he didn’t even have a ring– but he gave her his earring and a promise. He’d do it right, when he got out, and she believed him.

And, of course, when he proposed, she didn’t know about all the cheating that had gone on while they were dating. It wasn’t like he actually loved, or even liked, any of the people he slept with, but he had done it because he was high and sex felt really, really good on ecstasy. If she had been there, he would have fucked her instead, but she wasn’t and he didn’t and it was someone else and it was one of them who eventually leaked it to the press.

It was two days after a three week period of withdrawals that she confronted him. She was nice about it, of course. Always nice. And maybe it was because he was ten pounds lighter, his skin waxy and pale, and he could barely walk, but when he confirmed it all, she had just said, “I know you didn’t mean it.” She did cry, though. She cried and he felt like an even bigger asshole than when he threw up twice on the same nurse. She cried and he begged for forgiveness and all that self-hate and loathing metastasized in him. But, most importantly, he wasn’t alone through all of it this time.

He took the backhanded compliments, the passive aggressive comments, and let himself be molded into what she wanted because quite frankly, he was sick of trying to figure out what he was supposed to be anyways.

But the more distance he tried to put between his past and his future, she was there to bring it back. She was both a reminder of what he was and what he could be all at once.

She sits, perched on the end of his bed, back straight and hands in her lap. Her wide brimmed summer hat is by her hip on his untarnished bed— how the hell is going to explain where his luggage is— and she faces the window, looking out into the late Los Angeles evening.

She is beautiful. Painfully so. And sometimes he thinks that she likes him a little broken.

He never did get her a real engagement ring.

After seeing Mark, he left the hotel and walked until he could feel himself getting a blister, and then turned around again. It felt like it had been days since he went through that golden, twirling revolving door, but it had only been an hour. One hour exactly. The coke doesn’t have its claws so deep into him anymore. He can breathe easier. The scales have somewhat evened out and he feels somewhat like a normal person again. Thankfully, because this isn’t a conversation he really wants to have.

He doesn’t know where to sit or where to put his hands. He picks the chair by the squat desk in the dark corner and lets her bask in the fading light. He’s not sure if he’s overwhelmed by her beauty, or that she’s here and real and not just this name at the top of his phone to whom he’d fire off unanswered texts.

He picks at his nails and realizes at some point he put his wedding ring back on. When the fuck did he do that?

“I’m sorry I surprised you like this,” Chloe says, again sparing him the scariest part of simply starting the conversation. She turns away from the window and takes off her glasses. She looks pale. “There is just a lot I want to say and I don’t think . . . I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”

“Me too. I mean. Yeah, we have a lot to talk about. I just don’t know why we couldn’t have done it at the house.”

“You left me at that party, Dieter.”

“I took an Uber. You had the car. Where did you go? Why didn’t you come home for two–,”

“Are you not happy to see me?” Her eyes are blazing, daring, serious, and wet. What happened that night, he thought it had ended his marriage. He truly believed that if they stayed married, it would only be in name because she wouldn’t want him after a scene like that. He was so willing to give it all up. So easily.

Too easily.

Maybe she was right to leave. The first tendril of guilt unfurls in his chest. Of course, she was right. And he was so, so wrong. He always was.

“Of course I’m glad to see you.” Hesitantly, he gets up and goes to sit next to her on the bed. She pulls her hand off the cover and crosses her arms. Up close, he can see she’s more than pale. Her skin is waxy and there are bags under her eyes. She’s got a green tinge to her cheeks like she’s nauseous. “But we’re in the middle of these press junkets and the movie is in post-production and . . . I just wanted more time to do this right.”

“Do what right?”

There’s a tremble of fear in her voice. He makes sure to keep his even.

“To . . . to say . . .” he watches her eyes for some sort of guidance, “to just . . . get back to us.”

He slides his hand over hers. She doesn’t pull away. But there are tears, pouring down her face. She sniffs.

“That’s what you want, right? You want us to be together.”

She nods, furiously, quickly, sighing in relief. “Yes, Dieter, yes. I need us to be together. I can’t do this alone.”

She pulls him to her and lets out a cry that churns his stomach like black, arctic waves.

“Oh, Dieter, they’ve released some trailers and you’re so good. So good. I’m so proud of you,” she murmurs wetly into his neck. He feels her tears on the skin above his pulse-point.

There’s a part of him that wants to curl up into her lap, put his head on her thighs, and let her imagine all the ways he’s succeeded. All the good work he’s done. But he’s fidgeting.

The bump from earlier is still feeding his anxiety to an unbearable level. He bites his tongue and rubs his hand over her shoulder, determined to keep her from looking too closely at him.

“There’s a lot we have to talk about, Dieter, but do you want to do this with me? What do you want?”

All his life he felt like he had never been whole. As if he was just made up of tatters, just loose bits of thread that popped and unraveled over time. He’s been unraveling his whole life, but this time, with this decision, he might actually tear apart. He still loves his wife, he’s sure of it. He needs the reminder that she offers, that she embodies. Look at what you could have–

If only he was a fundamentally different person. If only he could be something other than himself.

It’s a coin flip, right? Only a matter of time . . . before we both fucking lose it

He’s in danger of being overwhelmed by memories.

He told himself he left because that was what she wanted. He hadn’t come to terms with the impossible idea that he wanted to leave in the first place. That he, ridiculously, would ever want to leave her.

He squeezes his eyes shut, wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into his lap.

“I want you to tell me what to do,” he whispers to her shoulder. “I’m not a good person without you.”

She swallows, leans away, and wipes her eyes, runs her hands over his wrists, then the back of his hand. She freezes as she finally notices his bloody knuckles.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says quickly as her dainty thumb hovers over the blood, the split skin. And he wasn’t lying. He can barely feel it. He feels disconnected from his own body, like someone else is driving and he’s been locked in the trunk.

“What happened, baby?” She asks, her mouth full of tears. She sounds tired.

“Nothing. Just hit it.” It is so obvious he had been fighting, he feels bad he couldn’t find a better lie.

But Chloe sighs sympathetically and swallows. She was always so good at picking and choosing what she decided to believe.

“We’ll bandage it.”

“You always know how to take care of me,” he murmurs as she massages his palm.

“You’ve come so far, Dieter. You’re an entirely different person,” she says, smiling at the blood on his hand if it isn’t there. “I’ve always known you have a big heart. One I hope you can share.”

Her big eyes damp and, horrifyingly, filled with love, she puts a hand against the back of his neck. He feels feverish, too warm, but she seems to find comfort in it.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if we had a baby, Dieter?” She smiles gently, coyly, easily. She’s thought about this. “You and me. I think it’s time. You’re ready to be a father.”

It’s quiet.

He is made up of nothing but tears. He’s spent years trying to stitch himself back together with everything and anything he could get his hands on. But he is still ripped. Still torn. Still unmade.

He gave away pieces of himself to anyone who asked because he didn’t want them anymore. But giving this tattered, broken thing to a child? To someone who didn’t ask for it?

Can’t I just be fucked up on my own?

Cheers to being fucked up on our own.

“Chloe . . . Chloe, I . . . I have to ask you something.”

She sits up more in his arms and brushes the hair out of his eyes with a stroke of her fingers, her nose pink and cheeks wet. “What is it, baby?”

Why?

Why did you agree to marry me?

Why do you still love me?

What would it take to make you stop?

“Are you happy? Happy with me?” His entire existence no longer hinges on her answer, and he cannot fathom a world where she says yes. He shakes his head, on the verge of something, as he thumbs her cheek, begging for honesty. “Why are you still here?”

For a second, a single moment in time, for the only time, with his hands on her waist, he thinks he sees the real Chloe for the first time. Not the model, or the daughter of an artist. Not the wife of a movie star, or the helpless girlfriend of an addict. He sees her, a woman with her own reality, her own version of the world and history. He sees her in stark vulnerability, an uncomplicated answer, because he’s asking questions she never considered herself.

Fresh tears spill out of her eyes as she squeezes his wrist. “Because I love you. And you love me. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”

“That’s all?”

She laughs gently, the sound wet and thick.

“What else is there?”

She kisses his cheek and her lips are wet with tears. “You don’t have to answer now, about having a baby. Just think about it, please?”

He nods.

He knows his answer. Well, not cognitively. It’s not there, in his head. But it is there in the pain in his lungs, in the dryness of his mouth, in the erratic heartbeat in his neck. It will be a long time before he can take apart those sensations to understand and identify panic for what it is. But it’s there. It’s there in the sensations that the world is coming apart.

If this is what she wants, he can’t give it. He just can’t.

They've been together for almost three years and they still don’t know each other at all.

The hotel room is hazy, cloudy, weed smoke curling up in the corners. There’s music coming from somewhere, but he can’t really figure out where. Half of these people are strangers, shadows against the walls, and they move in and out of rooms like ghosts. Every moment in time seems longer than the next. He can feel himself crawling out of his own skin.

It’s near midnight and Mark still hasn’t shown up.

But the downers from the compact mirror worked. Everything exists in limp obscurity.

Chloe clings to him like she’s stuck a knife in him and if she pulls it out, he’ll bleed to death. A second doesn’t go by where she’s not touching him. This body is unfamiliar, he thinks as he handles her hips, her low back, as she introduces herself to everyone.

First, there’s Nick and Cooper. They are stoned out of their minds, eyes glassy and red-faced, and react the way all men react when meeting Chloe. Their mouths drop as they take her hand in greeting. Cooper’s gaze slides over her shoulder to Dieter – this is your fucking wife, dude?

It makes him angry, rubs him the wrong way, but not out of jealousy. His mouth twitches as he shrugs.

“I’ve been listening to your albums for days now! After Dieter told me you play live music.” Chloe says with her hand on Nick’s shoulder. “The Sixers are officially my new favorite band.”

“Oh, uh, wow– that’s–,”

“Do you want anything?” Dieter snaps, stepping back. Chloe’s hand slides off the kid’s shoulder. “I’m going to . . . get some water— what do you want?”

Chloe smiles and he knows he needs to unclench. He feels like the entire stretch of his shoulders is filling up the whole room.

“Actually,” she says, turning back to the boys, “I’d kind of like something a little . . . green . . .”

Nick is instantly fumbling with his pocket as Chloe laughs. “Totally. Got a few extras right here.”

He nearly spills his beer, before Cooper takes it from him. Nick finally manages to pull out a blunt and green lighter. Her eyes flicker up to Dieter as Nick lights the end.

“You don’t mind, right, baby?”

“Not at all.”

She inhales and goes to ask Cooper something inane, so Dieter flops into the couch behind her. This is going to be a long fucking night.

The blunt between her long fingers is about halfway gone, the room smelling like burnt cheese, and has become so cloudy someone has to turn on a fan, when the door opens to Samuel, Roxie, and Marie, all carrying boxes of alcohol. The crowd, the shadows on the walls, swarms. Cooper does the polite thing and asks if he can get Chloe or Dieter a drink, which Dieter declines and Chloe happily accepts. She curls up onto the couch next to him, sighing happily.

“God, didn’t you miss this? These parties? The things we used to get up to.” She murmurs into his ear, her tiny hand clutching at his bicep and the other at his forearm. She smells like weed and an incomprehensibly expensive perfume that he can’t begin to describe.

“Yeah. But, when did you want to lea–,”

The crowd, congregated around the new arrivals and their new drinks, has to shift when the door opens a second time.

His nails dig into the arm of the couch, stiffening from his head to his toes.

It’s you. You’ve changed out of your outfit for the interviews– he could venture a guess as to why– but replaced it with a long, black cotton dress, thin straps. You can’t possibly be wearing a bra. You’re barefoot, a beer bottle in your hand, someone at your heels–

“Natalie! You made it!”

You’re surrounded by the Sixers, by the shadows of people, of faces he doesn’t know, or ever remember.

Except for one.

“Everyone, meet my friend Oliver! He’s visiting, from England. Very posh.”

That pale face emerges above the crowd and someone wolf-whistles. He smirks. “Settle down, settle down. I’m actually very annoying, but you’ll love me anyway because I have enough ecstasy for you all to see the face of God.”

The crowd cheers.

He can’t move. Can’t turn his head away.

Beside him, Chloe’s face scrunches up and lifts her head. “Oliver? Don’t you know an Oliver?”

“Honey, hush.”

He can’t take his eyes off you as Oliver spins you into the center of the room, Marie and Roxie chattering about something as they slide onto the floor.

This. It’s this moment where he actually might lose his sanity. Either that or tackle Oliver to the ground and pummel his face in until he’s more blood smears than human.

“Thank you, darling girl. You always know how to make a man feel so welcome.”

You giggle and collapse into an armchair across the room from the couch. You’re high. Again. Still. Always.

“Now, you precious thing,” Oliver crouches down and taps your knee. Dieter’s hand twitches. “Where did you say your friend has gotten off to? Because I don’t think he’d like it very much if . . .”

He trails off, catching the intense look in your eye. You’ve made eye contact with Dieter across the room, eyes wide, nipping at a hangnail on your thumb with your teeth and the neck of the beer bottle dangling in your fingers over the edge of the armchair.

You look genuinely scared. Dieter’s nostrils flare.

Good.

Oliver stands up, oblivious and smiling through blindly white teeth. “Dieter, old boy, she said you’d be here. How’ve you–,”

His gaze falls to Chloe at his shoulder, instant recognition in his eyes. He glances back to you. Chloe, far too stoned for her own good, jerks and sits up. She gives a hazy, bleary-eyed smile to Oliver.

“Oh my God, Oliver, it is you. I know you. You’re Dieter’s friend. Who knows the Queen of England. How is she?”

Perhaps for the first and only time in his life, Oliver is speechless. His thin-lipped mouth opens and closes, clearly not sure where to land his eyes. But then something comes over him and that mask of charming smugness returns. He bows slightly to her.

“You are correct, ma’am. Lovely to see you. And, remind me, your name is . . .”

“Chloe,” she says, sitting up and stretching, her eyelids only half open. She offers her hand and he hesitantly takes it. “I’m Dieter’s wife.”

“Oh, are you now?”

Oliver glances over at you and Dieter wants to throttle him. His eyes flash with malice as he turns back to Chloe and kisses her knuckles. “Well, isn’t that just a laugh? Can I get you anything? Any of you anything?”

He’s going to combust right here if he doesn’t get a moment to talk to you.

“Actually, let me get it. Natalie, help me carry drinks.”

You scowl. “No, I’m fine, right here–,”

“Now.” This time he will haul you over his shoulder if you don’t listen.

Oliver, for whatever unclear reason, steps in. “I’ll stay here with Ms. Chloe, if that’s easier.”

He oozes– slides– into the cushion on Chloe’s other side as Dieter extracts himself from her arms. He balances her back and she opens one eye at Oliver.

“You smell like peppermint,” she giggles.

“Aren’t you frightfully perceptive? Now, tell me, has someone had too much to smoke or to drink?”

Dieter doesn’t hear her answer. He’s snatched you up by the arm– you actually, physically snarl at him– and yanks you through the crowd into the bathroom.

Two no-names are making out in the dark. He flips on the light without preamble.

“Out.”

They break apart, mouths sloppy and wet, and scatter like rats in a sewer. He tosses you inside and slams the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap at each other at the same time, glaring, scowling, breathing sharply. Everything that should be said is buried and egos flare, replacing sanity. It’s the kind of argument, an argument so loud and violent, it reeks of bitterness and shame and desperation and that fine, fine line between seething hatred and that thing that scares him more than he can possibly conceptualize. All of this is easier to say than admit it. All of this is mean and nasty and meant to cut deep.

He couldn’t bear to hear it now, even if you did admit to anything.

Did you wait a full hour before calling him or was it the second I was out of earshot?

Had a good time with your wife you abandoned? Everything all good now?

This is a private party for the cast and crew. He shouldn’t even be here!

If you get a plus one, so do I!

Why did you pick him? Why?

Oh, sorry, I thought you liked surprises– given how you fucking handled today.

What did you promise him, huh?

They had to reschedule everything because you can’t keep your shit together. Bet your wife loved being sloppy seconds to a TMZ reporter.

Was he even in the area or did you get on your hands and knees to beg him to come here?

He crowds you up against the sink. His throat feels raw, head still spinning. Your hands are clenched at your sides as if preparing to throw a punch or claw or scratch or bite. Why can’t you just ever be nice?

You’re falling back into old patterns. Your instinct around him is to bite, maim, draw blood. The frustrations of a muzzled, brain-infected dog.

The back of your hips bump up against the counter and you scowl up at him. He wants to put his hands on you but he can’t tell if it's to kiss you or strangle you. Fuck you or split you apart. How did this happen? How did you end up in the exact same place you were before?

But it’s not the same. Everything is different. He’s different, and so are you. You both know all this rage, this animosity, all this vitriol was misplaced. Undefined. A language not yet translated. You were screaming and screaming, in different tongues, begging to be heard.

He doesn’t know what he feels when he presses himself up against you, but it is a lot.

“Are you doing this to punish me? Is that it?” Dieter whispers. Your eyes roam his face, unmoored by the sudden quiet, your hand at his chest pressing and pulling. “It’s not my fault.”

Your mouth twists, your breathing stunted. His eyes are pleading, searching your face for answers, to remind him of places where he had put his lips. Your nose, your jaw, your throat–

His heart squeezes in his chest.

“What’s that?”

There’s a shadow on your neck, colored over by make-up, but this close, he can see the purple rings. Bruises. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s seen, your hand sliding up your throat to cover them.

“Did Oliver do this to you? Natalie, I swear to god, if he hurt you at all, tell me and I’ll–,”

You shake your head. “Dieter, he didn’t do this to me.” Your eyes are sad, but the jut of your chin balances your head high. “He didn’t bruise me.”

“Then, who–,”

His stomach plummets. The two of you relive his hand on your throat in the bathroom earlier today. The panting. The pressure. The force he used to fuck you.

“Holy shit, Natalie, I am so sorry. I–I had no idea, why did you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to stop.” You spin one of your rings on your finger. “I didn’t want to leave.”

Was this not the exact position you found yourselves in hours ago? Clutching each other, nails digging in, mouths open in want– revolving, revolving, revolving. Light swallowing light. Like a carousel.

Your pupils are almost entirely black. He’s jealous. He wants that freedom. He wants you.

“But you do now. You’re going to leave.” He steps away from you.

You scoff, a wet shine in your eyes. “You’re here with your wife, Dieter. You’re always with your wife. You beg and plead with me and I, like a fucking idiot, believe you. I think we know exactly who’s doing the leaving.”

“It’s not that goddamn simple.”

You sigh and rub the heel of your palm against your forehead. “It is, Dieter. It really is. This is it. This is the end. I can’t take not having you anymore.”

You drop your hands to your side. His heart flutters, as if slowing down.

“What does that mean?”

“It means we can fight and yell and scratch each other into bloody ribbons, but nothing’s going to change. You’re never going to leave her. Nothing’s going to happen.” You close your eyes, briefly, steeling yourself against something, hands tightening into fists.

He can’t remember the last time he was this afraid.

“Natalie–,” He’ll take it all back. Take everything back. He wants you in his arms.

“It means I don’t want to be around you anymore.” You open your eyes and there’s nothing there. A different person sits in your head. Someone who doesn’t care about him, at all.

There’s no anger in your voice, no resentment, or disgust. Only defeat. Only strung out, exhaustion, an ache that cannot be soothed.

“I need you to leave me alone.”

This is not at all where he thought this conversation would go. Never thought you’d say those words. Never imagined this is what you would do.

“Is that what you want?” He husks. Something is dragging its claws down his chest, his ribs. It gets caught on his heart and tears. “What you really want. Don’t lie to me.”

Your eyes harden for a moment, reflective and stern. “Dieter, this is killing me . . . So this is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.”

You avoid his outstretched hands, his inevitable pull towards you, and stagger out into the crowd. He hears the music, the laughter, the sounds of chaos and rapture, and then the door closes and he’s alone in the cold, stale air.

“So I’m still skeptical at this point. Yeah, she’s gotten some things right, but hey, that it could just be a really good guess. I think she can tell I’m not really thinking this has been worth my time, so she offers to read my palm.”

He’s pretty sure he’s heard this story from Samuel before, or heard it somewhere else, or remembers it differently. But it’s all just noise to him.

Chloe sits on the floor between his legs, her head on his knee. He absently strokes her silky hair from time to time, but it’s just something to do with his hands. Eons and ages have passed in this fucking room and Dieter just wants to go to sleep. He’s watched four people run into the bathroom to blow chunks and he thinks he can smell it from here.

I need you to leave me alone.

I don’t want to be around you.

He tries to listen, to pay attention, tear his thoughts away from this spiral that’s haunting him.

Leave you alone? For how long? Don’t you get that’s impossible now?

“So she takes my hand and looks at it, really looks at it. And something about this just feels different, you know, like the air has changed. I can’t explain it, but I feel like I’m being seen for the first time.”

His audience is quiet, captive. Dieter can feel Chloe sit up straighter as if fighting off sleep.

Roxie snorts. “She’s just going to tell you an incredibly vague, possible future so now any time something even remotely resembles that path, you’ll think she’s right. Nevermind all the times she’ll be glaringly wrong.”

Dieter knows they’ll never be friends but he’s always admired Roxie’s honesty. Her bravery. She’s shrewd and he likes that.

“Whatever. It was special, alright? Important. I can’t explain it but it felt right.”

“I believe you,” Marie pipes up, dreamily. “What else did she say?”

Samuel doesn’t quite look at her, picking at his palm as if it is currently under inspection.

“Well, she did say this other thing. She looks down at my palm, and do you know what she says? She says my life line is jagged. Split.”

“What does that mean?” Someone asks in a hushed voice. Dieter struggles not to roll his eyes. It’s not even a good story. The kid lost thirty bucks to a palm reader. Big whoop.

Samuel roves his electric blue eyes across his captive audience. “Means something colossal is gonna happen to me. Means something’s going to happen to me where I’m not the same person I was. And I just know she’s right. Don’t ask me how, but I can already feel those life lines splitting, you know? You should all go get your palms’ read. It’s spooky.”

“What did it say about your love line, Samuel?” Marie asks again, who has her head in Roxie’s lap, her feet in Nick’s. All three are so stoned it’s a wonder she can form words at all. Cooper’s been missing for hours.

Dieter isn’t sure anyone else registers the flash of desire he sees across Samuel’s face when he looks at her, but maybe that’s not the point. God, he desperately wants to leave. He doesn’t even care if he looks ashamed, or guilty, or lets everyone down. The coke has been gone from his system for hours and now the scratchy, heavy haze has set in. It makes him irritated when people breathe too loud. He tugs on Chloe’s hair but she doesn’t move.

Samuel watches Roxie stroke Marie’s face. “She said my love line is strong.”

“So you’re finally admitting to all the bastards you’ve fathered over the years?” Roxie sniggers and a few others laugh. In his lap, Chloe giggles too.

But Samuel only scowls. “No, asshole, it means I’m going to have a whirlwind romance. The kind of things they write books and poems and love stories about. Means my twin flame and soulmate are the same person.”

“What’s a twin flame?”

Dieter’s mouth goes dry as his gaze slides across the small circle to the armchair. Oliver is there. And so are you. Curled up in his lap. The strap on your right shoulder has fallen off, away from your head on his chest. Your eyes are open, but you look very small. Oliver’s got his hand on your low back.

He tries to pull his thoughts away from the memory of his teeth in the crook of your neck, but he can’t.

“Excellent question, lovely Natalie.” Samuel nods his head in a bow to you. Oliver’s finger dips across your bare shoulder and Dieter grinds his teeth so hard, his jaw aches. He rocks his head back against the wall behind him as if to physically keep himself from lunging forward.

“Everyone knows what a soulmate is, but a twin flame is not something so well known. Because, maybe, it’s a little more difficult to talk about. A twin flame isn’t the person you’re meant to be with because you’re too alike. Too combustible. But you burn. You burn with love for this other person because it’s like looking into a mirror.”

“So it’s like fucking your clone?” Someone asks stupidly.

“No, you moron. It is not like fucking your clone.” Samuel’s face softens as his gaze brushes up against Marie’s forehead. “A twin flame is like finding your other half. The missing link in the universe. The thing that makes everything else make sense. The thing that quiets you, brings you a sense of comfort. Of wholeness. Intimacy without words, or questions, or concerns. There’s no hiding from this person. It’s a promise, a contract, with the universe. When you find your twin flame, it’s knowing peace for the first time.”

He can’t look up. He can’t.

He stares, relentlessly, at the back of Chloe’s head. His grip is almost firm in her hair. He cannot look up.

He really, really, really shouldn’t.

And yet he does.

His gaze flickers to the armchair again.

To you.

And you’re not looking at him. Relentlessly not looking. You don’t look up.

Until you do.

He doesn’t have a name for it.

It’s not peace. It’s not quiet.

But it does rage. It rages inside of him. It burns him.

For the first time since meeting you, he sees tears in your eyes. Unrestrained. Open. They race down your pink cheeks and he can’t be there to wipe them away. You’re crying while looking at him and everyone could see, but they don’t. Oliver could turn around and everyone would catch you right here, right now, with his hands on his wife, and there would be no denying anything. Who wouldn’t take a single look in his eyes and not know exactly what he feels for you?

This is the real punishment. The real pain. Why did you think he could ever leave you alone? This thing inside of him almost has a shape, a texture, a taste. It’s alive in him now. Born from denial and fed on bouts of temporary relief and half-measures, he feels it, this almost inhuman want. And he sees it all reflected back at him through your eyes. You, who came out of nowhere but who was always meant to be here, now matters more to him than he ever thought possible, now who has the power to destroy him. It’s beyond ruination, it’s nuclear war. It’s scorched earth and salting the rivers. Perhaps this is why he’s never been whole, why he tears himself on the corners and edges of his own making, because he’s been searching. Unknowingly, aimlessly wandering, hopelessly stumbling into chaos again and again– because the other half of his soul lives in another body. In a body, so much like his own, set on a path of destruction.

A path of celestial creatures in collision, of universes collapsing into each other. Of neglected bodies seeking out in the dark that which is familiar.

The spacial gap between the couch and your armchair is infinite, black and yawning, when he could take three steps across the room and kiss you on the mouth. But he doesn’t.

He holds this thing tighter, lets it burn. He knows you feel it too. You turn from him, the connection overwhelming and wipe your eyes. The hole in his body he calls a chest aches.

God, he’s such a hypocrite. And a fucking fool.

“That’s so romantic,” Marie sighs from the floor. Her eyes flutter shut. Samuel watches her eyelashes against her cheek. “You get that and a soulmate? You’re so lucky.”

“Not really,” he says quietly.

The hotel the studio rented for the press junkets doesn’t have a pool. But it does have a pretty nice rooftop bar overlooking the city. Disappointingly, it’s not open at four AM, but that’s probably a good thing. Meant to keep idiots from getting black out drunk and falling over the edge. Idiots like him.

Chloe lays asleep, four floors down, curled up in his bed, the sheets still warm from where he laid beside her for hours, white-knuckling the blankets, and staring at the ceiling. An hour after they left the party and two hours after he put her to bed, he got up and left, flinching at the sense the bedroom walls were closing in on him.

He thought about going to find you, but he couldn’t.

Finally, when he had managed to drag Chloe out the hotel room door, when everyone else had been so fucked up, their disappearance had gone unannounced, he pulls the door shut behind him and breathes.

He can still hear the music through the walls, still smell it all, his mouth has been dry and cracked for hours, and the woman in his arms is nearly unconscious. But at least there’s some separation between you and him. It was too much.

He bends down and pulls Chloe into his arms, carrying her like he did after they got married. But he can’t move. Not just yet. He tips his head back against the wall, trying to get the image of the rush of tears down your face out of his head.

The movement stirs her and she lifts her groggy head.

“Wher‘re we?” she slurs.

“We’re going to bed, honey. It’s late and you should be asleep.”

She smiles weakly, laughing to herself. Her feet kick as she taps his cheek with her finger. “You take sush good care o’ me. Always will. Always will love me.”

Before he can reply, the hotel room door opens again and his black shadow steps out.

You’ve been crying. He can smell the salt, hear the sniffles, and your red face all but confirms it. He whispers your name, a hush, a prayer and you tense as though transfixed by the shape of a ghost– you weren’t expecting him out here. You turn, eyes brightening when they meet his, but then you see her in his arms and you whimper– out loud– strands of saliva shining as you open your mouth in distress. He thinks he can physically feel his heart break.

You’re not looking at him, but her, cradled and asleep in his arms. Your expression isn’t one of jealousy, or rage, but total and utter confusion. Why? Why her? Why not me?

“Baby, let me fix this.” He’d do anything to help you stop crying, to change your mind that you in any way have ever been second to any other woman in his life. He turns to you and Chloe’s arm brushes your shoulder. She hovers, oblivious and nearly-unconscious, between the two of you.

“Fix what, honey?” She mutters up to him and you jerk back, as if burned.

For the third time, the hotel door opens and Oliver nearly runs you over. You swipe at your face rapidly as Dieter takes several steps back down the hall.

“Sorry, darling, sorry,” he murmurs, nearly tumbling over, would have fallen to the ground if you had not grabbed him at the last second to hold him upright. His eyes are bloodshot and the edge of his right nostril is bright red. “How are you? Are you leaving?”

You glance at Dieter over his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s late and I’m tired.”

“Oh, sweet thing, I promised you a good time, didn’t I? And I don’t think I’ve quite done that.” Oliver manages to right himself and presses a thin hand against your cheek. You close your eyes, as if soothed by the warmth, by a presence if not the right one, so terrified of being alone. “Let me make it up to you.”

Dieter stands, transfixed and silent, as another man leads you down the hallway, away from him. He can’t even make a noise, something to jostle Oliver out of his single-mindedness, something to tell you that this isn’t what he wants – not by a long shot – something to make this feel less like an all-encompassing nightmare.

But he doesn’t and Oliver pulls you farther and farther away. You look over your shoulder once, tears rimming the soft hairs at the cup of your eyes, and it’s that face, your face of grief and desperation, that kept him awake and eventually dragged him out of bed, long after Chloe had fallen asleep.

And so, he sits in one of the black and white booths on the rooftop bar and smokes.

The late summer wind is warm and it plays with his hair– the curls around his forehead, along the backs of his ears, across his neck. His hair is longer than it has been in years and the wind is gentle as it goes. It reminds him of the few fond memories of his mother. When he was young. When his father still loomed so large.

He wants to lean into it, into the gentle touch of something bigger than himself, of something that promises to protect him, to keep him safe. But when he does, there’s nothing there.

So he goes on. He smokes and he sits and he waits. He waits for the sun and for clarity and for Chloe to wake up. For the day to start all over again.

For you to come to your senses and run far, far away from him.

Eight AM.

Another hotel room, all furniture cleared out. The window curtains pulled shut, no light.

There’s a rumble, a clutter of sound, as lights and cameras are posted and aimed. The drowsy drabble of crew going through the motions, half-asleep and not yet caffeinated. It’s slow, sleepy, eyes downcast and unfocused. Light will come eventually, with the rising sun, but it’s still dark. Still blue.

The woman powdering your face does one final touch up before closing her kit and leaving. She goes out the hotel room door, another spindle sliding back into its place in the machine. The rumble around you continues.

He calls your name, gently, softly, quietly. You don’t turn.

He picks up the coffee he got you and approaches you.

Up close, he can see you got about as much sleep as he did.

“Thank you.” You say loudly as a PA crosses behind him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you have a good time at the party?”

“Yeah. We did.” It feels like they’re talking in code, in a foreign language that doesn’t sit right in his mouth. He steps closer to you, his heart digging into his ribcage. “Can I talk to you privately, for a minute?”

He runs a fine line; he needs to sound as if he is asking a good friend, a coworker, for a favor, but he wants you to know that your face is shredding him down to his very last atom. You have to come with him.

And maybe, because you feel it too, because you can hear the finality in his voice, because at some point the pain and insanity have to end, you nod. You motion to the interviewer– gimme five – and distracted, he nods.

You’re out the door and into the hallway when he realizes you’ve both left your coffee cups behind. Strange how something so innocuous can feel so transparent.

He shuts the door to the room used as the make-up room, the same one as his argument with Mark less than twenty-four hours ago. The lock clicks with a snik.

It’s been days since you both slept well, or at all. Either kept up by each other or by thoughts of each other, plagued by images and daytime dreams of waking up next to the person you actually wanted, you look wrung out. The make-up artist had done well, but he knows you. He can see your exhaustion in a way that only someone who intimately knows you can see. It’s a tiredness that goes beyond sleep, one that cannot be soothed by physical rest. It’s a bruise that refuses to heal.

Still, there has to be some sort of build up, just so he has a chance to try and put everything he wants to say in some sort of coherent order.

“How was your night with Oliver?” He asks without malice, without judgment. He’s absolutely sure he doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t want to upset you. Ease you into the thing that’s sitting in the back of his mouth.

But he can’t anticipate just what you’ve been holding back too. Your eyes flood with tears and you shakily sit down on the bed. He immediately sits down next to you, not caring if putting his hand on your back pissed you off, not caring if holding your hand in his lap is the wrong thing. He wanted to hold you in his arms last night in the hallway, this is the concession he makes with himself.

“Dieter, how can you ask me that?”

His heart knots up in his throat as his hand at your back goes up to your shoulders, gently massaging your neck. He can show emotional maturity, or at least try to.

“Baby, it’s okay if something happened with him.” He swears he tastes bile. No, it’s not okay. You aren’t to be touched by another man that isn’t him– he closes his eyes for a second, holding back grief and rage.

With a watery sigh, you admit: “nothing happened with him. He passed out the second we got to my hotel room. But even if he didn’t . . .”

You lift your eyes to him, catching and holding his gaze, before looking back down at your entwined hands on the coverlet. Your makeup is only slightly smeared as though you forced your own desperation back down the well of sadness.

“I didn’t fuck him, Dieter,” you say slowly, quietly, words warbled from your still-wet mouth. “But I should have . . . I really, really should have because I don’t know why I’m saving myself for you. You’ll never do the same for me.”

He’s shaking his head. No, no, you’re all wrong. You’ve got this all wrong.

“I didn’t touch her.” He focused on the curve of your knuckles. How your fingers manage to slot so perfectly in between his. “After . . . after the party, she was already asleep by the time I got us back to the room.”

“What about this morning? She must have been awake then.”

“She was,” he admits. He takes a deep breath. “But don’t you understand what I’m trying to say? Baby, I couldn’t. Can’t. Won’t ever do it again.”

Your breathing hitches, caught on every single one of your ribs as it lurches up your chest, fresh tears in your eyes.

“No, Dieter, I don’t understand. What are you saying right now? What do you want from me?”

He slides onto his knees in front of you, palms shaking as they fold over your thighs.

“She wants to have a baby. With me.” His voice is quiet, and he can only confess to your waist. Those curves he loves to run his fingers over, his nose across. You jerk as if to pull away, a snarl in your mouth, but he holds on.

“Dieter, you bastard, I–,”

“But I’m going to say no.”

He looks up at you. To your face so constricted in pain and heartbreak and a delirium that only comes when the days and nights have blurred together. You’re so tired.

And he’s done. At the end of his rope.

He holds onto you as you struggle, try to fight him, try to fight the inevitable, but he holds on and he’s never letting go.

“I’m divorcing her.”

You still. Go slack. Soft in your disbelief. He’s failed you if this comes as a surprise.

Something sharp and jagged splits apart in his throat, burning him, and he drops his gaze from your face before you have a chance to see the tears well up.

“When all of this is done . . . when everything is safe, I’m asking her for a divorce.” He tips his head into your lap. His voice is sodden, damp. “Natalie, I can’t be without you anymore. Can’t you see that?”

The back of his shirt, between his shoulders, goes wet when you press your face against him. You breathe through half-sobs.

“Dieter, what are we going to do?”

He shudders and smooths anxious circles into your hips. He can feel you shake above him.

“Just wait, baby, just wait. It’ll all be over soon.”

Maybe, the kid was right.

Maybe, just maybe, despite what may come, despite the countless lives that are going to be ruined and the immeasurable pain coming . . .

Maybe, this is peace.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble fanfic #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble 2016 #dieter bravo/f!reader #dieter bravo/you #dieter bravo/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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6 - Tools

[Previous | Masterpost]

You frown at the idea of spending the night. Whether it's gut instinct or the fear of imposing too much, you turn them down regardless. "..maybe I can try changing the tire again? I don't want to be rude..do..you maybe have a lug wrench I can borrow to try? Mine isn't working well.."

The couple frown slightly, looking to each other. their expressions shift minutely after each others' - reacting in a small, silent conversation.

It doesn't last long before Celine nods, setting down the clothes and towel on the chair. "I we should have more tools in the workshop. The basement door is closer to the road than the front door, anyway." She nods for you to follow as she heads for the hallway again.

Harrison picks up the rifle again, holding it idly and he gestures for you to go after her. He places a soft hand on your back to guide you in that direction.

(rb if you can so we can get more votes! <3)

[Previous | Masterpost]

(tag list: @whumpnonny @whumpsday @wormwriting @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @hidden-dreamland @a-whumped-tea @mirasorastone @elvenfforestydd @shywhumpauthor @happy-little-sadist @kisaisacat @seetheothersideofparadise @fishtale88 @whump-and-other-things @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @hiding-in-the-shadows @whumper-meg)

#choose your own adventure #poll #whumpy poll #gun #choose your own adventure poll

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little-peril-stories · 11 months

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🌹Romance Snippets Tag🌹

I was tagged by @starlit-hopes-and-dreams to share some romance snippets from my writing.

I had way too much with this so I'm sorry in advance.

Please enjoy this OPEN TAG :) because I think my friends have already been tagged lol

From The Prince of Thieves

Kisses in the driving snow were not nearly as pleasant as kisses in warmer, cozier scenes, but Jamie found he couldn’t regret it too sorely as Geoff’s warm lips pressed against his. ... Her body is flush against mine, separated only by her woollen dress and my snow-damp coat, layers that may as well be nothing, the way I can feel the heat of her against the heat of me. The way I can feel every beat of her heart.

From the Breanna Hatchett AU

He kissed her again, but did not stop at her lips, rather trailing down her neck, teasing as he went, the stubble along his jaw pricking into her skin and making her shiver.

From the angsty heist wip

What I see of it seems lovely, but she’s already peeking through the now-disorganized pile of papers, leaning right over me to find the one she’s seeking. This close to her, I can see the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and down her neck, the glistening of sweat on her skin, and the fine details of lace around the collar of her dress. For some reason, my heart is racing. ... Her cheeks are so pink, just like the sunset in her poem—like the sky at dusk. Like sprays of light as the sun and its brilliance vanish below the horizon. Becoming. Endearing.

Bonus Ash/Laramie and Fen/Freddie nonsense below but under the cut bc I'm kind of embarrassed by those stories 😅

From The Curiosity Collector

Laramie fought to keep his legs steady, tried to ignore the fiery throbbing of his head. Ash had been fine when he left the previous day. More than fine, really. They’d spent the afternoon in the company of only one another, hours of lying in the sun, staring up at the clouds and treetops. Brushing hair out of each other’s eyes. Running fingers up and down the other’s body. Pressing their lips together in lazy, love-drunk kisses as if they had all the time in the world.

...

“I love you.” Ash repeated the words he had spoken before, words uttered like an incantation. He watched Laramie’s face, tracing every line, every hint of grief behind his eyes. Committing it to memory in all its perfection. “I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will.”

From Fen & Freddie

lol there was nothing cute in F&F except them cuddling at the very end lmao. so have Freddie obsessing about saving Fen

He could die here, Freddie thought, if it meant Fen could live, somehow. If in the grand scheme of the entire universe, the loss of Frederic Howell would balance out to allow Fen Bailey-Song to keep breathing, to keep living— He was okay with that. ... “I’d do it again,” he said, “if it meant it wasn’t you.”

bonus bonus: this July I'll be rewriting my novel affectionately known as "Book 2." Here's a snippet from the first draft (written last summer), taken from a scene that will not make it into the rewrite. [poor buddy's POV got cut entirely]

What was she doing right now? Was she sleeping soundly in her borrowed bed, blissfully unaware of the way she made his blood scream through his veins? Could she know how the very thought of her made him feel as if he were gasping for air? ... Even with the hope that she might accept everything he had to say, even as he clung to its fragile wings like delicate drops of drew clung to blades of grass in the morning sun, he couldn’t dispel his fears—or everything else that had crossed his mind since the night before. In his sleepless stupor, he had allowed himself for the first time to imagine kissing her, and the thought had sent shivers down his spine.

here have a scene that will make it into the new version but who knows what it'll look like

She leaned into another kiss, letting her hands explore some more, one hand cupping the back of K's neck, the other running down her arm. To her surprise, the soldier let B gently push her down, let her hands roam more freely, let her lips and her tongue explore the soft skin of her neck. “You’re not that tough at all, are you?” she whispered. Below her, K laughed. “We’ll see who’s tough.” B nipped at her ear, taking delight in the little startled gasp it elicited. “Is that a promise?” With what seemed like hardly any effort at all, K rolled over, taking B with her so she was on top, staring down right into B' soul with a smile on her face. “Do you want it to be?” “Yes.” B reached up and landed another kiss, soft and full and slow. “Gods, yes.”

#romance snippets tag game #tag game #all the stories holy cow #well. it's a stretch for Fen & Freddie but I tried #lps the court of rogues #lps the queen of lies #lps the prince of thieves #lps the curiosity collector #lps fen and freddie

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lifeofkaze · 1 year

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A Search for Balance

CHAPTER 33: A FATEFUL DINNER DATE

Find the masterlist with all chapters of this story here, the previous chapter here, and the next one here.

Tagging: @flareshogwarts

It was past lunchtime when Lizzie left Orion’s place, feeling exhausted, tired, and happier than she had in months. Returning to the home she had shared with Skye after weeks was strange, but not even the prospect of facing her former housemate was enough to dampen Lizzie’s mood.

The door wasn’t locked when she entered, the ground floor even messier than she had expected. Stepping over Skye’s discarded heels, heaps upon heaps of laundry and stray pieces of Quidditch gear, Lizzie made her way into the kitchen. Having tea with Orion was all fun and games, but her body had begun craving coffee with a force she couldn’t ignore any longer.

Lizzie had turned on the coffee machine and taken a cup and the sugar bowl from the cabinet when heavy footsteps could be heard on the stairs. A moment later, Skye appeared in the kitchen door, wearing a worn-out sleeping shirt and a pair of boxers. In her hand, she held her wand. Once she recognised Lizzie, she put it away.

“What are you doing here?”

Lizzie’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “I live here.”

“No, you don’t. Not anymore.”

“I’m still paying rent, am I not?”

“Whatever, but for the record, the coffee you’re making is mine,” Skye muttered in response. “Good thing I didn’t fire a hex straight down the stairs. Thought you were a burglar or something.”

“Hoping I’d steal your laundry, weren’t you?”

Talking to Skye like this felt strange; the two of them had barely spoken a word since their fight in Wimbourne, and none at all off the pitch. Skye didn’t seem too concerned with the situation, however. She was poking her head inside the kitchen cabinets, on the hunt for something to eat.

“Quite the big deal last night, wasn’t it?” came her muffled voice from inside a cupboard. “Say what you want about the Magpies, but they know how to throw a party.”

Lizzie made a nondescript noise, stirring milk and four teaspoons of sugar into her coffee. She hadn’t seen much of the Vernal Ball, but that wasn’t something to rub under Skye’s nose. With a triumphant noise, Skye emerged from her cabinet with a packet of Cheeri Owls in one and a small bottle of Wiggenweld Potion in the other. It was brewed after a recipe their friend Penny Haywood had modified at school and the best cure for hangovers Lizzie knew; Skye definitely looked like she needed it.

“Pass me one, will you?” she begged as Skye upended the bottle into her mouth.

“Sorry, last one.”

“Why do you always get the last one?”

Skye shrugged and blew a ring of steam from her mouth before shaking some Cheeri Owls into a bowl and pouring herself the largest glass of orange juice Lizzie had ever seen. She suddenly paused and looked back at Lizzie with a frown.

“That ain’t what you wore yesterday, right?”

“Don’t think it’s an appropriate outfit for a ball?” Lizzie said defensively, acutely aware of the colour rising to her cheeks. She knew her tone was snappy, but wasn’t in the mood to discuss why she was wearing clothes that weren’t hers. Coming to her own conclusions, Skye pointedly looked at Lizzie’s left hand.

“Where’s your engagement ring?”

Lizzie shoved her hand into the pocket of her borrowed trousers. “Why does everyone always want to know about this bloody ring? It’s not a name tag. I’m allowed to leave the house without it.”

The curious expression on Skye’s face faded. “I was just asking.”

“And I was just answering.”

“Whatever. Forget it,” Skye muttered, snatching her wand and the bottle of orange juice from the counter and marching from the room with her breakfast floating behind her. Lizzie stared after her, already feeling sorry by the time she heard the door to Skye’s room slam shut. With a sigh, her eyes dropped to the trail of milk and cereal Skye had left on the floor, and she reached for a cleaning rug.

She had removed most of Skye’s new mess and begun working her way through the old one when a clicking sound on the window caught her attention. The small owl sitting outside hooted as Lizzie let it in, gratefully nibbling on the treat it was offered in exchange for the letter tied to its leg.

Lizzie frowned when she read the name on the back. Why would Erika Rath send her a letter? They had seen each other the day before, and even so, they had never been more than friends by association. What did she want from her?

Now thoroughly intrigued, Lizzie cracked open the seal. What was inside the envelope was more of a note than an actual letter; in true Erika-fashion, she had come straight to the point.

We need to talk. It’s important. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks, seven o’clock. Erika

P.S.: Don’t tell Parkin.

Lizzie read the note again in wonder. What could be so important that Erika couldn’t tell her in her letter and that they had to meet straight away? And why couldn’t she tell Skye?

Seeing as she wouldn’t find out unless she went and met her, Lizzie decided on a change of plans. She had only wanted to get changed and sort a few things before heading back to Orion’s, but that would have to wait now. A smile formed on her lips. They weren’t in a hurry. Once everything was settled, they would have all the time in the world.

Fetching a piece of parchment, ink, and a dishevelled quill from the kitchen drawers, Lizzie scribbled down her answer and a quick note to Orion before sending them off. When the owl had gone, she turned back to the mess in the kitchen with a sigh.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

***

The sun had set when Lizzie arrived at the Three Broomsticks, one of the two pubs located in Hogsmeade Village. Waving a greeting at Madam Rosmerta, the Three Broomsticks’ landlady, she cast a searching look around for Erika.

She found her sitting at the back of the room at a small table by the roaring fireplace. She was reading through a stack of parchment, two pints of ale already sitting in front of her. As Lizzie approached, she looked up from her work, neatly folded the documents and put them into an envelope in the pocket of her jacket.

Lizzie was surprised to note that Erika was dressed in a smartly-looking suit, her pale blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She looked like a businesswoman and made Lizzie - herself wearing only ripped jeans, a jumper and worn-out boots - feel distinctly underdressed.

“Hi, Erika,” Lizzie said as she sat across from her, “long time no see.”

“If you consider twenty-four hours long.”

“Your letter made me curious. If this is about Skye, though…”

“It’s not.”

“Oh,” Lizzie said, slightly taken aback. “Then what can I help you with?”

“Nothing. But I can help you.”

Now, Lizzie was thoroughly confused. “How would that be?”

“I thought about what you told me yesterday. At the ball,” she added, mildly impatient at the blank look on Lizzie’s face, “when we were talking about your future with the Wanderers.”

It took Lizzie a moment to recall what Erika meant. With everything that had happened after, she had almost forgotten about speaking with her in the first place.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Good. You were wondering whether Wigtown was the end of your road. I don’t think it should be, so I spoke with my bosses.”

Lizzie nearly choked on her beer. “You did what?”

“You’re in high demand. I’m just a scout, but they know we went to school together. They gave me clearance to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Your transfer. You’re a good player, brilliant when you focus. We want you, very much so.” Erika leaned forward, a slight frown between her brows. “Frankly, we don’t know how to improve our offer anymore. The Montrose Magpies are the most successful team in the history of the League, we have been dominating the ranking for years. What can Wigtown give you that we can’t?”

It took Lizzie a moment to make sense of what Erika was saying.

“There must be a mistake.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is,” Lizzie insisted. “Montrose not knowing how to improve their offer can’t be true.”

A look of disappointment crossed Erika’s face. “That warned me you might say that.”

“Say what?”

Erika’s eyes hardened. “Look, I’m here because I am the last resort. They thought you would at least listen to me. Seems like they were wrong. I’m disappointed in you, Jameson.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I thought you loved Quidditch. Never took you for one to be only after the money.”

Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“You heard what Gibson said yesterday, you have a reputation for turning down all the high-profile clubs. It’s become somewhat of a joke on the stands,” Erika snorted. “No one knows what game you’re playing at, but you should be careful. There’ll come the day when you’ll find yourself on the short end of your gambling.”

“I’m not gambling!” Lizzie said vehemently. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“I’m talking about the dozens of offers you received since it’s become public knowledge that you’re on the market. We offered you a place on our roster four times alone. I’ve seen the terms. No player in their right mind would refuse them. You did. Your agent turned every single one of them down.”

“My agent?” Lizzie had to swallow hard. “This must be a mistake.”

Erika watched Lizzie closely. “You want to tell me you didn’t know about this?”

“I had no idea. You have to believe me.”

“Well,” Erika said, the hard edge gone from her voice, “that’s unfortunate for you, but it doesn’t change things. You need a contract, and I’m here to offer you one. What do you say?”

Feeling like the rug had been swept from underneath her feet, Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore, to be honest. I need to think about this.”

“You had half a season to think. That you wasted it by trusting the wrong people is tough, but my bosses won’t care. They want an answer.”

“If they want me so badly, they can wait a little longer,” Lizzie said, more sharply than she had meant to. “There’s clearly a lot of things that I don’t know. I need to talk with my club first.”

“The Wanderers can’t offer you anything we can’t.”

“That’s not it.”

“What then?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Lizzie shook her head. The Wanderers had given her credit of doubt when she thought she had squandered all her chances. She couldn’t just drop them at a moment’s notice. Leaving the club would mean leaving her home, Skye, and Orion, too. No, as tempting as the offer sounded, her life was in Wigtown.

When she remained silent, Erika pulled out the envelope Lizzie had seen earlier and pushed it across the table.

“What’s that?”

“A contract,” Erika said. “The last one Montrose is going to offer you.”

Lizzie stared at the envelope, feeling hot and cold at the same time. “Erika, I -”

“Just take it. You don’t have to sign it, but you should read it, at least.” Her eyes softened, if only fractionally. “Don’t be stupid, Jameson. This is your life. Think about yourself for a change.”

Lizzie looked between Erika and the envelope. She felt overwhelmed by everything she had just learned. All this past year, she had trusted Matthew to help her. She had trusted him so much that, even after their relationship had begun to fall apart, she had never thought to question him. And all this time, there had been offers coming in from all across the League, and he had turned down all of them. Worse, he had let her believe that no one wanted her, that maybe it was time to leave and settle down with him for good.

And just like that, all of her indecisiveness turned into rage. She looked at the envelope with her name on it once more, then reached out and pocketed it.

“Thank you for the drink,” she told Erika and rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and see my agent.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #orion amari x mc #lizzie jameson #erika rath #balance series #search for balance #sfb

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savage-rhi · 2 years

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Immortal Shield Chapter 12: The Battle of Formouth

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Tagging: @seradyn

Caelan let out a depressing sigh as she tucked her cell phone into the pocket of her pants. She had attempted to call Ardyn several times. Each time it went to voicemail. Though there was a trickle of worry Caelan had regarding him, she assumed Ardyn must’ve been asleep. Night was beginning to make its presence known in the Leide region as the colorful skies disappeared and made way for greys and blacks. Caelan assumed it was darker over in Duscae given the more forest and swamp terrain. She wasn't going to lie to herself, it did hurt not hearing his voice this evening. Her nerves were beginning to show. Ardyn's voice had grown to become a comfort for such emotions.

As Caelan pulled the Scepter over and got out past the Three Valleys, she could see several constellations as the moon began to take over for the sun. Caelan readied the camera that Florens had let her borrow for this mission, making sure the settings were night friendly. She didn’t want to risk screwing up the photoshoot while she had a rare chance to see what the Lucians at the stronghold were up to. Once complete, Caelan took in a deep breath and summoned Raksasha, making sure the blade would be ready to use if worse came to worse before willing the sword to disappear again. As the sword popped back into it's own dimension, Caelan's thoughts ventured to Ardyn. A part of her wondering if he was ignoring the calls on purpose.

"He's a grown man. If he had a problem with you, he'd straight up say something. It's Ardyn for crying out loud." Caelan said to herself, attempting to self soothe all the while subconsciously psyching herself up for what the night would entail as she went back to her vehicle and started the engine up.

Later on, Caelan parked the Scepter far away behind some trees in the desert off a dirt road path. She walked the rest of the way towards the ruins of the Norduscaen Blockade, where the Formouth Garrison didn’t lie too much further. It was a fifteen minute jog, and when she arrived at her destination, Caelan was surprised to see how the ex-Niflheim base was bustling with life. There were lights as far as the eye could see. Many Lucian troops lurked around the perimeter as well. They were armed to the teeth, and whatever was going on behind closed doors she couldn’t make out. Walls sealed away all of the bases secrets, and Caelan muttered a few curses knowing this wouldn’t be enough evidence to get anyone higher up to do anything.

Crouching down behind a hill, Caelan kept her stomach to the ground and crawled with the camera. Once she got to the top and felt safe, she rose the upper half of her body and snapped a few shots of the entry point. The camera was silent as the lens clattered away, and after she checked the screen to make sure she got a few clear shots, Caelan began to scout the entire area of the base.

It was hard to say how long Caelan traveled around the strongholds entirety, but she collected almost a hundred shots. The most damning of them all, she got from a high point of a rock formation after climbing it. The photo showed there were hundreds of refugees in brown garb, mining material and doing other kinds of hard labor in a courtyard. Nevertheless, it wasn’t absolute proof of something heinous. Caelan understood how her evidence could easily be spun as a Lucian prison for people that committed crimes. If the shoe were on the other foot, Caelan could see even herself falling for it. Her gut told her to press on. The stories Florens shared, and the local gossip Caelan had picked up on about the stronghold when she needed gas was enough to convince her something was amiss.

Caelan arrived back at the hill where she started snapping photos. Her mind debating with itself. She did tell both Ardyn and Florens she would only be there to get evidence, nothing more. As Caelan did another once over of what she had discovered, there was no way any of this would bring closure to the elderly woman she was helping. A sigh left Caelan as she argued with herself, looking over the hill to see Lucian troops coming and going from the bases checkpoint. The impulse to venture inside began to dominate whatever second guesses she could feel attempting to rise. Ardyn’s warnings for her not to do anything hasty ran rampant for a time, until Caelan all but silenced his voice.

“I’m sorry Ardyn,” Caelan muttered in resignation. Her eyes started to scan for someone she could easily dispatch and steal credentials from, eventually pinpointing a soldier who seemed new at their job. A faint smile crossed Caelan’s lips as she carefully snuck towards the base, and waited to strike.

An hour later, Caelan walked out with her new garb. The Lucian helmets these troops in particular wore hid the lower half of her face. To further obscure her identity, Caelan donned a few small braids to the right of her hair, each accompanied by gold clasps that ran through the strands. There was a sick feeling that twisted in Caelan’s gut, knowing she had no right to put on display she was an honorable member of the crownsguard in this fashion. It was despicable on her part, as bad as spilling another crownsguards guts. However, there was no time to beat herself up despite years of indoctrination telling her otherwise.

Caelan approached the entry gate into the Formouth. Two men and one woman approached her as she signaled the formal crownsguard salute. The woman looked to be a chief with the bright red ribbons intertwined in her own braid, a few ranks below a commander. Caelan could tell from her dark eyes alone she meant business.

“What entry are you from?” The woman asked.

“The Haraakis unit, chief.” Caelan answered swiftly as she handed over her security cards for verification. She thanked whatever was listening that there was no photo IDs needed for these clearances. Most Lucian prisons required such things. This planted some seeds of doubt in Caelan that perhaps there was nothing monstrous occurring after all.

“Funny, I don’t recall the base summoning anyone from Haraakis. They were strictly put on Insomnian grounds for city watch.” The chief said as a matter of fact.

“That’s true,” Caelan nodded, playing into the role further, her brain drudging up facts and core memories of crownsguard men and women her father had trained her to memorize as if her life depended on it. “I was sent specifically by lieutenant Amshel. He's retired but still holds grounds over my unit. There’s an Accordo official working alongside us wishing to know if a war criminal is being harbored here.”

The chief handed back Caelan her credentials and sighed. “These Accordo assholes, I swear this alliance is doing more harm than good.”

“Tell me about it. I have to work with them quite often.” Caelan huffed with amusement, catching a smile from chief.

“So Jericho, you’re a war veteran.” The chief pointed out, gesturing at the braids and gave a few nods of approval. “Same unit you fought with?”

“Yes ma’am.” Caelan responded. “I was in infantry with the Haraakis unit when Niflheim seized Insomnia.”

“You must’ve been pretty young to be dealing with such a mess.” The chief expressed her sympathy as Caelan nodded.

“Yes, but that’s what we’re trained for, right?”

“No doubt,” The chief nodded to the male troops alongside her to go notify the gatekeepers they needed to let folks into the base. “What’s the name of the criminal?”

Caelan felt herself freeze. Kurt's last name wasn’t ringing a bell. Her mind searched through her memories rapid fire, but alas couldn’t come up with the proper response. Not wanting to gain suspicion from the chief, Caelan cleared her throat.

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t given a last name. His first name is Kurt. He’s a refugee from Niflheim last I saw on record.”

“No worries, we can easily search the database once we are inside.” The chief motioned for Caelan to follow.

Caelan kept her eyes forward as she walked alongside the chief, minding to always be at least a step behind to show respect. There were several times Caelan wanted to look around when she heard the rumbling pulse of the doors begin to open, but she knew better. If at any point she started to show curiosity, it would jeopardize her disguise. She had to be simple minded.

Easier said than done once the ghastly moans and desperate pleas for help started to echo throughout her ears.

Caelan felt every hair on her body stand at attention when she saw the inside base. Wall to wall. Back to back. There were hundreds upon hundreds of humans crammed together like discarded things in the back of ones closet. There were some Lucian troops forcibly removing men from their posts, children being ripped away from each other, and women pleading to be set free only to meet the end of a fist or baton. Whatever was convenient for the guard on post.

Cells were overflowing with people in different conditions. Some skin and bone, and others barely holding onto the muscle and fat left on their bodies. The stench was the worst, and Caelan couldn’t help but grimace as bile, blood, and other grotesque bodily fluids carried through the atmosphere. The sounds never once died down, not even when the chief led Caelan to an elevator, the two venturing inside. The wails and cries carried on even as the elevator began its ascension.

“Where did you find all these people?” Caelan couldn’t help but ask once the doors closed.

“Anywhere we want,” The chief smirked. “Pay no mind. Most of these Nifs will be sent back home to where they belong. This is only temporary. The rest, well, they will have to endure servitude until we get orders that say otherwise. It’s only fair given what they’ve taken from us during the war.”

“Ah,” Caelan nodded, doing her best to keep her emotions in check. The impulse to reach over and choke out the chief was growing. “The lieutenant neglected to inform me if this was off the record or not. Could you confirm? Would hate to let slip something I’m not supposed to say to the higher ups when I return to Insomnia. For the sake of not getting you into trouble.”

“Of course,” The chief began, ever so cordial. “Yes, this place is off the books. As far as anyone else in the kingdom is concerned, the Formouth is a supply storage where we navigate the provisions for the Nif refugees that were displaced during the war and Dark Decade. The kings treasury sends a monthly stipend and we get the supplies needed to fulfill orders, then spend what’s left taking care of the rats you saw earlier.”

“Is the king aware of what’s happening?”

“No, and we intend to keep it that way. For the safety of his highness and all Lucians.” The chiefs tone held a threatening pitch to it that Caelan took heed of. She did her best to come off as submissive as to not draw suspicion.

Caelan’s act seemed to work as the chief eased up and returned a more neutral stance. While taking a moment to compose herself, Caelan swallowed as she could feel and hear the screams and cries outside of the elevator blend in with the ones that were resounding in her mind.

“That’s the last of them!” Tempus hollered to Julian. He stood by his commanders side, and awaited for further orders.

Julian Zamfir’s cold stare met with every single Niflheim citizen that was on their hands and knees before the Einherjar. He ignored their muffled cries, the pleads of men and women begging for their lives and or children to be spared. It was all mere static to him. Noise that needed to be cancelled out as he motioned with his head towards his right.

“Zamfir, come here.” Julian ordered, his voice carrying far and wide.

Caelan approached her father with her head high despite her face giving away she was beyond uncomfortable. As she passed the families that had been rounded up by the Einherjar, a woman grabbed a hold of her leg. Caelan gasped, looking down into the dark brown eyes of the girl who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than she.

“Please, you don’t have to do this! Please, we had no part in the war!”

“Shut up!” One of the female troops of the Einherjar screamed, gesturing for Caelan to move out of the way before kicking the young girl in the face.

The girl immediately dropped with a snap, her breathing ragged as she reached for her nose as blood pooled everywhere from her nostrils. The scene was horrific yet Caelan looked ahead, her gaze fixed on no one else but Julian who held disappointment on his strong features. It became obvious to Caelan the closer she got, that Julian didn’t approve of her looking the girl in the eye when she reached out for Caelan’s boot. Nevertheless, when Caelan was not more than a few feet away from him, Julian’s expression softened.

“Zamfir,” Julian began. “Select one Nif.”

“May I ask why--”

“I won’t say it again.” Julian uttered.

Caelan swallowed nervously, giving a firm nod. She could feel her heart pounding erratically against her ribcage, knowing there was something sinister about the ordeal as her eyes rapidly glanced across face after face. The crying never ceased.

When Caelan had been caught by Tempus and Rux assisting Niflheim children who were mourning the loss of their parents Julian had killed the night prior, she thought her leg nearly being snapped would be enough for disobeying. Now, it seemed that was but a bitter taste of what was to come.

Caelan knew on a gut level, no matter who she chose, something bad was going to happen. She had been through this time and time again. Julian had grown unpredictable since the fall of Insomnia. His horror knew no bounds as he ransacked and pillaged any who were associated with the empire. One wouldn’t think a man such as he would be capable of cruel acts by looks alone, and that was likely how he and the Einherjar managed to get away with the bloodshed for so long.

Caelan gestured an arm towards the girl that had her nose crushed in. Two members of the Einherjar dragged her away from the rest of the crowd. Without warning, Julian nodded to his troops and in a matter of seconds, guns went off and blades pierced flesh. Cries and screams carried off into the air, yet nothing would return the call nor come to save them. All Caelan could do was watch. Her body shuddered, eyes formed into a tight glare as she tried not to show any emotional attachment whatsoever, but alas tears fell as over time the cries became fewer and fewer and the rich copper scent of blood became faint as her nose adjusted to it.

Caelan was trying to process what the hell her mind had bore witness too, when she felt something heavy being shoved into her right hand. Looking down, she saw the gun in her hand. Her eyes meeting Julian’s as he pointed to the girl that had been saved from the carnage. The girls eyes squeezed shut as she let out bellowing cries.

“Show it mercy,” Julian commanded.

Caelan didn’t say a word as she, without emotion approached the girl from behind and pressed the tip of the gun to the back of the girls head. The crying became worse, and all Caelan wanted was for it to end. With a yell, Caelan raised the gun and fired off to the side, prompting the girl to take off sprinting as a last ditch effort to survive. She didn’t get far. Tempus having cleaved the girls back open with one of his ax’s he tossed. She fell like a rock into the mud. Movements ceasing.

“Leave us!” Julian shouted at the Einherjar, and like shadows the unit of fifty men and women dispersed and retreated away from the area, not bothering to pick up the slaughter they left behind.

“Again, you deliberately defied me!” Julian shouted as he approached Caelan. His eyes were seething with rage as she flinched, her head bowed down. “What is it with you helping the Nifs? You know what they’ve done, and what they’ve did to our home, Zamfir and yet you still hold a torch for animals?! What have I done wrong?”

“You said we were going to get justice for everyone. You promised!” Caelan retorted, feeling a burst of anger that had been long welled up inside herself breaking at the seams.

“And I delivered!” Julian yelled. “And yet, it seems that this isn’t good enough for you!”

“No, no you won’t use me as an excuse for why you’re doing--this!” Caelan gestured to the bodies around them, a few desperate final chokes and groans still permeated the area as she continued.

“You’re unhinged! It’s been three years since Insomnia fell and no amount of blood you spill can fill you up! Have you no shame? If this was truly about justice, we would’ve stayed in Insomnia and fought back! You were looking for an excuse to kill because you didn’t have the guts back home because the crownsguard, not the Einherjar, would’ve held you accountable!”

“You have no right to speak to me in that--!”

“Look at this! It’s madness!” Caelan interrupted with a scream, once more gesturing at the carnage. Her voice desperately trying to appeal to whatever bit of humanity resided in her father.

“Daylight has gone extinct since prince Noctis disappeared! The darkness is slowly consuming Eos, and all you continue to think about is killing imperials? We should be helping people and uniting, not rounding up humans and butchering them like cattle! Shame on your blood!”

“That blood is also yours!” Julian bellowed. “And you do well to know your place, daughter! If anyone is to blame, it’s you! Had you stayed by Aila and August’s side when I told you to--!”

“You can’t use me as an excuse!” Caelan screamed, repeating herself from before. “Killing Niflheim families won’t bring back the one you lost! Mom and August are dead! Get it through your fucking head! They’re dead! And they aren’t coming back! I’m still here, dad! I’m. Still. Here!”

Caelan felt her whole world turn black for a brief second. A searing pain encapsulated the entire left side of her skull as she flew back. Her body landing in the dirt a few feet away. She slowly began to rise the upper half of her body, her hands clamoring to the side of her face that was throbbing with a terrible ache. Caelan winced as Julian stepped forward, hovering above her as she could only stare in fright. She was met with silence and a wounded glare. The likes of which had goosebumps forming on her arms. Caelan couldn’t tell if Julian was going to kill her or not, and the odds were not looking in her favor.

“Burry the dead if you feel so inclined towards them,” Julian said firmly. His tone morose as he shook his head. The disappointment and dismay he had earlier returned. “This is the last time you disobey an order, Zamfir. If you pull another stunt like that in front of the Einherjar, I’ll put you in the ground myself. I'll treat you as I've treated them.”

Julian stepped over Caelan, departing to find the rest of his unit, not before he gave a chilling and final proclamation to Caelan.

“Don’t return to base until every body is covered.”

Caelan was beside herself. Alone, and with the dark enclosing the final rays of the sun, Caelan felt a sickening and horrible weight upon her shoulders as she looked at the masses. There had to have been over forty people dead. Her eyes meeting the lifeless orbs of the girl she had unintentionally condemned, Caelan started to sob and throw up.

“We’re here.” The chief’s words broke Caelan from her descent, eyes blinking as she took in a deep breath and followed the Lucian troop into the command center of the base.

Caelan nor the chief said a word to each other while the chief dug through the archives on a large screen that was built into an oversize table. Caelan glanced around, getting a feel for the layout of the room while her brain attempted to cease the memories that had decided now was a good time to awaken. The contempt she held towards the Lucian troops at this stronghold was continuously growing. Every ounce of willpower she had left went towards keeping her emotions in check. It was one of the hardest things Caelan had to do in a long time. She knew what was at stake though if she were to burst from rage.

“Found him,” The chief said not long after. “Looks like he’s in the lower level. I can have some troops fetch Kurt and provide you with an interrogation room. You’ll be granted privacy to carry on whatever orders Amshel requested.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Caelan said sincerely, trying to use flattery to cover the disgust she felt.

Twenty minutes later, Caelan was in a small interrogation room with an elderly man. He had been tossed right in front of her before the guards retreated out of the vicinity. Aching breaths left his body as Caelan knitted her brows, feeling pity towards the sorry condition he was in. If this was Kurt, he looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. His hair was matted and his long beard tied in knots. Purple blotches were scattered here and there over his body indicating he had been pushed around or even hit multiple times. The guards didn’t seem to bother making sure the upper half of his form was sheltered from the elements as goosebumps traversed over his naked skin.

Caelan looked around the room, checking for cameras or anything of the sort before she crouched down. The old man visibly jumped at her action, and Caelan was quick to gesture with a hand.

“I come in peace,” She murmured, trying to make her tone as gentle as possible. “Are you Kurt? Florens is looking for you. My name is Cael--Cahl. I’ve been looking for you.”

“W-what?” The older man coughed, clearing his throat as he forced himself to look up at Caelan. He was visibly startled, his voice pleading as he spoke up.

“Whatever it is, I know nothing. Be done with this and let me return to my cell.”

“No, no,” Caelan shook her head, minding her distance as she snapped her fingers to keep Kurt’s focus. He looked as if he was going to pass out at any second, too scared to carry on a conversation. “Is your name Kurt?”

“Yes, yes it is.” He nodded, his eyes squinted at Caelan. The rush of fear he had seconds ago seemed to calm. “You don’t look like them.”

“Pardon?” Caelan raised a brow.

“You don’t look like the typical guards here. Your eyes aren’t lifeless.” Kurt’s voice was numb, as if whatever gave him courage to rise everyday had been vanquished.

Caelan swallowed. “That’s because I’m not one. Your wife, Florens, do you remember her? She sent me to find you. She’s in Duscae, waiting for you to come home.”

The fear and uncertainty that consumed Kurt’s features, now gave way to wide eyes and awe. The beginning sparks of hope were starting to take root in his somber eyes. When Caelan spoke of Florens, it looked as if life was being breathed back into the decrepit old man.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“Why would I?” Caelan shrugged. “I have no reason to fuck around like that. We don’t have much time. I have a plan to get you out. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Not like I am being given much choice,” Kurt murmured, letting out a sigh. He was contemplative for a long time, his exhausted mind trying to decipher if there was any deception. He quickly laid out the pros and cons. Either way, he felt that his life would be forfeit at this rate. If this woman didn't get him killed, he had a feeling come next week the guards would finally lay into him. They had upped the beatings, only doing that when they were set on getting rid of refugees to make room for more. Kurt witnessed it more than once during his year at Formouth.

“Can you help me up?” Kurt murmured with hesitation.

“No problem,” Caelan remarked, taking the old man’s hand into her own as she helped hoist Kurt onto his feet. Pained sounds fell from his mouth as Caelan muttered apologies here and there.

“Can you tell me how you met my wife? Is she safe? How did she even--” Kurt swallowed, trying to get his dry throat to clear as Caelan shook her head.

“I can explain later, but we gotta go. Stay behind me.” Caelan said firmly before she opened the door to the hallway. After checking the coast was clear, she motioned for Kurt to follow.

Caelan retraced her steps from where the guards and chief had led her to the interrogation rooms. Because she had to play her role to a T, Caelan neglected to take in some of the key areas. At the very least, she knew they were on the third level and needed to get to the second floor. From there, Caelan swore she saw an emergency exit flight of stairs. If they could take those down to the bottom, there might’ve been a way out besides heading to the entrance. As much as she wanted to take the camera out and look at the pictures she took of all corners of the facility to confirm, Caelan knew better. Time spent on such a tedious task would add more opportunity for them to get caught.

“This place is like a maze,” Kurt murmured. He was having difficulty understanding how vast the facility was. “Are you sure you know where to go, what’s the plan anyway?”

“Truth be told,” Caelan muttered back with a sigh. “I’m making it up as I go.”

“Are you insane?!” Kurt exclaimed as Caelan turned around to shush him.

“You can yell at me later,” Caelan looked up, seeing a couple of Lucian troops coming their way. “Quick, I need you to put on an act with me. I’m going to grab your arms and fling you around a bit. I promise I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“Done.” Kurt said bluntly as he glanced from the corner of his eye and saw the men approaching.

Caelan, recalling her days of helping Julian arrest Niflheim citizens, easily pinned Kurt’s arms behind his back and began shoving him about. A few profanities slipped here and there. She went so far as to slap the old man upside the head, getting a yelp out of him to the amusement of the troops that walked by. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world with what was happening as they bounded around the corner, talking amongst themselves about happenings outside of work.

“Coast clear,” Caelan said firmly, letting go of Kurt as he winced. She furrowed her brows, remorse crossing her features as she looked him over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you too bad did I?”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” Kurt sighed, rubbing at his wrists where Caelan had him pinned. There was a nervousness in his steps as he walked behind Caelan again. “You’re not one of them, but you sure know how to man handle another human being.”

“Former crownsguard,” Caelan responded, walking ahead and checking down a hallway before motioning for Kurt to follow. “All part of the training sad enough.”

“How long were you with them?” Kurt curiously asked.

“I started when I was 10. Joined ranks and a unit by the time I was 14. My dad was a commander, family tradition and all that.”

“So young, so damn young.” Kurt shook his head in disbelief. “In my country, kids weren’t allowed to go fight in their parents wars.”

“In Niflheim?” Caelan was taken back from the information as Kurt grunted.

“When you turn 18 within the empire, you have to dedicate a year to a service to help your country. Military is one path, but if you were academically inclined, there were other options. It was like that ever since I was a boy. After magitek troops became a thing, well, we had less children to bury during the war compared to Lucis.”

“Man,” Caelan shook her head as she mentally digested the information. “Over here its quite common to start training for crownsguard when you hit 14, if your family volunteers you for it. Then when you become fully initiated, you’re assigned to another part of the Lucian kingdom or you stay within Insomnia. You don’t know until graduation where you end up.”

“Quite archaic,” Kurt sighed sadly.

“Speak for yourself. Having zombies do the fighting for you wasn’t a wise choice in the grand scheme of things. Pretty grotesque and inhumane, especially after word got out how they were made.” Caelan mused, shaking her head as she recalled Kurt mentioning magitek troops.

The ghoulish creatures, once men, were hollow weapons that followed higher ups within Niflheim’s ranks. Even after all these years, Caelan still shuddered at the thought of them. Their unnatural movements nearly got her killed many times during the Dark Decade. Ardyn confessing to her during a camp out that he played a hand in their creation came to mind. She gave him hell for days over it.

“If you’re so critical of us Nifs, why are you helping me?” Kurt huffed, not taking too kindly to Caelan’s counter argument.

“Besides making a promise to your wife,” Caelan began. She paused for a moment, recalling the hollowed face of the Niflheim girl she had inadvertently killed. Her pulse began to rise, until images of Ardyn slowly began to trickle in. A sense of comfort washed over Caelan as she breathed, managing to keep the darker thoughts at bay.

“A good friend of mine is from your country. If he were in your shoes, there’s no way I’d leave him to rot here.” Caelan said honestly. “The war between Lucis and Niflheim was awful, but I don’t hold it against you or anyone from your home.”

“Did you lose many people because of us?” Kurt asked, his voice somber as he too recalled everything he had lost back home before arriving to Lucis.

“Yeah, more than I can count.” Caelan admitted sadly. “It doesn’t matter though. The Dark Decade came and we all had to get along. We’re all human.”

“If only more Lucians like you thought that way,” Kurt murmured.

“Trust me, there’s more of us out there than the assholes in this hell pit. You were unlucky to get caught up in this--mess.” Caelan stated as a matter of fact.

Caelan let out a gasp, seeing another guard coming by. She quickly motioned for Kurt to put his hands behind his back, which he complied with. Grabbing onto his arms, she marched with him in tow. Kurt keeping his head low and murmuring pleads to not be hurt to further add to the deception. As the guard looked to his right at Caelan, observing what was going on, he squinted his eyes as if suspicious. Caelan merely saluted, to which the guard gave a nod and decided to be on his way.

The sigh of relief that escaped both Kurt and Caelan after the fact couldn’t have been more needed.

“Your friend from Niflheim,” Kurt continued while Caelan led him to an elevator. He got in quickly before another group of troops approached, the door closing behind them fast. “What part was he from?”

Caelan combed through the conversations she had with Ardyn regarding his time as chancellor. She had asked him lots of questions during their first month together. There was a lot of information about Niflheim he willingly gave, much to her surprise and sometimes irritation depending if Ardyn was attempting to drive her up a wall or not. It had her recalling a night Ardyn had her in hysterics.

“You’re lying!” Caelan said in between fits as Ardyn made a face, feigning he was hurt by Caelan’s accusation as he tried to contain his own bouts of laughter.

“I’m telling the truth, I had it made in Gralea!” Ardyn exaggerated. “I had a beautiful pent house where I could see the whole capital. Unfortunately, it came with a price. A VIP viewing of Verstael wiping his ass in his own home across from mine. The man loved to have his blinders open. Didn’t care if he scared off birds or children.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t become an alcoholic seeing that.” Caelan laughed, cringing at the vivid imagery Ardyn had planted in mind based on what she knew of Bethesia.

“Oh, but I did! A very expensive habit, I wouldn’t recommend it. My tastes in wine did spare me funds that would’ve gone to therapy, however. For which I'm grateful.” Ardyn’s sarcasm and the way he presented his stories of living within the high ranks of the empire had Caelan in hysterics. His own laughter not too far away from hers, catching up in between explanations and tall tales.

In the present, the memory had Caelan chuckle in the elevator, until she caught herself and relaxed for the time being.

“Gralea. He lived in the capital. He’s waiting back home with your wife for us to return. Maybe you two could talk.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Kurt nodded. A sigh of relief escaped his throat as he started to feel more at ease in Caelan’s presence. “Sounds like you hold him highly.”

“He’s not someone you can easily avoid,” Caelan joked, shaking her head with a slight huff.

Before Kurt could ask anything further, the elevator came to a halt. It began to shake from side to side. Both Caelan and Kurt braced themselves with what little they could hold onto. The inside of the elevator turned pitch black, the lights going off.

Kurt gasped. “D-do you think they know?”

“Shh,” Caelan whispered. “Don’t move, hold your ground.”

As quickly as it came, the lights on the elevator returned. With a final jolt that nearly had Caelan fall onto her knees, the elevator began to move once more. No warnings or alarms went off. There was no indication they were changing course. It seemed they were out of the woods. Caelan couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. She could feel a chill go down her arms when they reached the second floor, the elevator making a distinctive beep.

“Alright, let’s go.” Caelan motioned with her head at Kurt for him to follow as she hit a yellow button to the left for the doors to open.

Clicking sounds like a chorus of rocks being broken ignited the atmosphere causing Kurt and Caelan to cease their movements. There were at least forty gun barrels staring them down with a man or woman behind the triggers. An additional five showed up soon after, accompanied by the chief. The scornful glimmer in her eyes along with a signature smirk told Caelan one thing, and one thing only: they were caught.

#ardyn #ardyn izunia #ffxv #fanfic #fanfiction #original characters #dawn of the future based #story #bleh #caelan centric for the next two chapters #gotta give homegirl some of her spice

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firein-thesky · 1 year

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oh god I tried in every way to reblog the newest godmaker chapter and leave some nice tags, but tumblr just doesn't let me ;u; so I guess I'll send this message instead bc I have to let you know that you put out a hit on me in the form of this chapter.

there's something so magnetic about getou in this fic, how is it that he barely appears but it makes me crazy when he does?? you're sooo good at writing him it's insane!! but that doesn't mean I'm not totally here for readers and gojo's relationship. I just love toxic relationships sooo much and the way they're so possessive of each other?? that's the good shit. bc toxic doesn't always have to mean bad I guess? idk they kinda remind me of this quote from one of my favorite books, deathless

"A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape."

idk if this makes sense and idk where this story is going to go but yeah, her and gojo remind me of this.

and then we get to this part after the wedding and??? ummm??? why did I relate a little too much with reader how she feels about intimacy and pleasure?? I had to take several breaks reading this part.

gojo making her vow to put megumi and tsumiki first had me in awe!! I thought she was gonna weasel her way out again but nope, this really happened. I sure hope nothing is going to come of it :'))) even if she says there is no future where she would have to choose, I have a theory that at some point something might happen that is not supposed to in the version of the future she has created and she's going to freak. but that's just my theory!!

about songs, I can also be really meticulous about my playlists, and I think every you every me from placebo is a super fitting song for reader and gojo

"All alone in space and time, there's nothing here but what here's mine

Something borrowed, something blue

Every me and every you"

I'm super excited for the next parts, thanks so much for writing this cielo!!

first of all tumblr the worst especially for big huge chapters like the previous ones....i had a feeling it would crash on ppl 💔 but gosh THANK YOU for coming to my ask box and leaving your thoughts anyways?? for taking the time to do that?? it is so greatly appreciated 💕

getou is my siren song. i can't write him into any fics he WILL take the spotlight it is so horrible of him. he belongs isolated in his own fics. honestly i could write extensively ab godmaker!reader and getou and their relationship. but its not ab them!!

okay also i have indeed read deathless but it was awhile ago so i don't remember that particular quote but it certainly fits! Marriage is so. strange indeed. i have many thoughts on it. but that is exactly what i was sorta going for with gojo and the reader! i think they certainly are the only two that can understand each other in this way. i don't think anyone else in the world could.

and listen FELT. intimacy is HARD. idk. i really wanted this reader to Not be in control for once. or not feel in control for once. i wanted to strip this reader a little. and intimacy tends to do that! intimacy is certainly something to Wrestle With.

i cannot speak to your theory much without revealing anything! i will say. i think gojo's interlude will reveal a touch more about what he's been up to. what he thinks. i will not say anything else!! 🤐

also!! this song!!! gosh the lyrics are SOOOO fitting for them. absolutely the idea of like...this is already so bad. you can't change this now. also i think with those two, there was never much of a chance at normalcy. those lyrics you highlighted especially!! it just fits so well!! thank you for this song rec friend!!

i'm excited to share the next parts!! thank you so so much again for reading and taking the time to come share your thoughts!! it means a lot to me!! 💕

#god i love hearing your guys songs for this fic and in general like its so fun #its so fun to see where others minds go to something from your mind you know #that seems like a stoner thought but genuinely it makes me so happy #like HUMAN CONNECTION!#ya know?#anyways #thank you again!!!#i hope your week is going well!#cielo chats!

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hjharding · 2 years

Text

H. J. Harding’s Fact Free Conspiracy Theory

Okay, so bear with me on this one. It takes a little lead in. This is absolutely true.

Last Monday, I had to take my Dad to his doctor’s appointment, early-ish in the morning. My sister tagged along in hopes of breakfast. It is important that you know that there are five people in my household and only two cars. I own one, my mom owns one. Dad doesn’t trust himself to drive anymore, and my brother and sister can’t drive.

I had a bad night, and wanted to go home, hopefully get a little more sleep. We had breakfast after the appointment. Afterwards, we started to leave. My car wouldn’t start. I turned the ignition, the lights and radio came on and there was a quiet click. Nothing else.

This wasn’t the first time my car had that issue recently, and previous times it restarted after a few times or we gave it a break and came back later. By now, it’s almost 11:30. After lots of attempts, it isn’t turning on, so we decide to give it until noon. It didn’t work at noon. I called roadside assistance, and they offer to send someone who can check the battery and give me a jump. I tell them I don’t think it’s the battery, but they still think this is a good idea. I said fine, because a tow truck that can check battery isn’t the worst option.

It’s worth noting that we were actually only about three miles from home right now. My sister has actually walked it sometimes. My dad is disabled and can’t walk. If we need a tow, we can’t fit everyone in the truck.

About 1 o’clock or so, I’m being asked about my service. Since no one showed up, I’m not particularly pleased with it yet. I call in again. I don’t know details, but they send someone else to my location. He arrives at 2. He does not have a tow truck, only a battery evaluation tool, whatever it’s called.

Funnily enough, it isn’t the battery. He can’t do anything for me.

I call it in again, and ask for a tow truck. They said about 3:30. I get my sister to download Uber and get herself and our dad home. Tow truck shows up at 4. Car starts properly, unlike the 60+ times I had tried earlier.

I go home. The next day, I get my mom to help me take it to the garage. Wednesday night they tell me that they can’t reproduce the issue and can’t do anything about it, so I might as well pick it up. So I go to pick it up. The garage is closed by now. Car starts. But we have to put something in the trunk, and I have to stop the engine to do that. Car doesn’t start up again.

We leave the car. Thursday, my mom works 9-5 and my brother works 10-2. Mom has me borrow her car to drop them both off and pick them both up. We drop Mom off first, and my brother and I get some breakfast and wait in the parking lot of his job. Again, I didn’t sleep well and want to go home and rest.

He leaves, I go to start the car. Lights come on, radio comes on. Car makes a series of clicking sounds and doesn’t start. Repeatedly. I call roadside assistance. They send someone with battery tool and a tow truck. It’s about 11, 11:30. Car starts up.

He uses his tool and says it looks like the car has a bad alternator. It might be able to get me home (and that’s not a guarantee), but there’s only a 50/50 chance it will start again.

I take it home, passing on the message to my brother that he’ll have to Uber home. I tell my mom that I’ll try to pick her up, but that might not work and we’ll have to put her car in the shop.

Garage tells me that they still can’t reproduce the problem, but it’s probably the starter, and they suggest replacing it.

Mom’s car works when I go to pick her up. We do not stop the car as we go to the garage and pick up my car with new starter. Neither of us dare shut off our cars until we make it home.

Mom doesn’t want to put her car in the shop until we’re sure that mine is reliable, but it conked out completely on Friday. My car has been working, she’s still waiting to get hers back. It was the alternator.

In conclusion, car demons are real. And they hate me.

#H. J. Harding #Conspiracy #conspiracy theory #rant #car trouble

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aro-culture-is · 4 years

Note

I'm th anon asking about tagging ab*rtion mentions, I have the tags #abortion ment and #miscarriage blocked. Thanks very much for being so sweet about this, by the way, and thanks for being s considerate

Okay! I'll add them to the list sometime tomorrow.

It's no problem, really! A lot of my therapy revolves around trauma, and I want to provide a space for others to feel safe with that too.

I try to be trigger sensitive both as a person who has triggers and as someone who struggles with the urge to intentionally trigger myself when I feel well. I hope that by providing the ability to have a totally judgement free process around asking for triggers to be tagged, more people like me who don't always feel "worthy" of asking people to tag our uncommon triggers can have a positive experience with it.

I hope you have a good day!

#not aro #not aro culture #ask #trigger ask #btw...#guess who found out at xyr last therapy appt that xe had secret diagnoses that somehow never got communicated to xem?#this individual right here!!#in other words though i basically have the DSM-5 friendly version of the C-PTSD diagnosis #with the lovely name of Other Specified Trauma Related Disorder #yeah who knew emotional abuse and repeated experiences with being used by toxic people + being bullied + early memories of traumatic stuff #could result in a trauma related disorder 👀#but for any anxious and/or highly empathetic ppl out there dont worry I'm honestly doing okay #to borrow a previous tag of mine #i basically never learned how to process emotions in a healthy manner and just unlocked thw ability to yeet myself out of my mortal coil #but it turns out that can be a healthy way to deal with things in moderation! and im learning about that balance in my life and how to Not #i can definitely say that one of my biggest 🤯 moments in therapy thus far was my therapist telling me that i have permission to dissociate #also their dog sleeps on their lap during our zoom therapy and it's freaking adorable #but yeah all of this to say i have diagnoses and I'm excited to be able to use those to get real accommodations to help me deal with college #mod kee

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fics-n-stuff · 3 years

Text

A Size Too Big

See original prompt here

Pairing: Wilhelm × Simon

Summary: Simon spends the night in Wilhelm's room and has to borrow some clothes the next morning. (AU where nothing went wrong and they can still be together)

Word Count: 836

A/N: I am OBSESSED with Young Royals! The story, the characters, the cast, EVERYTHING!! I need a second season because I just want my boys to be happy!!!

Taglist: @rika90 (I have a couple more YR fics in the works, so anyone can let me know if they want to be tagged in those 💕)

Simon was the first of them to wake up that morning. His eyes fluttered open and the first thing that he saw was Wilhelm asleep beside him. Simon reached over to gently brush away the strands of blonde hair falling over his face, careful not to wake him. He didn’t know what time it was.

Slowly, he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His phone was on the floor somewhere, and he kicked at his clothes until he found it sitting under his hoodie. With a yawn, he reached down to grab it and checked the time, then suddenly he was wide awake when he saw how late it was.

“Wille, wake up.” Simon whispered, gently nudging the other boy awake. “You’re gonna miss breakfast, there’s only fifteen minutes left until it closes.”

“I don’t care.” Wilhelm groaned sleepily.

“I care, you have to get me something to eat.”

“Hmm, okay.” He hummed, finally opening his eyes. “I’ll go for your sake.” Simon let out a breathy laugh, leaning down to give Wilhelm a kiss.

“Thank you.” He smiled. Then he sat back up and looked at his clothes from the previous day strewn on the floor and groaned. “I don’t have any clothes.”

Simon hadn’t planned on staying the night with Wilhelm, but Wilhelm had had a really bad day and Simon didn’t want to leave him alone. Unfortunately, the spontaneity of it all meant that Simon didn’t have a change of clothes, and it probably wouldn’t be a very good look to wear the exact same thing to school two days in a row.

“I’ll lend you something.” Wilhelm yawned, stretching as he sat up.

“What if people notice that I’m wearing your clothes?”

“I’ll lend you something that I don’t wear very much.” He shrugged as he stood, and crossed the room to his wardrobe. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a grey hoodie and tossed them at Simon, who caught them with a giggle, before grabbing the first things that his hand found for himself.

They both got dressed quickly, a knock coming at the door to check that the Crown Prince was awake while they did so. Wilhelm pulled on his shoes and looked up just in time to see Simon pushing the hoodie sleeves up off of his hands.

“This is clearly a size too big.” Simon said, standing up with his arms outstretched to display the bagginess of the hoodie on his body. Wilhelm smiled endearingly.

“I think you look cute.” He complimented.

“I should hope so.” Simon replied teasingly. The jeans were too long on his legs too, but he just had to fold them up a couple of times and nobody would notice.

Wilhelm couldn’t stop looking at him. Seeing Simon wearing his hoodie had sparked a warm feeling in his chest, similar to what he felt when he watched the other boy sing in the choir but somehow even better. He didn’t even think about it when he moved back across the room to wrap his arms around Simon’s middle and pull him in for a hug.

“Thank you for being here.” He mumbled against his neck. Simon’s hold on Wilhelm was tight and comforting.

“No problem.” He replied softly. After a few moments he pulled away, adjusting the hoodie sleeves where they had fallen over his hands. “You’re sure nobody’s going to realise that this is your hoodie?”

“It’s just a plain grey hoodie and I haven’t worn it in ages, there’s no way they’ll know it’s mine.” Wilhelm assured, grabbing Simon’s arm and rolling up the sleeve to sit securely at his wrist. “If anyone asks why your hoodie is too big, just say that it was a gift from someone who didn’t know your size.”

“Does that mean I can keep it?” Simon asked, his mouth pulling into a sweet smile. Wilhelm didn’t think he would be able to deny him anything with that look on his face.

“If you want it.” He smiled back. Simon giggled and draped his arms over Wilhelm’s shoulders, leaning up for a kiss. They both smiled into it, taking this short moment just to bask in the fact that they were there together.

“Okay, okay. Go or you’ll miss breakfast.” Simon laughed as he broke the kiss. “I will not be happy if I get nothing to eat.”

“Alright, I’m going.” Wilhelm nodded, and quickly stole one last peck before he stepped away. His gaze lingered on the other boy for a few moments, and he let out a long sigh. “You do look really good in my hoodie.”

“You’ll have to get some more for me to steal.” Simon joked after a short laugh. “Now seriously, go! I’m hungry!”

Wilhelm grabbed his phone from the bed, a grin on his face that he couldn’t wipe off, and headed for the door. They whispered short goodbyes before he left the room, leaving Simon to sneak out a few minutes later.

#young royals #young royals netflix #young royals fanfiction #wilhelm x simon #simon x wilhelm #wilhelm young royals #simon young royals #simon eriksson #young royals fanfic #young royals fic

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qitwrites · 3 years

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⬅ Previous || 11 || Next ➡

The hoodie incident begins with Kaminari, as most absentminded things do in the dorm.

It’s a cold Saturday morning, and Kaminari can’t find his hoodie anywhere. He briefly looks through his room, the common room, the dishwasher (because it’s happened before and no, he would not like to comment), and the courtyard before deciding he’s probably lost it. Just as he starts to make his way back, with plans to stop by Ashido’s or Kirishima’s room for a spare jacket, the jingle of a machine stops him in his tracks.

It’s the sound of a dryer that’s completed its cycle.

Kaminari doesn’t remember the last time he did his laundry but decides its worth a look anyway. He ventures into the laundry room, and when he sees the familiar shade of yellow, slightly worn out and well-loved but vibrant yellow nonetheless, he picks it up from the basket and beams.

‘How did you get here?’ he muses and puts it on with a satisfied sigh. He doesn’t question why the hoodie is so warm, or why it smells like fresh detergent, or how it’s way too big in pretty much every single way. He just decides that it’s his and leaves for his room.

Satou, for the life of him, cannot find his yellow hoodie.

It was in the laundry basket when he’d left to go grab a glass of water, and it’s gone by the time he gets back. It’s a whole ass mystery honestly.

It’s too cold to be without a hoodie, so Satou decides to borrow one from Kouda for the time being, and figure it out later. Kouda hands him a purple one with chewed up drawstrings and a front pouch pocket that sheds lint, and Satou gives him a huge grin as thanks.

This works out fine for everyone so far, but then Kouda drops some milk on his only other hoodie an hour later, and he can’t ask for the one he gave Satou back because Satou hasn’t found his either. So, Kouda just goes to Shoji and asks if he has any jackets to spare. Shoji, ever the minimalist, has a limited collection of clothes, but there is a sleeveless jacket, dark and warm, on a hanger in his closet that he happily hands over to Kouda.

Shoji is a pretty warm-blooded person, but the day is quite cold. When Tokoyami sees him shiver once, almost imperceptibly, he goes to his closet and pulls out a sleeveless moto jacket, dark as midnight and lined with faux fur. It isn’t really Shoji’s style, but he appreciates the gesture and shrugs it on. It’s warm and smells like nothing, and they go back to watching a YouTube documentary on Tokoyami’s floor, with Dark Shadow curled up nearby.

Dark shadow has the biggest soft spot for Tsuyu, so when Tokoyami is in the common room chatting with Iida and Ojiro later in the day, Dark Shadow sneaks off towards Tsuyu and tells her Tokoyami is feeling a bit cold, and happily takes the offered green jacket. He hides it away from Tokoyami the best he can.

Tsuyu, with her frog like disposition, does not do well with the cold. In fact, it’s one of her biggest vices, so the minute her jacket is gone, she feels herself seize up. Jirou walks by a few minutes later to see Tsuyu curled up on the couch, not moving and dressed too lightly.

‘Tsuyu,’ she shouts, rushing towards the green haired girl while pulling her hoodie off. She gently nudges Tsuyu into the material of her maroon hoodie, and Tsuyu finally exhales, warmth seeping into her extremities. She gives Jirou a happy smile.

‘Thank you,’ she croaks, and Jirou pats her head before plopping down on the couch next to her.

Jirou feels the cold soon enough, even as she snuggles into Tsuyu, but she doesn’t want to go to her room and pull on another jacket. She’s having fun watching a music concert on TV while others talk in the space around them. It’s homely, and she’s scared of breaking the moment by leaving, because they don’t get moments like this very often. Moments where everything is normal, or as close to normal as they can get, and the air is calm and the dust settles in random pools of sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the hall. So she just sits and waits.

Bakugou shows up 45 minutes into the concert, a black and orange hoodie draped over his arm. He leaves it on the couch next to Jirou as he walks over to the kitchen to refill his bottle, and because Jirou lives to irritate the ever-loving shit out of Bakugou, she simply picks the hoodie up and pulls it on. The material is soft and cool and smells of fabric softener. The sleeves are more worn out than the rest of the hoodie, tiny holes and jagged corners littering the cloth sporadically. Tsuyu gives Jirou a nod of approval, and she returns it with a cocky smirk of her own.

Bakugou takes one look at the back of the couch, one look at the girls, one more look at the back of the couch before he snarls, exploding the bottle in his hands and spraying water everywhere.

‘I’ll KILL you.’

‘Try me,’ Jirou taunts drily, not moving her eyes from the screen. Tsuyu protectively curls into her, and the two slump lower into the couch.

Bakugou takes one step towards them when Kirishima, sunshine Kirishima, Bakugou tamer Kirishima, the lord and savior Kirishima steps into the room, takes one look at Bakugou’s expression, another at Jirou’s frame covered in black and orange before shrugging off his green hoodie and stuffing it over Bakugou’s head, wrestling him into it. The blonde yells and kicks the whole time but lets it happen because Kirishima’s hoodie is warm, slightly oversized, ridiculously comfortable and smells safe.

‘You’re going to train right?’ Kirishima asks with a wide grin. ‘Let me come with ya! I’ll let you beat me up as much as you’d like.’

Bakugou snarls in Jirou’s direction one more time but surprisingly relents, pulling Kirishima away by the collar of his shirt.

‘Clean that shit up,’ he shouts over his shoulder at Jirou, referring to the exploded water bottle in the middle of the room.

‘Ok mom,’ she shouts back, and sniggers at the yells of fuck you and shitty hair let me go I will end her. Messing with Bakugou is the best. She waits for the hour mark to pass on the concert before getting up to find a mop and a dustpan.

Kirishima and Bakugou train for upwards of 2 hours, oscillating between working their quirks till their bodies ache and sparring without their quirks to strengthen their bodies. Their fights look like they’re dancing, so attuned are they to each other’s movements, so familiar with each other’s fighting styles, it’s almost art. Bakugou is faster, more agile, and hits where it hurts, but Kirishima is an immovable, unbreakable wall, taking hit after hit and pushing back, standing strong, giving as good as he gets.

They’re drenched in sweat by the end of it, and Bakugou pulls on the green hoodie as the cold seeps in, giving Kirishima a feral smile.

‘Shouldn’t have let ears steal mine,’ he smirks, before sauntering over to the vending machine to get himself a hot drink. Kirishima just shrugs with a smile, and lays down on the ground, slowly stretching out his hamstrings. He’s always run a bit warm, so the cold isn’t anything unbearable, and he doesn’t mind Bakugou wearing his hoodie. The blonde doesn’t do well in the cold at all, so he’s a lot more manageable when he’s warmed up.

Kirishima twists to the side and something under one of the exercise mats catches his eye. He rolls over to it and picks it up and finds an off-white jacket roughly in his size. He feels like he’s seen it before, so he just shrugs and pulls it on. It’s a nice thick material, and fits just right, maybe erring on the side of tight around his shoulders. Bakugou comes back, cocks his eyebrow at the jacket but doesn’t say anything.

He throws a drink at Kirishima and starts walking back to the dorms. Kirishima smiles at the warm coffee in his hands and runs to catch up, launching into a story about a kitten, a tree, and a stupid idea.

‘Can we drop by the gym? I think I left my jacket there,’ Ojiro says to Tenya as they walk towards the main entrance. Tenya had expressed his desire to go out for a walk, and Ojiro, who’d been in earshot, had decided to tag along, having felt cooped up from sitting inside the dorm building all day. Iida agrees enthusiastically and they begin walking to the gym, passing Kirishima and Bakugou on the way.

It isn’t until Kirishima is out of earshot that Ojiro realizes the guy is wearing his jacket, and when he watches the red head walk into the dorm, he decides he doesn’t really mind. He didn’t want the jacket back cause he’s feeling cold per se, he just wanted to make sure he got it back. He can pick it up from Kirishima later he decides.

‘On second thought, I think I’ll look for it later,’ Ojiro murmurs, and Iida shoots him a confused look. They start moving away from the gym, heading down a well-worn path often traversed by the students and talk about upcoming hero movies and its easy and fun and the sun is bright not harsh. It’s a perfect day for a walk.

Iida and Ojiro get surprisingly into their conversation that they don’t even notice someone is yelling at them and when the earth just sort of vanishes beneath Ojiro’s feet, he yelps out loud.

He looks over to see Iida’s eyes widened in surprise and then there’s black tendrils wrapping around their hips as they’re yanked back. Looking down, Ojiro’s stomach whoops at the wide chasm, as if at the edge of a cliff. He might’ve been super invested in his conversation with Iida, but there’s no way they missed the edge of a cliff, right? Also, was there always a cliff here? What the hell?

‘Guys.’ They look up to see Midoriya standing there, pulling them up with his black whip. He’s like a guardian angel, but he’s still not great with it so when he yanks them up, they land pretty hard on their sides, and Ojiro lands in a mysterious puddle of water, effectively soaked to the bone.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Midoriya gushes, rushing towards them. ‘Shit, I didn’t mean to put you guys down so hard, are you alright?’

Iida gets up, fortunate enough to not have landed in a puddle of water and straightens his glasses. ‘What is going on? Where did this cliff come from?’

Midoriya shrugs. ‘The land seems to be giving out weirdly. I was out here doing some strength training and the land just crumbled away. It reappears after some time. Also, it’s not a cliff.’ He points at the spot he just pulled them from. ‘Seems like a quirk, some kind of illusion one. The land had given away and the fall is steep, but it’s not a cliff. Just looks like one.’

Ojiro’s head spins with the random assortment of info, but he has more pressing problems to deal with. His soaked shirt is making him shiver, and it feels icky against his skin.

‘Oh, you must be cold,’ Midoriya notices immediately, and before Ojiro can say he’s fine, Midoriya shrugs off his All might hoodie and holds it out for Ojiro. ‘You can pull your shirt off and use this for now! It’ll suck if you get sick.’

Ojiro almost says he’s ok, but he’s getting colder and colder and the hoodie looks so warm and inviting so he decides screw it and peels his shirt off, shuddering when the cold air nips at his skin. He quickly tries to brush off any stray droplets before tugging on the hoodie, and sighs at the warmth he’s enveloped in. Midoriya is like a furnace apparently, and it’s wonderful. He gives the green-haired man a warm smile.

‘Thanks man.’

‘No problem!’ Midoriya says. ‘I think I’ll go back to the dorms and give everyone a heads up about this, maybe tell Aizawa-sensei as well. Will you guys be ok?’

‘We will be fine,’ Iida says, hands rigidly gesticulating in the space between them. ‘Ojiro and I will survey the land around and see if there’s anything we’re missing. We will be careful, so do not worry about us Midoriya.’

Midoriya flashes them an easy smile and with a wave, he makes his way back to the dorm.

Midoriya loves that hoodie, an old All Might piece that’s a tad big for him but warm, warmer than most of his clothes. He’ll ask Ojiro for it later he decides, slowly trekking back to the dorms. The whole floor giving away and light playing tricks business seemed more silly than villainous, but anyway, it made sense to bring a teacher into the loop to deal with it accordingly.

As he walks back to the dorms, the sweat on his body cools and chills him to the bone, and Midoriya misses his All Might sweater with a vengeance. Rubbing his hands along his arms, Midoriya picks up the pace and sighs in relief when the dorms come into view. He’s maybe 150 meters away when a familiar voice calls out to him.

‘Midoriya.’

Todoroki looks comfy and fashionable in a beige coat, a white shirt, and trousers paired with semi-formal shoes. Midoriya puts it together and realizes he’s coming back from one of his hospital visits, and gives him a warm, familial smile.

‘Welcome back, Todoroki. What’s up?’

Todoroki nods at him, smile small and hesitant, but there. It’s so much progress from where they started, like he’s thawing and cracking the ice around his soul.

‘Just got back. What are you up to? And why aren’t you wearing a jacket, it’s a bit cold outside, isn’t it?’

For Todoroki, the jacket is more for show than a necessity, considering his temperature quirk. He’d once told Midoriya that by using clothing to regulate his body temp it allows him to conserve energy, but overall it wasn’t too much of an effort for him to regulate himself on the daily. It’s all so fascinating, and Midoriya has like 4 pages worth of notes on this alone.

‘It’s a long story,’ Midoriya laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He gestures for the dorm entrance. ‘Should we head in?’

Todoroki nods again, and Midoriya starts walking, trying to find things to talk about. He knows Todoroki’s hospital visits leave him feeling a little lost, a little sad, a little drained. He’s deciding between a new hero analysis he did about Sniper and a puppy rescue video he watched on Instagram when a coat is placed over his shoulder, extra warm on the left. He startles at that, turning to look at Todoroki with wide eyes.

Todoroki acts like he’s done nothing and starts the conversation instead. ‘On the way here, in the train, I saw someone wearing a tomato costume. I am confused, to say the least.’

And they don’t speak of the jacket. Midoriya slips his hands through the sleeves, pulling it around himself tightly and laughs at the imagery in his head. Todoroki’s soul thaws a little bit more and they walk to the dorm, contemplating why anyone would be in costume outside of Halloween.

They part ways when Midoriya says he wants to talk to Aizawa, and Todoroki heads to his room in a lighter mood. It seems to be a pretty common occurrence once he talks to Midoriya. Though, if he’s being honest, that seems to be the case with most people that speak to Midoriya, with the exception of Bakugou.

Todoroki settles into his room for the evening, content with just reading his manga and maybe getting some homework done when he hears a knock on his door. Bookmarking his spot in the manga, Todoroki walks to the door and opens it to find a grinning Sero.

‘Hey man, got a minute?’

Todoroki nods, and gestures for Sero to come inside.

His friendship with Sero is strange. It’s strange because it’s effortless. Sero doesn’t push him to talk or open up, he doesn’t question him, doesn’t stare at him because of his dad, doesn’t ask about his scar or his family, doesn’t really say much at all. They share comfortable silences, and Sero shows him new music, new clothes, and new stories. Todoroki, in turn, shares his mangas, advice about training, and his love for Soba.

Sero walks into his room and sits at the low table, placing a cloth bag on it. When Todoroki sits in front of him, he pushes the bag towards him.

‘For you!’

Todoroki’s eyes shoot up in surprise and he carefully opens the bag. Inside he finds a jacket, made from a cloth that is brick red, the material cotton soft and breathable. It’s cut like a short kimono, and the patterns are simple and subtle. It looks very much like the clothing Sero normally wears, kinda bohemian.

‘Mom sent me a care package, and I think I talked about you a lot on the phone, so she included this for you as well! Apparently she found it at a nice boutique or something.’

Todoroki isn’t used to friends, much less gifts from said friends. Something inside his chest shifts, and he hugs the jacket to his chest.

‘Thank you.’ His voice shakes just the slightest bit.

Sero’s laugh is warm. ‘Try it on man! I need to take a picture and send it to my mom or she’ll think I kept it for myself.’

Todoroki pulls the jacket on slowly, and Sero whistles low.

‘Damn, looks so good! The shoulders fit nicely too. Do you like it?’

Todoroki nods. ‘It’s very comfortable. Please tell your mother I said thank you.’

‘Fo sure, fo sure. Can I get a picture?’

Todoroki is awkward as all hell when it comes to pictures, but he agrees, and Sero takes one mercifully quickly. When they both stand up, Sero walks over to him, throws an arm over his shoulder and pulls him close for another picture. Todoroki throws up a peace sign, something he’s seen the others do just to have something to do with his hands.

‘This one’s real nice!’ Sero says, admiring the photo.

‘Send it to me later.’

Sero reaches out for a fistbump that Todoroki returns. ‘Sounds good yo. I’m gonna get going, I’ll catch you later yeah?’

Todoroki nods and with that, Sero leaves his room. Todoroki belatedly realizes that the jacket smells like Sero- like sandalwood and fresh tea. Perhaps his family smells like that. The thought twists that little something in his chest even more.

Tonight is act-like-bakugou-will-only-cook-for-himself-and-eat-the-“leftovers”-that-can-somehow-feed-the-entire-class night and Sero loves to stand by the kitchen isle and contribute with his stellar sense of humor. Watching Bakugou create mini-explosions and scream bloody murder is just a bonus.

When he gets there, the blonde is already working on dinner, clad in a green hoodie that looks a lot like the one Kirishima wears. Sero takes a seat by the kitchen island and pulls his phone out to scroll through some memes when he suddenly finds himself assaulted by a face-full of glitter.

Gasping, Sero leans back in his chair and falls on his ass, the glitter coming with him. He hears shouting and laughing and someone saying You have, and please excuse my French, pretty shitty taste Monsieur and Sero is so confused.

When he pulls the lump of glitter away, he realizes it’s a jacket, a sequined jacket that’s a bright, bright gold. It’s soft in his hands, and the inner lining feels like actual silk.

‘What-‘

‘It’s Aoyama’s,’ Kirishima says, pulling Sero to his feet. ‘I got here right when Bakugou yelled you fucking walking disco ball little shit and Aoyama decided throwing the jacket was the way to go. Clearly,’ Kirishima gestures at him, ‘he missed.’

Sero laughs and holds up the jacket. He turns it in his hand and takes a closer look at the fit and the material. Considering it’s Aoyama, he shouldn’t be surprised, but the jacket is actually the perfect balance between tacky and really, really nice. Sero looks over at the two blondes yelling at each other, Bakugou brandishing a spatula while Aoyama threatens him with his navel laser and Sero just shrugs and pulls the jacket on.

It fits like a dream, comfortable on his bones, the length perfect even on his tall frame. He adjusts the sleeves and is surprised by how deep the pockets on the inside are. When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him.

Sero clears his throat self-consciously. ‘What?’

‘It looks good on you Monsieur,’ Aoyama says with an actual sparkle in his eye.

‘Damn Hanta, looking like a whole-ass meal,’ Kirishima cheers, and even Bakugou has a quirked brow. He gives him a small nod and then snorts, ‘Still looks like a shiny voltorb.’

‘I’ll take the compliment,’ Sero grins, shaking his torso this way and that. The light catches in these fun and trippy ways, and Kirishima playfully shields his eyes. Aoyama bounds over to him and winks. ‘That’s not all.’

He runs his hands up Sero’s arms, and the gold glitter turns to silver, and Kirishima squeals.

‘That’s so cool!’

Sero runs his own hand up the sides and he feels like a child again, and it’s amazing.

He looks at Kirishima. ‘Want to try drawing a penis on the back?’

Kirishima howls, Bakugou throws a spatula at Sero, and Aoyama looks rightfully horrified. He lets Sero take the jacket anyway.

Iida is not happy when he finds Aoyama in a sleeveless jersey when its cold enough to see your breath, so he lectures him for a good 4 minutes before handing over his track suit jacket. Aoyama wears it with a grumble of All my twinkling has died a painful death.

Uraraka drapes her shrug over a napping Iida sprawled across the couch after a long day, belly full of Bakugou’s amazing food. She pulls his glasses off and keeps it on the table, tucks the sleeves against Iida’s body and hopes the make-shift blanket works.

Mina thinks Uraraka’s outfit is missing something and throws a denim jacket on her from her own closet, a cute cropped piece with some artfully placed rips. Uraraka beams at it, digging her hands deep into the front pockets and posing for a picture.

Momo watches this happen and shyly offers her own chunky sweater to Mina, asking her to make an outfit around it. Mina smashes the challenge, and the end result is so good that Momo insists she keep the jacket, claiming she can honestly just make her own, even though they both know she won’t, because, you know, Momo is the most conscientious person ever that actually cares about the economy.

When the night winds down and everyone finds themselves sprawled over the couches and each other, Hagakure follows Uraraka’s example and pulls her bomber jacket off before draping it over Momo and herself, a make-shift blanket. Momo huffs out an amused laugh and pulls the invisible girl closer. The night is cold, but the common space is just warm embers and crackling fires and the smell of smores.

And finally, just before bed, Shinsou decides to tackle the mountain of clothes on his chair. He hangs the jackets, folds the pants and shirts, and rolls up the socks. At the very bottom of the pile is a well-loved, slightly faded but still ridiculously bright yellow hoodie that belongs to the one and only. Shinsou huffs in amusement, and proceeds to pull it on before climbing into bed.

The hoodie incident begins with Kaminari, as most absentminded things do in the dorm.

It doesn’t really end though.

82 notes · View notes

here4theheartbreak · 2 years

Text

Live Viewing (Under His Mask Ch.5) - JJK + KSJ

Relationships: Jungkook x Seokjin Genre: fluff, smut | mutual pining, camboy au, strangers to lovers Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~ 6.1k Final Tags: (may not all be applicable in each chapter) Fluff, Angst, Smut, Camboy AU, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Trans!Jin, Camboy!Jin, Sex Work, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Masks, University Student!Jungkook, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Phone Sex, Rough Sex, Anal, Oral, Vaginal Sex, Dirty Talk, Barebacking, Bottom!Jungkook, Top!Jungkook, Bottom!Seokjin, Top!Seokjin

Summary: Jungkook’s luck is on his side when he wins a raffle hosted by his favorite camboy. The winning prize is a chance to sleep with him on camera. But when Jungkook finally gets to meet the handsome performer face to face, they realize they aren’t the strangers that they thought they were.

Read on AO3

The night previous had to have been a dream, Jungkook decided as the veil of sleep slowly drifted off him. He kept his eyes shut, hoping to keep the fantasy a little longer. No way did all that happen – Jin… Sex. God, what a dream. Jungkook sighed contentedly, a smile curving his lips.

“You awake, Jungkook?” Jin’s voice was a soft rumble, still thick with sleep. Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat. That was no fantasy.

“Sort of,” Jungkook mumbled back, his grin widening. “You’re real.” He blinked, rubbing his eyes and forcing them open to look over at Jin, who was wearing a bewildered smile.

“I certainly hope so.”

“I thought yesterday was a dream,” Jungkook admitted.

“No dream. The ache in my ass made sure I remembered it was entirely real.”

Jungkook winced. “I hurt you—”

“No, it’s a good ache.” Jin kissed his cheek. “I’m going to make breakfast. Do you drink coffee?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll brew some.” Jin sat up and stretched, giving Jungkook a view of his broad back. Jungkook sat up, wrapping his arms around Jin’s middle and kissing over his shoulder. Jin chuckled.

“Mmm… Cuddly,” he teased, setting his hands over Jungkook’s. “Do you have classes today?”

“Yeah, but I can skip them. I wanna hang out with you.” Jungkook said between kisses.

“No, don’t do that,” Jin said, shaking his head. “What time are they?”

“Hm, one at noon, then two more back to back starting at two. Nothing else.”

“How far from here is the school?”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed in thought. “By bus, probably about an hour. Car a little faster depending on how much traffic I hit.”

“It’s nine now. You probably need to go home and get stuff though…”

“Most of my stuff is in my backpack in the car.” Jungkook said. “Though I should probably wear a different shirt…”

“You could borrow one of mine, if you wanted?” Jin offered. “I mean, if you wanted to skip going home. We could have breakfast still.”

“Deal.”

Jin nodded. He climbed out of bed and went over to his dresser, tucked in the far corner out of view of any of the cameras. Jungkook went into the living room, grabbing his clothing from the day before and tugging his boxers and jeans back on. He padded back into the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe and watching Jin dress.

“People normally pay for this show,” Jin teased, glancing at Jungkook over his shoulder. Jungkook grinned brightly and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around his belly once more.

“When will we perform?” Jungkook whispered.

“You still want to? Definitely?”

Jungkook nodded. “I do.”

Jin nodded as well. He pulled out of Jungkook’s grip and crossed to his wardrobe. He opened it and pulled out a shirt, tugging it on. After a moment of looking, he reached back in and pulled out another shirt, passing it over to Jungkook. It was relatively simple, a soft baby blue t-shirt with no other markings, well-worn and comfortable to the skin. Jungkook pulled it on without question, smiling in thanks.

Jin didn’t speak again until they’d walked into the kitchen and he’d begun to cook, Jungkook placing himself at the table to watch while coffee brewed.

“We can plan to perform next Friday, if you want. I’d offer this Friday – but I want to give a week to let viewers know what’s coming.”

“I’m free then,” Jungkook agreed.

“We’ll have to go over some of the plans and how it works. It’s pretty casual but there are a few things that we have to make sure to do that wouldn’t normally occur to non-performers.”

“Like what?”

“Lots of position changes, for example. Nobody wants to watch someone rutting away for an hour with no changes.”

Jungkook chuckled and nodded.

“And noise – Don’t be afraid to play up the pleasure. Be natural about it, but don’t hold back.” Jin hesitated his stirring of the food in the pan. He glanced back at Jungkook. “And… As a favor to me… When you said you couldn’t stop… That was really sexy. I wouldn’t mind you saying that again. Viewers would eat it up.”

Jungkook smiled shyly. “I’ll try to remember. Um… Can I ask you a favor? Or just a question, I guess, you’re free to say no if you don’t think it’d work or you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Ask away.”

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Um… This might… Not be what you’re into but… When we perform. Would you… Take the lead?”

Jin cocked a brow, a playful smile quirking his lips up. “Afraid you’ll get performance anxiety?”

“No, not that. Just…” Jungkook sighed softly. “I’m not super experienced.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Jin joked. Jungkook smiled softly. It faded.

“I mean, when I have a boyfriend – it’s always been me in control. Topping and leading and while I don’t mind it, it was fun last night, for example. I don’t… Always want to be. And I trust you to be able to take that control. You did it a little… When we were playing last night… I’d like to experience it more thoroughly.” Jungkook’s face was so warm when he finished speaking that he was sure he’d be able to ignite a tissue if it was placed near him.

“I’m surprised,” Jin said.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I just figured I’d ask—”

“No, no. I’m glad you did. I’d love to. Most of the time I don’t get the opportunity.”

Jungkook glanced up at him, smiling gently when he saw Jin’s expression. “Yeah? You’d be into it?”

Jin nodded. “I would. We’ll do it, I’m sure the viewers would think it’s fun too.”

Jungkook’s grin broadened. “I hope so.” He watched Jin quietly a moment as he went back to the stove, taking the pan off the burner and dumping the food onto plates.

“So what else do I need to know?” Jungkook finally asked.

“Not much. You’ve seen the show, so you have an understanding of how my camera set up works. I’ll handle all of the camera movements and such, so that’s not a concern. I think you’ll be fine keeping your lip ring in, and ear piercings. You don’t have a lot of other identifiable markings, so, we’ll just put a mask on you and you should be fine…” Jin smirked as he set the plate in front of Jungkook. “I think a bunny mask would suit you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got the most adorable bunny-esque smile I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook’s cheeks burned at that. He smiled helplessly. “I’m glad you like it,” he admitted.

“Eat,” Jin said with far more gentleness than was necessary. He reached over as he sat, setting his hand over Jungkook’s for a brief moment. Jungkook’s heart lurched. He ate slowly, stealing glances at Jin as he did. All notion of this not being a matter of the heart had run far and fast… Jungkook couldn’t lie to himself. He was falling deep for Jin. He only hoped that the fall would have a soft landing… Preferably in those strong arms.

After breakfast, Jungkook reluctantly tugged on his shoes and hoodie. “I had a lot of fun,” he said when Jin walked to the door with him.

“Me too. Oh, uh… Since I know you’re not a crazy person,” Jin chuckled as he spoke. He pulled a phone from his jeans pocket. “My real number, if you want it.”

Jungkook beamed and nodded. “Yes, of course. He pulled his own out and tapped in the number Jin recited. He sent a text to it, smiling softly when it buzzed in Jin’s hand.

“Text me later?” Jin said.

“I will.” Jungkook pocketed his phone. He turned to open the door, but Jin grabbed his wrist and turned him, their chests nearly hitting. “Come over on Friday night.”

“You have your show…”

“Yeah. You can watch it still. Front row seat.”

Jungkook swallowed hard. “Really?”

Jin nodded. “I wanna hang out with you more. Maybe we can watch a movie together or, get dinner before or something.”

“I’d like that,” Jungkook whispered.

“Cool. I’ll see you Friday then.” Jin leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s mouth. He pulled away before Jungkook really realized what was happening and grinned. “Drive safe.”

Jungkook was grinning like a fool as he stepped out into the hallway backwards, nearly tripping over the doorjamb as he did. Jin chuckled and shook his head, watching Jungkook a moment before closing the door quietly. Jungkook’s smile didn’t disappear the entire way down the elevator, or even as he drove toward the college. Yeah, he decided, he was in deep – and maybe – just maybe – Jin was feeling the same way. There was a chance after all.

CH5 LINE BREAK

Despite it being only a two-day gap between when Jungkook left the apartment and when he was due to come over again, he and Jin texted regularly. The conversation flowed smoothly and easily, and Jungkook felt like he never ran out of things to say. Even his friends noticed, commenting on his smile and upbeat mood. Minho picked it up right away, asking Jungkook who the boy was. Though he wanted to share all the news he was hesitant. Not because he was ashamed of Jin or wanted to hide him away, but because he didn’t know what would come of this after all was said and done. The last thing he needed was to get his friends excited about a potential boyfriend only to have to break the news that it was just a fling.

Friday arrived quickly, and Jungkook dressed to head out to Jin’s. As he reached the door, he heard a throat clear and froze. He knew that sound. Bracing for an argument, Jungkook turned slowly, meeting his father’s gaze.

“Where are you running off to tonight, Jungkook?”

“Out with friends,” Jungkook said casually.

“Where to?”

“His house. We’re gonna play some video games, have dinner.”

“And will you be staying at this friend’s house like Wednesday?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook admitted. “I don’t plan to, but if we get caught up in chatting or gaming, it might be safer for me to. Wouldn’t want to drive back across the city at night, you know how people can be on weekends.”

“Oh I know, which is why I’m hesitant…”

Jungkook chuckled, offering what he hoped was an endearing smile. “It’s fine, Dad. I won’t be going out anywhere. Just his apartment.”

“Who is this mystery friend who’s name you won’t tell me?”

Jungkook hesitated. He could lie – give one of his friends’ names. They would cover for him, but they’d ask questions too. And the one he knew for sure would be home lived with his parents – no guarantee they would cover. He sighed. “It’s… Someone from church,” Jungkook mumbled.

“Our church?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Seokjin?”

His father’s eyes narrowed in thought, trying to place the name with a face.

“Ah, the boy that comes with Ms. Lee?”

Jungkook nodded.

“I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We weren’t,” Jungkook admitted. “We bumped into each other a while ago randomly, ended up starting to chat. We exchanged numbers and realized we have a lot in common. Same video games and stuff.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me it was a parishioner?”

Jungkook shrugged sheepishly. “He’s a few years older than me, and I’ve never seen you talking to him, I wasn’t sure if you liked him or not. I didn’t want you to get a bad impression. He’s a really nice guy.”

“He’s quiet,” his father said, crossing his arms and nodding. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. Ms. Lee is fond of him. Is she his grandmother?”

“I’m not sure actually,” Jungkook lied. “We haven’t talked about it. Want me to ask him?”

“No, it’s not important. Well, that’s fine. Be safe, and no drinking.”

“I won’t,” Jungkook assured him. He turned and hurried out of the apartment before his father could change his mind. He felt bad telling him even a modicum of the truth without Jin’s permission, but knew it was the safest route. Getting caught in a lie would only make things tougher. He’d explain the situation to Jin tonight, he figured as he drove to Jin’s apartment, and hope he understood.

The two picked up conversation as easy as breathing. As Jungkook had hoped, Jin understood, and was entirely fine with his sharing of their friendship with his father. As the evening ticked down, Jin had to begin preparing for the show.

“Are you really going to be okay with me watching?” Jungkook worried, leaning on the bathroom doorframe. Jin glanced at him through the mirror, applying the faintest outline of to his already striking eyes.

“Of course. Unless you don’t want to – I wouldn’t think of obliging you to it – but if you’d like to, you may as well, right? You’d watch it at home on the computer anyways.”

Jungkook smiled shyly. “I would, but I’d pay for it then. Should I pay you in person…”

“I’m not a prostitute, Jungkook, contrary to what some individuals believe.” Jin snapped his makeup bag closed and tucked it into a drawer. He turned and smiled softly at Jungkook. “Your company is payment enough. And I would be quite pleased if you watched me. I perform alone most of the time, as you know. I think it might be nice to see in person what I can do to people…” He moved closer, letting his hand brush over Jungkook’s hip.

“Y—” Jungkook swallowed hard. “You mean I should… Jerk off to you?”

Jin smiled mischievously. “Well, isn’t that what you do when you watch me at home?”

“Yeah but that’s different,” Jungkook spluttered.

“How?”

“W—Well, we’re not facing each other, for one.”

“Are you shy?” Jin teased. He slipped past Jungkook and headed into the bedroom, forcing the other to follow him to continue the conversation. “You weren’t shy when you were fucking me into the mattress two days ago,” Jin continued, throwing a teasing glance back at Jungkook.

“Yeah but that was us together,” Jungkook argued, hurrying to keep up with Jin. “Not me just leering at you like a creep from the corner of the room.” He hurried into the bedroom, slamming directly into Jin, who’d turned to face him. Jin smirked at him, their faces close.

“What if I like it when you leer at me?” He breathed. Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, the breath stolen from his lungs.

“Why do you think I perform?” Jin asked, stepping back and opening his wardrobe. “I love it. I mean, the money is nice. But the thrill of performing is a big part of things. I like knowing people enjoy my body. It took me a long time to perfect my body, as I wanted it. Knowing others find it arousing… It brings me a sense of satisfaction.”

Jungkook smiled a little sheepishly, leaning on the doorframe once more. “I never considered that.”

“Most wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want most to.” Jin glanced at him. “But you’re not most. That being said. I have no problem with you leering at me from the darkened corner, as you say. If you’re comfortable with it, I’d rather enjoy it. If you want to though, you’re welcome to watch it on my laptop from the living room.” He turned then, gesturing to the wardrobe. “Will you pick me something? I can’t choose.”

Jungkook’s brain took a moment to catch up with Jin’s words, too many topics rushing at him all at once. He lurched forward, staring blankly at the line of clothes for a moment.

“Uh—What… What mask will you be wearing tonight?” He asked.

“I haven’t decided.”

“The wolf one.” Jungkook said, biting his lip as soon as it slipped out. “My favorite is the cat but… The wolf looks good. It draws attention to your jaw… Sharpens it.”

“You observe a lot more than my body when you watch, don’t you?”

“I love everything about your performances. Not just the stuff below the belt.”

Jungkook felt his cheeks warming as he spoke. He turned back to the closet and reached in, pulling out a plain black tank top that looked like it would fit tightly. “This. And a pair of jeans,” he said, passing it over to Jin.

Jin nodded. He stripped without hesitation, not seeming to care that he made every ounce of spit in Jungkook’s mouth dry immediately, or that his bare skin compressed Jungkook’s lungs and thickened the air so that he worried he’d faint. He’d never get over the beauty of the man in front of him. Not after seeing him once, not after a thousand times. He was beyond stunning. He couldn’t help but stare openly as Jin dressed, his eyes drifting to the swell of his ass in the jeans he’d grabbed as he turned and dug around in a drawer. He pulled out a mask a moment later. It was the wolf he often wore – another half mask that covered down past his nose, all in a deep metallic grey. It was all sharp lines and edges, making it look like it was cut from metal rather than the sturdy plastic Jungkook was sure it was. Jin turned back to him and slid it on, taking a moment to adjust it over his eyes before offering a blinding grin.

“Good?” Jin asked.

Jungkook nodded. “Perfect.”

“Great. Here.” Jin walked over and pulled out a desk chair, rolling it to the corner near the wardrobe. Jungkook knew from watching Jin’s many shows that this spot was safely out of the way of any of his cameras, a complete blind spot for the viewers. But, Jungkook realized when he sat, it would offer a clean, clear view of the bed and Jin’s performance, without the blinding glare of the lights to get in the way, or any of the cameras.

“About time to start… A kiss for good luck?”

Jungkook grinned like a fool and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jin’s mouth. “You’ll do great.”

“Thank you.” Jin went over to the computer set up in front of the bed, standing as he typed. Jungkook settled into the chair, letting his eyes wander over Jin’s body and the bedroom as he waited for the show to begin.

From where he was sitting, Jungkook could lean forward and see the large television style monitor hanging on Jin’s wall. Now on, adding a glow to the room, Jungkook could see the site that he used when he watched Jin perform. It was blank at the moment, prepped for Jin to press the ‘Go Live’ button. Jin wandered around the room, turning on the various lights and cameras, heading back to the laptop every few moments to make sure everything was connecting and looked alright. He moved easily, muscle memory obvious as he worked. Finally he settled on the bed, offering a smile to Jungkook.

“One minute to live.”

“Good luck,” Jungkook said softly. Jin’s smile brightened. A beep sounded from the computer and Jungkook leaned forward, watching the screen blink to life as Jin went live. It was interesting to see things from this point of view; he realized Jin had the screen so he could see the rapidly scrolling comments, as well as this larger performer screen letting him see the tips as they came in, to know what seemed to be working for the crowd. Jin relaxed a bit, leaning forward as he immediately began to speak to the viewers as they piled into the room. Immediately the sound of the tip jar sounded from the computer; Jungkook wondered why he was almost never able to hear it when he was watching.

All concerns about the setup of Jin’s room faded from Jungkook’s mind when Jin shifted, unbuttoning his jeans and smirking at the camera. His eyes darted over to Jungkook, making brief contact before he looked back at the camera and leaned back on the bed, reaching down to palm his crotch through the tight denim. It was strange, Jungkook thought as he watched Jin begin to get into it, flirting with the viewers, slowly stripping down, teasing, touching himself just so – this was the man that Jungkook had just shared dinner with. They’d been so casual, laughing like old friends… And now this. Not that Jungkook minded. The duality was perfect; Jin was everything that Jungkook could ever want in a partner.

As the show continued, Jungkook felt the stirrings of arousal in his belly. He shifted in his seat, palming his crotch absentmindedly as his cock stiffened. Jin glanced over from his spot on the bed, smirking a little. He was stroking the damp, silken folds between his legs, teasing the viewers with peeks of his hole as he did.

Jungkook swallowed hard. He was embarrassed, in some ways, it felt obscene to masturbate to someone who was right in the same room… But Jin did say he liked this, and it was unbelievably sexy. Resisting was pointless, Jungkook realized.

He cautiously tugged the zipper of his jeans down, careful not to make too much noise. He managed to wiggle his jeans and boxers down around his calves and gripped his cock, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning. Jin whined softly from the bed, and Jungkook’s cock jerked. His eyelids fluttered, body slumping a little on the chair. He forced his eyes open. Jin reached under the pillow and grabbed a dildo, a thick, vibrant blue one that was only vaguely phallic. He slid it up and down his damp folds a few times before spreading his legs wider and sliding it into himself. He gasped and moaned, his hips twitching up toward the toy.

Jungkook bit hard enough on his bottom lip that it hurt, forcing himself to swallow his moans as he stroked his cock, keeping pace with Jin’s thrusts. He could hear the soft, wet squelching, see the gentle tug of his tender pink hole as the toy was pulled back. God, he wanted so badly to go over there, pull the toy out and slide his cock in.

He shuddered, gasping softly at the vivid mental image. Thankfully, Jin had been moaning at the time, though he still heard, his gaze shifting over to Jungkook. He smirked, licking his lips teasingly.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, his gaze locked with Jungkook’s. The camera angle hid his face, allowing him to freely look over. He began to thrust faster, his lips curving into a grin when he realized Jungkook was matching his thrusts. He teased himself – and Jungkook, slowing his thrusts and speeding up, pulling the toy free to show the way his hole fluttered around nothing.

Finally, Jungkook released his cock, too close to his own orgasm. Instead he slouched in the chair, wetting his first finger and teasing it lightly over his ass.

Jin sat up, letting a bottle of lube fall to the floor. Sneakily, he kicked it so it skittered over to where Jungkook sat. Jungkook grabbed in, sinking onto his knees on the floor and pouring some over his fingers. He began to finger his ass in earnest, watching Jin tease the viewers with his muscular body.

Another twenty minutes, Jin worked, edging himself and enticing the hundreds of people watching him perform. He finally came while on his knees on the bed, fingers buried inside his hole. He shouted, withdrawing his hand to give a clear view of the fluid gushing from him, wetting his thighs and the bedsheet. He slumped forward, laughing softly as he read the comments. He spoke to the viewers, but Jungkook heard almost nothing but the sound of his own soft panting. There were some words that caught his attention. Special guest, next Friday, new experience… But he couldn’t focus. He was three fingers deep in his ass, teasing his prostate as his cock leaked and ached, untouched between his thighs. His entire body felt overstimulated, but he didn’t dare come with the camera on - he knew he’d make noise after being this worked up. That, and he desperately wanted to touch Jin.

It took a few moments for him to realize his name was being called. He finally looked back up, blinking a bit to clear his vision. Jin grinned, still nude on the bed.

“You didn’t come,” he commented.

“C— Couldn’t. Wouldn’t have been able to be quiet.”

Jin nodded in understanding. “Camera’s off now. You can make all the noise you want.” He pulled his mask off. “Or perhaps… You wanna fuck again?” He asked as nonchalantly as could be.

Jungkook whined and nodded. “Please—“

“Oh, you’re so sweet when you beg,” Jin teased. He rose and padded over to Jungkook, squatting down to look him in the eye. “Wanna pump your cock into my ass again? Oh—“ Jin slid a hand over Jungkook’s back. “Or maybe… Maybe today you want me to fuck your cute little ass.”

Jungkook’s throat closed at the thought. He nodded rapidly. “Please—“ he gasped again.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me. Fuck my ass.”

Jin smirked. “Get on the bed. Ass up, like a good boy. Show me what I get to play with tonight.”

Jungkook scrambled up, nearly tripping over his jeans as he kicked them off on the way. He tugged his shirt off and flopped onto the bed belly first. It took him only a moment to get his knees under him, chest still flat to the bed and thighs spread wide to expose his loosened hole. He shut his eyes, pulse pounding loud in his ears.

“Cooky boy,” Jin cooed from across the room. “You tell me… Gentle? Or rough?”

“Rough!” Jungkook begged. “Fuck me so hard I feel it in church on Sunday. Make me scream, please Jin!”

Jin chuckled. “Desperate thing,” he joked.

Jungkook screwed his eyes shut tighter. He felt the bed sink, and his heart skipped a beat when Jin’s large hand squeezed his ass. The lube was cold, dribbling over his hole, Jin’s long fingers driving in just enough to tease as he added the lube. As soon as they disappeared, a blunt object bumped against his hole. Jin leaned over, already panting. He kissed over the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

“You’re gonna scream for me, pretty boy. I’m gonna make you squirt all over the bed while I use this tight little butt, understand?”

Jungkook nodded rapidly. “Yes, I want it,” he whispered.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jin said much more gently. Jungkook bit his lip, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long, however. Jin grabbed his hip with one hand. He snapped his hips forward, burying the length of his cock inside Jungkook.

Jungkook screamed. He looked back, shuddering as he watched Jin pull back. The harness was sleek and black, and the toy attached to it was lifelike, a cock just a little thicker than his own, around the same length. His mouth dropped open as Jin pushed in again, hard, not stopping until his hips struck Jungkook’s ass.

“This okay?” Jin panted.

Jungkook nodded. He looked forward, reaching back and spreading his ass open for Jin. “You can go hard,” he whispered.

Jin moaned softly, grabbing Jungkook’s hips in a bruising grip. He began to fuck Jungkook with abandon, moaning and grunting as his hips smacked into Jungkook’s ass.

Pain and pleasure blossomed like a garden in Jungkook’s nerves, too much stimulation to tell where one sensation ended and the other began. He couldn’t hold back his screams, muffling them in the pillow he grabbed desperately as Jin rode his ass. His cock was dribbling onto the bed, balls drawn tight and beginning to ache. The thrusts were hard and deep, but angles just right to only edge Jungkook, not give him the final push he needed for release. He begged for more even as tears blurred his vision, his hole beginning to ache from the aggressive thrusts. He’d never been taken apart so thoroughly before. Most partners never bothered to treat him like this - didn’t even ask if he’d enjoy it. But Jin… Jin just seemed to understand.

He fisted Jungkook’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees, mouthing along his neck.

“Say it,” he grunted, still fucking Jungkook hard and fast.

“Jin!” Jungkook sobbed, reaching back to grab Jin’s neck and side. “Oh god, fuck me. Ruin my ass, it’s yours,” he panted. “I’m so close, please, please let me come!”

Jin grunted, shuddering against Jungkook’s back. He let his hair go and shoved him back down, moving with him. The weight of Jin’s body forced Jungkook flat to the bed, his cock pinned between his belly and the mattress. Jin shouted against his shoulder, his thrusts losing their rhythm but not their speed.

The shift was exactly what Jungkook needed. His cock throbbed and he screamed until his voice broke, a streak of pain rushing through his throat. His cock spilled hot ropes of come, body shuddering. He clamped down hard on the cock driving into his ass, another shout erupting when Jin continued to thrust. The stimulation dragged his orgasm out to painful levels, tears burning his nose as his balls clenched, trying to work more come up his shaft despite being entirely drained.

Jungkook hissed when Jin’s teeth clamped down on his shoulder, muffling another shout. His hips jerked a few times and Jungkook felt a gush of hot fluid rush over his ass and thighs. He smiled broadly despite his exhaustion, proud that he’d helped Jin come again so soon after his cam performance.

Jin pulled out of Jungkook’s ass slowly and unhooked the harness, allowing Jungkook to see that the cock was double ended; allowing Jin to be stimulated with a cock of his own while fucking Jungkook.

“What a nice little tool,” Jungkook mumbled, his mouth dry and throat aching.

Jin chuckled. He tossed the toy into a small plastic box where the other toys he’d used were, for cleaning, Jungkook assumed.

“I’m exhausted,” Jungkook mumbled, grimacing as he tried to swallow.

“We need to change the sheets,” Jin commented, slumping down on the bed next to him.

“I can help.”

Jin shook his head. “No.” He gently squeezed Jungkook’s bare ass. “Go take a shower. I’ll change the sheets and then join you.”

“You sure?”

Jin nodded.

Jungkook met his gaze a moment, and his heart did a summersault in his chest. He smiled before he couldn’t stop himself and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jin’s mouth. “Don’t take too long.”

“I’ll hurry.”

He rose, using the bed to steady himself as his legs threatened to give out. He chuckled. “You fucked the strength out of me,” he joked.

“Good.” Jin sat up, looking so casually beautiful with one knee cocked, elbow resting on it, that Jungkook lost his breath all over again. Jin’s smirk didn’t help. “You’ll be feeling it a few days for sure.”

“Exactly what I needed,” Jungkook agreed. He left the room reluctantly, heading into the bathroom for a shower. As he waited for the water to get hot, he caught himself in the mirror. A bruise was already beginning to form where Jin had bitten him, giving him a giddy sense of pride when he saw it. He touched it tenderly with a contented sigh before stepping under the warm spray.

Jungkook had begun washing his hair when he heard the bathroom door open. He cracked one eye open, watching Jin through the murky glass of the shower. Jin pushed the door back a bit, sticking his head in. “Can I join you?” He asked softly.

“Don’t need to ask,” Jungkook said. He shut his eyes again and resumed massaging the shampoo into his scalp. Jin grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands down.

“Let me.”

The sound that escaped Jungkook’s mouth would have been humiliating if he were with anyone but Jin. A cross between a moan, purr, and sigh, he nearly melted into Jin’s hands when they began working over his scalp. Further melting was done when those same firm hands lathered soap up and slid over his back and shoulders, squeezing out knots that Jungkook wasn’t even aware of. He braced his hands on the shower wall, mewling softly. Jin’s touches remained firm and sensual – not pushing things past that beautiful intimacy. Even as he gently washed Jungkook’s ass, paying attention to his tender hole, and around to his cock, spent between his legs… It was gentle and – though Jungkook would never admit the word crossed his mind – loving.

Eager to repay the favor, Jungkook rinsed off and reached for Jin. His movements were far clumsier though, he realized, and a cold curl of embarrassment bloomed in his belly. As he washed Jin’s back and arms, that icy weed spread, suffocating the warm joy he felt. He was so inexperienced… So immature. Especially compared to Jin – five years apart in age, maybe, but they were centuries apart in terms of experience. What the hell could he actually offer Jin aside from a unique hookup? And once it was all over – when the novelty wore off – then what?

He stepped back when he’d soaped up Jin’s body, diverting his gaze as they traded places to let Jin step under the spray.

“So next Friday’s the night, huh?” He asked softly, playing awkwardly with the soap on his hands.

“You sound unsure… Did you want to wait longer?” Jin asked.

“No, that’s what we agreed on. I just can’t believe it’s gonna happen.”

“Well believe it.” Jin leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek. “I’m excited. You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you. I’m nervous but… I’m sure you’ll manage to make it work even if I fuck up. You’re so good at what you do…”

“Just lots of practice,” Jin shrugged. He stepped forward, letting Jungkook wash the soap from his hands before turning off the shower. He leaned out and grabbed a towel, passing it to Jungkook. “You sure you’re okay? You look like something’s bothering you.”

“No,” Jungkook tried to put on a believable smile. “I’m good. Just nervous, and a little tired, I think.”

“We’ll go to bed,” Jin said. “I got the sheets changed and all the equipment is shut down for the night, so we can curl right up.”

Jungkook hesitated long enough that Jin noticed.

“I mean… I’m sorry, I had assumed you were staying the night. I should’ve asked.”

“No, I was gonna—I mean I want to.” Jungkook stumbled, hiding his face in the towel as it reddened. “I just wasn’t sure I should.”

“Why not?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. I mean… We fuck but… I feel like I’m encroaching in your space, staying over so much.”

Jin laughed, drying his own hair. “This would be the second night. Trust me, I don’t mind. I like having you over. You’re a good guy, Jungkook. I enjoy your company. And I’m not going to turn it down as long as you’re willing to share your time with me. I want to be your friend.”

The word was like fertilizer to that field of icy weeds in Jungkook’s gut. Friend. He didn’t want to be friends – he wanted ever so desperately to be more. But why would Jin? God, he was an idiot.

Instead of saying something, Jungkook smiled brightly, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “I like your company too,” he said softly. Jin seemed to accept his response because he nodded.

“Then it’s settled. Stay the night. I don’t have work tomorrow so we can hang out tomorrow too, play some video games or something. Unless you have to study or do something else.”

“No plans,” Jungkook said. He wouldn’t admit that he’d avoided making plans on Saturday on purpose… Just in case Jin wanted his company. Now that he was gonna have it, it almost felt worse than having something else to do.

“Great.” Jin hung his towel and took Jungkook’s, hanging it next to his. “I’ll grab a pair of my sweats, I bet they’ll fit you – that way you don’t have to sleep in those clothes you sweated all over.”

“Thank you,” Jungkook said softly. He trotted after Jin like a lost puppy, smiling softly in thanks when Jin handed him a pair of soft, well-worn sweatpants. He pulled them on and once again, followed Jin, this time into the bed. Jin didn’t hesitate to pull Jungkook close, pressing a kiss to his forehead as they cuddled under the sheet. Jungkook laid in silence, listening to Jin’s breathing even out. He struggled to burn away the dread in his belly, to let himself enjoy this. Even short term – he should enjoy what he could get. He was still telling himself that as he finally drifted off to sleep.

#thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #bangtanarmynet #jin x jungkook #jungkook x seokjin #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #jinkook #my writing

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starrynite7114 · 3 years

Text

snapshots: fostering II

A/N: Good morning beautiful people! I posted in a previous post regarding why I haven’t update, but basically, I got COVID and it was just not a fun time.

I am back with an update! This one took some time since I could hardly concentrate while i was out. But I finally have an update. These are the following updates I plan on posting in no specific order.

EZ request

Lake Part Two

Sex Guru Angel

Everything is you: part 12

Another EZ update

Rio request

Two Daddy Angel request: Snuggling and Trip to the aquarium

That’s my plan before going back to school at the end of the month. Given, I may sneak in a few things in between those things I have mentioned above.

Prior to me getting sick, I turned off anon, but I have turned it on again. Hopefully New Year, no hate? Regardless, my inbox is open!

Enjoy the update! Love you all!

Shoutout: To my better half, @angelreyesgirl, thank you for helping me map out the rest of the fostering chapters. And thank you for just being fucking you. I LOVE YOU, even though you put me through emotional turmoil with our shows, especially last night. lol

Groupchat for updates! Please join since the tags could be a bit iffy at times!

If you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know! My tag list is a little messy, but please let me know if you want to be added!

Masterlist

Snapshots

Word count: 4786

Warnings: Fluff, Infertility, a smidge of angst

CREDIT TO THE ORIGINAL GIF MAKER

“You did tell Angel right?” Gilly helped you bring in the crib his cousin had graciously let you borrow into your home.

You looked at Gilly as you held the six month old in your arms, who was comfortably sleeping. You and Angel had discussed the possibility of fostering, but there was no final decision that was made. The agency called you and it was an emergency after the baby was brought to an emergency room last night by his mother and was taken away since the mother had tested positive for amphetamines. Since it was an emergent situation, the social worker begged you to take the kid for a few days while they got him situated. You figured it would be a good start for you and Angel was out of town due to an extended run up north.

“It’s just for a few days.”

Gilly groaned, placing the crib in your room. “That literally did not answer my question, yet it fucking answered my question.” He shook his head. “You have to tell Angel. There’s no guarantee the kid is going to be gone by the time he comes back and what if they head back early?”

“Eva said three days tops. And Angel literally told me they won’t be back till the weekend. The baby will be situated with a foster family by then.”

And somehow, Gilly didn’t believe that.

Gilly helped you set up the crib and buy a few things for the baby such as snacks, formula, diapers, and wipes. He watched as you settled on the couch with the baby boy.

“What was the name of the kid again?” Gilly questioned as he settled on the arm chair.

“Believe it or not, it’s Angelo.” You chuckled. Looking down at the baby in your arms, your heart swelled. It further cemented that you wanted to try this whole fostering thing, to see foster children while they wait for their forever homes. Though, you know it would be difficult, it was a first step. You knew that you and Angel weren’t exactly ready to adopt yet, so you opted to be an emergency foster parent when the need arose. You just didn’t expect it to happen as quickly as it did.

“Oh man, you’re not going to be able to part from this one.” Gilly saw the way your eyes marveled at the baby in your arms. The way you were holding the child, smiling at every little movement. The baby looked incredibly comfortable in your arms, smiling whenever you smiled at him. Angelo would laugh this hearty laugh when you would make faces at him.

Ares entered the living room, taking his usual spot beside you. He eyed the baby curiously and looked up at Gilly, before looking back down at the baby.

“Wow, now it’s going to be Angel and Ares fighting the baby for your attention.”

“No it won’t because the baby isn’t staying long.”

“Come on Y/N, you honestly believe you’re going to be able to give Angelo back knowing his mother is a drug addict.” Gilly could just see the wheels turn in your head, your heart clenching at the idea of having to give back Angelo to such an unstable home.

“Look, stop, I can give Angelo back, regardless of his mother’s choices, I heard that she tried her best to care for Angelo.” You were thankful that Angelo didn’t appear to be harmed by whatever his mother chose to do in her life.

“She’s been getting by with luck. But you should tell Angel so he doesn’t freak out when he comes home and you have a baby.”

“Guessing keeping this a secret is out of the question?” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Oh no, absolutely not. This is too big for you to keep to yourself.”

But you did keep it to yourself.

And much like Gilly predicted, baby Angelo was still with you Saturday morning and Angel walked in your shared home on Saturday afternoon, doing a double take when he saw Angelo laying his head on the half circle nursing pillow with Ares laying down against the pillow, providing some sort of support as you made faces at him, blowing raspberries on his tummy.

“What the fuck is this?” Angel knew of your intent to do fostering. You completed the classes two weeks ago, but he didn’t think it would be this quick. And he definitely didn’t expect to walk in and have a baby in his living room. And he definitely didn’t expect the dread at the pit of his stomach, feeling defeated when it came to his hope of you two conceiving your own child. He didn’t have a problem with adoption, if that’s what the cards had for you two, he didn’t mind. But being faced with the decision that you seemingly made on your own, it slightly irritated him. He felt like you were giving up without even trying.

“Babe!” You stood up, smiling at your boyfriend. Ares lifted his head before jumping down the couch. He walked over to Angel and nuzzled his cheek against Angel’s leg.

“Oh no, even the fucking dog is trying to sweet talk me. You’re both in fucking trouble. Baby, what the fuck?” Angel’s eyes couldn’t part from the baby on the couch.

“I know, I know, this looks bad, but it was an emergency.”

“An emergency? Like last night? Cause I know you would have told me if you emergently had to foster a baby.” Angel walked closer as if the baby wasn’t real, that if he moved closer, it would all be an illusion. Because he knew for a fact that you would tell him something as enormous as this.

You sighed. “Try three days.”

“Three days?!” Angel gave you an incredulous look, his higher octave of tone scaring Angelo. The baby began to cry, causing you to frown. You picked up Angelo, trying your best to comfort the baby. “Y/N, this is, this is unacceptable. How can you not have told me you were fostering a baby?”

“He was supposed to be gone before you came back.” It was a terrible reason, you could attest to that, but it was all you had.

“I don’t give a fuck, this is our home. You’re bringing in a baby into our home. I have the right to know these things. This isn’t a fucking puppy or a toy. You can’t just bring the baby in and bring it back out as if it’s nothing.” Angel didn’t think you thought of this as a game, but he knew how simple you thought things through at time. For you, just like your computer software, you make the software, test it out and hand it over to the company that requested the said software. You came to help the company from time to time, otherwise, it was no longer your headache. And that was how Angel saw your thought process was when it came to fostering. He loves you, but this was the reason he was apprehensive about the idea of fostering. Not only would you have a difficult time parting with the child when the time came, but the way you handled it wasn’t ideal. This wasn’t a toy baby for one of those subjects in high school and it wasn’t a dog that could charm their way to people’s hearts.

This was another human life.

And the way you handled the whole thing, it showed Angel that fostering was definitely not right, at least not right now.

“I know he isn’t a toy or a puppy. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“Then don’t insult mine. We’re a fucking team. Regardless if the baby was going to be here for an hour or a year, you should tell me. This is why we shouldn’t foster a child, you can’t even communicate to me that we’re fostering one.” Angel shook his head. “You’re not even going to try for a baby?”

His words pierced through your heart and you could tell Angel immediately regretted his words.

“I’m sorry, did you say, not try for a baby?” You scoffed. “That’s rich. You’re all talk about being okay with not having your own biological child, but now, fostering a child is staring us right in the face and the only thing you can do is give me flack for bringing a child in our home.”

“I am okay with not having my own biological child, but I would at least like for us to try and explore every possible fucking option. It’s like you got one opinion and shut down. Why can’t we get a second opinion?” Angel did not want to be arguing with you. This was not how he saw his day going. He wanted to get home so he could take a nap, take you out on a nice dinner and make love to you till Sunday afternoon. Now, you two were arguing and Angel knew it wasn’t going to be swept under the rug any time soon. “I meant what I said, I want to be with you regardless if you can have a baby or not, but again, one opinion you shut down. You’re an IT specialist, you look for every way to fix a fucking problem with a software, but with your own life, you got one solution and that’s it, you gave up.”

The tears that welled up in your eyes made you look away from Angel as you rocked Angelo in your arms. You didn’t just look at one solution, you got a second opinion in Arizona and the doctor more or less told you the same thing. Rafael gave you the number of his cousin who saw a specialist in LA, but after having two opinions basically stating the same facts, it was hard to hear over and over again that couldn’t have a child.

“You know, you can be a real asshole at times.” You walked away from Angel, Ares following suit as you closed the door, choosing not to slam it since Angelo finally calmed down.

“Fuck!”

=================

You were laying on the bed, Ares at your feet and Angelo sleeping soundly right beside you. You had a long body pillow on his one side and you on the other. The tears have subsided, but you were still quite upset at Angel. You understood why he was upset, you should have told him about the baby, there was no rhyme or reason as to why you didn’t. You sniffled, wiping your nose as you had your hand on Angelo’s little tummy, watching him as he slept. A new batch of tears formed in your eyes as reality set in that you could never truly have this, a child created by you and Angel. A child with Angel’s smile and beautiful brown eyes. A child with a mixture of your personalities.

It upset you that you couldn’t give that to Angel. The fact he assumed that you didn’t look at other options hurt you, but, it’s not like you told him either.

You felt Ares rest his head on your calf, his warmth bringing some comfort to you. Hearing the door open, you closed your eyes, not ready for another showdown with Angel. You heard him sigh as he closed the door. You weren’t certain if he walked back out or was inside the room, but you kept your eyes closed.

The bed dipped under his weight. You felt him rest his hand above yours that was on Angelo’s tummy.

“I wish you knew just how much I love you. Seeing you with a baby is painful because I know you’re hurting more than anyone else about your current predicament. It’s the reason why I don’t want us to foster, at least not yet. Knowing you can’t have a child, I know it’s killing you and I’m just trying to protect you.” You felt Angel softly squeezed your hand. “You’re the love of my life, if I can protect you from the world I would.”

You weren’t sure what you did to deserve Angel’s love, but hearing him say those words, it made your heart swell.

You felt him move, most likely getting in a more comfortable position.

“What are we going to do with you little man?” You heard Angel sigh.

Angel heard the faint cries at first and he was going back to sleep when he realized it was the baby. He cracked an eye open and saw Angelo on his belly, his face scrunched up, small cries coming from his lips. Ares lifted his head and was about to stand up when Angel gestured for him to stay down.

“Hey papa’s, you doing okay?” Angel had his fair share of babysitting jobs when he was younger so he knew how to care for a baby, but this was different. This baby was technically under your care and it wasn’t someone he could give back at the end of the day. It was one of the things he feared too. You two didn’t know what kind of baby or kid you would end up with. What if they ended up becoming serial killers?

Angel knew it was ridiculous, but he thought of your safety, that was his main priority.

Angel picked up Angelo, holding the baby in his arms. He stood up, hoping he could rock Angelo back to sleep, but the cries came before he could do anything. Moving towards the kitchen, he hoped you prepared bottles for the baby since he didn’t exactly know how much formula to use or the ratio with water and such. Thankfully there was a bottle. He warmed up the bottle and checked the temperature. Once it was good, he placed the nipple at Angelo’s mouth which he gladly sucked on. Angel chuckled, making his way over to the couch to sit down. Ares joined him, resting his head on Angelo’s legs.

“At least you adjusted well to him.” Angel sighed, watching as Angelo greedily drank the milk. “Man, you’re hungry.” Ares adjusted himself and watched Angelo drinking his milk. “Don’t get used to him, we can’t keep him.” Ares looked over at Angel and for once, Angel saw this demon dog of yours give him the puppy dog eyes. “That only works on your mom, not on me, nope.” He looked down at Angelo and he assisted him by holding the bottle for him. “Wonder why she had to take you in so suddenly.”

When Angelo finished his bottle, Angel burped him, moving to sit back down. Angelo reached for the necklace around Angel’s neck that rested on his chest. Angel watched as the infant became enamored with the necklace, playing with it, slightly tugging on it. He laughed, the sound slightly startling Angelo before a smile broke out on his own face. Angel couldn’t believe he was thinking it, but all he wanted was to keep that smile on this precious baby boy.

“Oh no,” Angel groaned.

Ares sat up, pawing at Angelo and Angel petted him under his neck, and just shook his head.

“I think he’s cute too, but we can’t keep him.” Ares scoffed and turned away from Angel, laying down. “You can throw a tantrum all you want, but we’re not keeping the baby.” Angel shook his head. “I have no idea what she got in her head, but we can’t keep you little man.”

Angelo snuggled his face against Angel’s shirt, the gesture making Angel’s heart melt further. As much as he wanted to keep Angelo, he didn’t know how good of an idea that was. You two were still working on your relationship and he still wanted to try to get a second opinion for what was going on. He had faith that miracles could occur, but as he said, he didn’t mind if you two ended up adopting. But he wanted to at least try, to at least put the effort of having a child. He saved up money and he was certain your medical insurance would help with it.

=================

Before you knew it, sleep overtook you and when you awoke it was due to Angel waking you up.

“Baby,” Angel shook you awake, your eyes blinking adjusting to the light. “We need to get more diapers. What size are his diapers?”

You yawned and pointed at your closet. “He has more in there.”

Angel nodded his head and went inside the closet, taking a diaper before laying Angelo right next to you. Sitting up, you looked down at him and looked over at Angel.

“I didn’t hear him cry.” You commented.

“Yeah, I know, he started getting fussy so I picked him up.” Angel cooed at Angelo as he picked him up. “What’s his name?”

“Angelo.”

“No shit,” Angel smiled.

“Right?” You returned his smile. Watching Angel hold Angelo, it made you tear up all over again. You wanted this so badly for Angel, for Angel to have his own child and seeing this, it made you happy yet, it saddened you. Maybe you should call the doctor in LA just to see if the third time’s the charm.

He looked up at you and sighed. “I hate fighting with you.”

“Me too.” You frowned. “I’m sorry for not communicating it to you that Angelo was here. I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. You can’t just drop a baby on us. We have to discuss this, we’ve always been a team, that hasn’t changed.” Angel reminded you.

“I know,” you crawled over to him and Angel held you with his free arm, pulling you against him. “I think the excitement of having him, it just threw me off and I guess I was being a little selfish. And maybe some part of me wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised querida.” Angel kissed you. Pulling away, he looked down at Angelo, who was just looking at you two then back at you. “Fuck, I’m going to get used to this and it’s going to suck when he leaves. What’s his story?”

You proceeded to tell Angel the story of how you gained emergency custody of Angelo. You saw how Angel’s eyes softened and the anger that also appeared.

“That’s messed up. How can,” Angel paused and shook his head. “We can’t give him back to her.” Angel’s overprotectiveness has come out and you knew that letting go of Angelo was going to be difficult on you both.

“Angel, babe, I agree, but she still has custody.” You had temporary custody of Angelo, once things settled with his mother, they would most likely give him back to her. You truly hoped the report was right and that his mother just recently relapsed and was working on getting better, but addiction was hard to kick.

“She’s an unfit mother.” Angel spat out. He shouldn’t be preaching, he killed people and was part of a heroin trade, but he would never endanger a child.

“Babe, we don’t know that.”

“Don’t know that?” Angel scoffed. “She continued to do drugs with her child in the same home as her, that’s unforgivable.”

You loved how passionate Angel felt about Angelo. He’s only known him for a few hours and he loved the little guy already. It made you smile and you hugged Angel once again, which surprised him. He sighed and kissed the top of your head, his attention back on Angelo.

“I was so worried that you couldn’t give him back, but I think it’s going to be me.” Angel chuckled. “How come you still have him?”

“Thanksgiving is next week, guess people aren’t in a rush to handle the case.” You shrugged. “We have to talk about the possibility of keeping Angelo. It’s a long shot, I doubt his mother would give up custody, but maybe we should discuss it in case it is presented to us.”

“I’m in.”

Angel’s reply surprised you. It’s not that you didn’t think Angel was going to be on board, but you two just argued earlier about having biological children and now, he was on board with keeping Angelo.

“What?” You pulled away from him, choosing to sit on the bed. Ares laid beside you, laying his head on your thigh. “We literally just argued about having biological children, and now you want to keep him?”

“I never said I didn’t want to adopt a child with you. I’m on board with whatever you want mami, you know this. But I just want you to at least consider getting a second opinion.” Angel began to rock Angelo back and forth, the baby falling asleep in his arms rather easily. Placing Angelo in his crib, Angel leaned on the wall beside his crib. “I want everything with you. I meant what I said when I told you I was okay with not having children of our own, but I want you to at least explore every fucking option.”

“You don’t think I did that?”

“I don’t know baby, did you?”

“I got a second opinion in Arizona and the doctor basically told me the same thing. I wanted to come back to you Angel, but if I came back, I wanted us to have an option to have a child together.” You confessed. “When you came for me, I knew it was a matter of time before you broke down through my walls and I was back in your arms. But before I came back, I wanted for us to know our options. So I got the second opinion and it still wasn’t great news.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, I was already disappointed that we can’t have kids and the way you reacted the first time frightened me. I figured you didn’t want to hear another disappointing fact about me.” You were mostly disappointed in yourself. You knew it wasn’t something you could control, but knowing you couldn’t have a family in the traditional sense, it hurt.

Angel moved to kneel in front of you, taking your hands that were on your lap. “From now on, we talk about everything, regardless of disappointment or whatever. I love you. Let me be your support system. I know you’re used to counting on yourself, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s been us against the world since we were thirteen fucking years old and that hasn’t changed. Regardless of what’s occurred the last six months, that hasn’t changed. You’re my girl and I’m yours.”

You nodded your head, wiping your tears away. “There’s a third option Rafael told me about. It’s in LA.”

“Okay, make an appointment, we’ll go.” Angel rested his arms on your lap, his hands holding your hips.

“Angel, maybe we should wait till after the holidays, I don’t know if I really want such sad news during the holidays.”

“Nope, let’s do it, regardless of the results, I’m here for you. We’ll face it together. Make the appointment for next week and we’ll handle this.” Angel cupped your face, bringing your lips to his.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed. Maybe we should just give it time.”

“Nope, this is your defense mechanism, putting shit off. Fuck no baby, let’s meet with the doctor and we’ll go from there.”

“What if it’s the same results? That’s what’s killing me Angel.”

“Then we’ll think of other ways.” He pursed his lips. “I know it’s hard, but don’t you want to explore every option so we can at least look back on this twenty years from now and know we did everything we could to have children?”

Angel got you there. You wanted to live life with no regrets and he was right. When you looked back on this moment years from now, you want to know you tried every option.

“I understand the fear of disappointment, but there is no disappointment if we know we tried every viable option that we had.”

“When did you get so wise?”

Angel chuckled. “Coco is rubbing off on me.” He kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you.

“I’ll make the appointment.”

“Good, just let me know when and we can make a day out of it. I can visit my tio and tia while we’re there.”

You smiled, nodding your head at his suggestion. You picked up your phone and noticed a missed call from Eva. Before you could even call her back, the doorbell rang. Angel made his way to the front door to answer the door. You followed after him and found Eva with her usual purse and folders in arms.

“Hey Eva!” You greeted. “I was just about to return your call, we had a nap.”

Eva chuckled. “You’re fine, I figured you were napping or occupied with a seven month old child.”

“This is my boyfriend, Angel.” You introduced the two finally since you usually just mentioned them to one another.

“Very nice to finally meet you Angel.” Eva shook Angel’s outstretched hand.

“Likewise.”

Eva was in her mid-forties, her hair style reminded you of a 50’s housewife. It fit her face well and she was honestly one of the kindest people you knew.

“It’s five in the afternoon on a Saturday, you’re still working?” Angel commented as you all sat down in the living room.

“Yes well work never stops.” Eva shrugged with a content smile on her face. You knew Eva was a workaholic. Many social workers have gotten a bad reputation these past few years, but Eva always seemed so genuine to you. “But, I want to make this visit quick and hopefully it’ll work out for all of us.”

“Sure, what’s going on?” You were seated beside Angel, your hand in his.

“Angelo’s mother has given up custody of Angelo and I was wondering if you would be interested in fostering him till we can handle all the necessary paperwork.” Eva was hopeful. She saw how you quickly bonded with Angelo and the last few times she’s seen that occur, the child ended up being adopted by their foster parents. And if she was being honest, she was hoping this would be the case here. “Or if you’re interested, maybe you would like to adopt Angelo.” You were an ideal candidate. Regardless of your marital status, you had a steady, stable job and you also had a home and a good support system.

You looked at Angel who squeezed your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it. “You already know how I feel.”

“We would love to adopt Angelo.” You said quickly, Eva laughing at your enthusiasm and clapped her hands together.

“I knew you would, this is perfect. I’ll handle the paperwork, but I wouldn’t expect anything till after Thanksgiving. Honestly, I do not foresee any trouble with the proceedings, especially since his mother gave up custody of Angelo to the state.” Eva stood up. “I will keep in touch, but have a very happy thanksgiving and I will speak to you both after next week.”

“Yeah, of course.” You were in disbelief how quickly everything was happening, but it made you feel as if it was meant to be, that everything was just simply falling into place. You and Angel said your goodbyes to Eva and as soon as the front door was closed and locked by Angel, you ran over to him.

Angel caught you, your legs and arms wrapping around him. Your lips were on his, one of Angel’s arms rested around you and his hand cupped your face. Pulling away, you rested your forehead against Angel’s.

“Fuck, baby, this is so quick.” You wanted to scream in joy, but Angelo was taking a nap. You felt Ares nudging your back, wanting to join the festivities. Going back on the ground, you hugged Ares, happy that you got to keep Angelo after all.

“It’s just things falling into place baby.” Angel sat on the floor next to you, Ares coming to Angel and giving him kisses.

“We have a baby.” You breathed out. You rested your head on Angel’s shoulders. “Holy shit, we’re parents.”

Angel laughed. “You’re really stuck with me now. Cause if you even try to leave, I’ll take our kid and the dog.”

You laughed along with Angel. The appointment for next week made you nervous, even though you weren’t sure if you would even be able to book an appointment. Regardless, whatever the outcome of next week was, you were happy that you had Angelo.

You and Angel were building your family.

That was the most important thing to you.

=================

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