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chelleztjs18 · 3 years

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Lost in Assistance - Ch. 44

Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n is a professional celebrity's personal assistant in Hollywood got hired with two years contract to be the assistant of the famous and talented Elizabeth Olsen / Lizzie by her manager. Both Y/n and Lizzie hate each other since day one, and they have mutual friend. One is as stubborn as the other, will Y/n stay when Lizzie gives attitudes and tries her best to make her quit before the contract ends?

Warning: fluff, angst, smut (in future chapters), swearing words ( +18 only)

I do not own any pictures, name, brand, song titles or anything that I used in this story.

All chapters

A/n: Hello peeps! I'm back! Yayy I finished this chapter faster than I did lately. Thank you for patiently wait for this chapter. For this chapter, I listened to Break My Heart Again by FINNEAS to get and channel y/n's feeling. So if you want, please check it out to help you get the feeling of y/n. Some of the lyrics fits in this chapter. I like the sad and pain vibe in this song. Also I will put pictures of what Y/n and Lizzie wears in the party on this chapter. Also a visual of how Gwen might look like and Mitchel as well. I know it's a little too late for that.lol. Happy reading!

This is what Lizzie wears at the party.

This is what y/n wears at the party.

This is "Gwen"

This is Alice and what she wears.

This is Mitchel.

You walk to your house, you see Gwen is already waiting for you by the front door. Your mind and your heavy heart are full of Lizzie. Rage bottled up inside you. Not only are you angry with yourself, with Lizzie and also with Gwen but mostly with the situation. It feels like a mix of your anger and sadness overpower you. You are struggling to function. “What are you still doing here? Gwen! I swear if you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops on you. So Leave!” You told her angrily, pushed past the brown haired woman who extended her arms out ready to give you a hug. You walk in, try to slam the door on her but she quickly slides between the door and the door frame to prevent you from closing the door. You are so worn out from everything at the point you don’t care that Gwen stays there with you. You don’t care about her existence right now.

You didn't notice Clint watching you from afar, smiling in satisfaction watching everything that happened to you. Enjoying the result after he used the coincidence that he found earlier. He has been watching Lizzie since last night, he knows she is in town. He went to your house this morning and saw Gwen sitting nervously in her car near your house since early in the morning. He easily used the situation to get into Lizzie’s head and it worked out just as he thought it would be. He smirked watching your life’s start to crumble piece by piece.

You sit on the couch in your formal living room. Your head hangs low, facing down and is prompted by both of your hands covering your face with your elbows on your thighs.. You start to cry silently from your unbearable pain. “She came back for me just to leave me again. I’m an idiot for saying what I said. I should’ve not let her leave, I should’ve not let her send me back here in the first place.” You sob and mumble behind your palms.

Gwen comes to you, rubs your back. “It’s okay, love bug. She left and I’m here for you. Maybe it meant to happen.” She kissed the crown of your head. “Are you happy now? Are you happy ruining my life once again?! I was fine without you! Why do you have to come back?!” You lift your head and look at her. You gradually raise your voice, talk in gritted teeth.

“I came back for us! I told you, I want to fix us. To win your heart back! You heard me when I talked to your psycho boss woman, I still love you!” She argues back.

“DON’T call MY Lizzie psycho! You are the psycho one, Gwen! You talk about her leaving me? News flash! You LEFT me! She left me because you were here, talking crap! You came back like nothing happened! If that doesn’t define you as a psycho, I don’t know what does, Gwen! I’m calling the cop now.” You stand up, looking for your phone. The black haired woman behind you starts to panic and doesn’t want to give up on you just yet. Her mind is thinking how to get your attention. Then she said something that works on you.

“I’ll leave everything for you, to be with you.” She finally told you the truth, the reason why she came back for you. Despite Gwen being gone for five years, you still know her very well. You know from her tone, she was telling you the truth, sincerely from her heart. It falters you. You turn around to her, you see tears start to fill her eyes. “What did you say?” You asked.

She sniffled and wiped her tears. “I’ll leave everything for you. My husband, my job, I don’t even care if my parents disown me. I will tell them, I want to be with the woman that makes me happy, and it’s you. I don’t care what people are going to say about it. All I care, all I know and all I want is to have a family with you, be happy with you. To love you and be loved by you. I know I hurt you, it was messed up but please let me fix this, I beg you.” She rambles, her cries sometimes make it hard for her to talk.

Your stomach turns. You feel your body slowly paralyzed. All you can do is look at her and say “But Gwen, It’s too--” Gwen interrupted you. “Too late? It’s never too late to keep my promise, our promise. Remember we promised each other to at least once try to fight for the other’s heart back if everything went wrong in our relationship no matter what happened? Please tell me that you still remember that because I do and I’m here, I’m back to keep my promise, to win your heart back because I love you.” She came closer to you, holding your hand. You feel weak, you slowly sit back to your previous position with your hands covering your face and your elbow prompts you.. You face down. Gwen is standing in front of you, hugging you. You remember that promise, you remember that moment. It was one of the intimate moments you both shared.

“I know deep down you still love me, y/n.” Gwen whispers with her lips on the crown of your head. Run her hand from your head to your back a few times. Deep down, the little part of you was shaken. The part of you that you thought has moved on from Gwen but apparently not yet and so vulnerable to listen to everything Gwen said. Your feelings for Lizzie are fighting that little part of you.

Your feelings towards Lizzie makes you pull away from Gwen’s hug. “What’s wrong? She asks. You lean back away from her. “Nothing. Stop doing this to me. You can’t do this to me.” with everything that happened, you are so vulnerable.

“Y/n, I know you still love me, we can finally be happy together. I’m still your butterfly, right?” Gwen tries to convince you, she cups your cheeks and rubs your face. She knows the right words to say, the right things to do when she sees you are this vulnerable.

Once again, you try to fight the feelings that she tries to make you feel and you almost lose the fight but you're saved by the sounds of a knock on the door that’s left slightly open. You quickly stand up as you mumble under your breath “Lizzie.” and look at the door secretly wishing that she comes back for you once again.

“Y/n? Are you home?” You heard the voice, the voice that you least expect to hear right now. You don’t know what is wrong this morning, it seems that everything happened all at once in one morning.

“Uh y-yeah, I’ll come out. Stay--” Before you can finish your sentence, Aubrey comes in. “Hey, y/n, have you heard from Liz? She left me a voicemail to call her back, but she didn’t answer. Her voice sounds like she was..crying.” Aubrey didn’t see who is with you at first as she hasn’t turned her back when she closes and locks the door. She paused a little and the last word she said faded as she turned and saw the face of the woman she hates so much with all of her heart. She gasped.

“YOU! YOU b*tch! What the hell are you doing here!” Aubrey quickly marches with full anger towards Gwen. You quickly stand in between them to prevent her from doing anything to Gwen. “Aubrey..Aubrey..Please, stop. Listen to me.” You tried to hold Aubrey’s hands that are aiming for Gwen’s hair away

“Let me go, y/n! I have an ass to kick right now!” Flames of anger shot through Aubrey. She tries to pull her hands from your grip. “Aubrey, I know how mad you are right now but please stop it! I can’t deal with this right now.” You tried to stay calm, as you tried to calm her down at the same time. “Why are you stopping me? Don’t you remember what she did to you?” Her brows knitted. She looks at you confusedly as she steps back slowly. “I do, Aubrey. I remembered it crystal clear.” You answer her and your eyes glisten. Aubrey notices it.

“Did you cry?” Aubrey observes and realizes. “You made y/n cry again?!” She gasps as she connects the dot. “Lizzie! What did you do to her? No wonder she cried. You little b*tch!” Wrapped in huge anger, once again she tries to give Gwen a lesson but you try again to calm her down. “Aubrey please. Stop it. I don’t want you to get your hands dirty. You don’t want to be all over the internet that you attacked someone.”

“It will be worth it, y/n. Yes you better hide, hell you better run girl.” She noticed Gwen hiding behind your back. “What are you doing here?! Nobody wants you here! You got nerves to come back!” She gives cynical remarks to Gwen.

“I’m here to win y/n’s heart back! And it’s none of your business Aubrey. I still love her.” Gwen argues and explains. Aubrey clenched her fists. “Then where the hell have you been in the last five years?! If I wasn’t by y/n that time, she wouldn’t still be alive now. Yeah, that’s how bad she was, that’s how bad you hurt her and now you have the audacity to come back like nothing happened? Fuck you!” the brunette pants after letting out so much anger through her yelling at Gwen.

“I did it for y/n’s sake! You don’t know what really happened, so don’t you dare to talk shit about me.” Gwen raises her voice. “Gwen can you please stop making things worse” You yelled at her in whispers.

“Oh shut up Gwen! You are one selfish, heartless human being! You left y/n like she was nothing! You are lucky I saw you here with y/n. So you better get the hell out of here or I’ll call the cops! There’s the door!” Aubrey noticed Gwen’s purse. She instantly grabs it, and she throws it out as soon as she opens the door.

“You know Aubrey, so you better leave. She will call the cops on you if you are still here. So leave right now Gwen.” You tried not to raise your voice. “You heard her! Now leave!” She shows Gwen her phone showing 911 is one press away.

Gwen quickly walks out of your house. “I stay at the same house I used to live y/n. Let me know what you decide. You know where to find me.” Gwen told you as she scurried away.

Aubrey asks you as soon as Gwen leaves. “Decide what? y/n, decide what?” She hopes it is not what she thinks she is. “She-uh she wants us to get back together that’s why she came back. She told me she will leave everything for me, even her parents.” Consideration slightly evident in your face. “And, you didn’t tell her no right away? Seriously, y/n?” Aubrey gives you a judgmental look.

No words left your mouth as Aubrey waits for your answer. The anticipation is killing the brunette. "Y/n, I swear to God, if you get back with her! I will kick your ass, politely. But still, it will hurt." She puts both hands on her hips.

“Well, you came when we were in the middle of the conversation.” You tackled all Aubrey’s remarks and assumptions. “There shouldn’t be that conversation, you should’ve kicked her out in the first place.” Her forehead puckered, showing that she meant what she said.

“I did! She wouldn’t leave.” You throw your hands in the air. “Well maybe you didn’t try hard enough.” Your eyes widened as she said the same thing with what Lizzie said. “That’s what she told me.” Your eyes swim with tears. “Lizzie was right! Oh geez, please don’t tell me that heartless Gwen brought you those roses.” She notices the roses and is about to throw the roses.

“It was from Liz. She brought them.” Your heart wrenched as your mind replayed the view of Lizzie standing in front of your door, holding the roses with mixed emotions on her face.

Aubrey gasps. “Oh my God! She was here and saw Gwen?? Oh poor Lizzie.”

You told her everything that happened. After hearing everything she tries to call her best friend but still gets no answer. “I gotta go find her. I hope she’s okay. Y/n, I love you but if you hurt Lizzie, I will find you and kick your ass myself. I meant it. I”ll see you soon.” Despite what she said to you, Aubrey still gives you a warm hug to comfort you before she leaves.

You spend the rest of your day at home. Thinking about everything. You texted Lizzie. “Love, can we talk? Please? I’m sorry for everything I said and everything that happened.” But you didn’t get any reply from her.

You are waiting for her reply the whole time, in your room with almost no light. After a few hours, you tried to text her again. “I miss you. Can you please at least let me know that you are okay? I’m worried.”

You finally heard a ding from your phone. Your heart fluttered when you saw it was a text from Lizzie. “I’m fine.” That was all you got from her. Little do you know, Lizzie went to the pier you took her. She sits at the beach, crying and mad and tries to calm herself down.

You start to think about everything between you and Lizzie. How sometimes her acts towards you keep changing makes you don’t even know if she wants to be with you or not but you also blame yourself for taking too long to open up to her. But is it worth it? Gwen also comes across your mind. You were mad at her but when she mentioned the promise you both made, it shook your anger towards you. You never thought she would keep it let alone remember about it. “She left and I’m here for you. Maybe it meant to happen.” Gwen’s voice echoing what she said in your mind. It crumbled your anger when she told you she would leave everything for you. It makes you soft. You never thought that you could be this weak when she actually came back to your life.

After hours of thinking about everything, about Lizzie and Gwen. You realized and know what you want, who you want to be with now. You never thought that what happened today became a big shock therapy for you that opened your eyes, and your heart. You quickly grab your car keys. You drive to the place where you need to be in order to start a big step in your life.

You stand nervously in front of the door, you ring the bell. You know you have made the right decision, you know you chose the right person. The person that you love. The door finally opened. You see a smile. “Love bug! You came back!” Gwen smiled, and hugged you right away. “I knew you would come back. I know you still love me. Come in.” She pulled your hand for you to walk in.

You didn’t move at all. Confused, Gwen looked at you and asked “Y/n. What's wrong? Let’s come in.”

“I won’t be long, Gwen.” Oh how the table has turned. What happened five years ago, what Gwen did to you, now is happening to her. “What did you mean, y/n.” She asks nervously, the memory of how she broke up with you played in her memory. Right now, It feels like a DeJa Vu in the opposite way.

“Look, I loved you so much until you left me. It took years for me to be okay after you left. Yes I was mad at you, I hated you but I’m not gonna lie, what you said to me earlier about how you would leave everything to be with me definitely washed my hatred and anger away. That was very mature of you, but Gwen, it’s too late. You had your chance but you blew it, twice. You blew it the first time when you left me, you blew it the second time in the period of five year when you could come back, but you didn’t.” You pause, try to hold your tears back. You take a deep breath, you try to continue even though you see Gwen look shocked and hurt.

“The reason I came here was I wanted a closure, a proper closure for both of us. I forgive you. I hope nothing but the best for you in the future to find the right person to start a family with.” You look into her glistening eyes, filled with tears. “You said that we are soulmates, we are meant for each other.” Gwen tries to speak while holding her cry.

“No Gwen. I was wrong. You are just a hard lesson in life I need to learn.” You swallowed hard. As kind hearted a person you are, this definitely hurt you too because you never want to hurt anybody. “Is there somebody else? Is it that Olsen girl. Your boss.” She asks.

“Yes, I love her. Head over heels in love with her. I would do anything for her just like I was to you.” You nodded as you answered her.

Everything that happened between you and Lizzie before, especially today, every memories you have together, her smile, her laugh, her green eyes and all those hours you spend in your dark room thinking today, you finally realized and admitted to yourself that you are in love, helplessly deeply in love with the one and only Elizabeth Olsen, the goddess of beauty and pure kindness herself.

She starts to cry. “I’m sorry Gwen, I try my best to end this in the nicest way possible. I have to go, Gwen. Take care. Goodbye and thank you for everything.” You gave one last hug before you left. She tries to cherish the very last seconds she can get from your hug as she cries but you broke the hug anyway. She catches your fingers before you walk away and your fingers slowly slip away from her grip.

Your heart feels lighter on the way home, after you end everything with Gwen. You feel relieved after you realize that you love Lizzie. All you know now is to fight for her trust back, to win her heart back.

_____

A few days have passed, you haven’t talked with Lizzie. You are excited for tonight’s party that you actually forgot, until you got a call from Jane about it. Jane’s company is having an anniversary party. You know Lizzie will be there. You can’t wait to see her.

You arrived at the party and “Hymn For the Weekend” by Izzamuzzic, Jemma Johnson plays in the background. Your eyes instantly search for her among the invitees in the party. You are stunned and frozen instantly as soon as you see her walk in wearing a simple black and white dress with thin materials that’s almost a see through. Your mouth feels dry instantly.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?” Aubrey shows up from Lizzie’s back and greets you. She follows Aubrey walking towards you. “Hey, I’m okay. How are you?” You hug Aubrey. You can feel Lizzie is staring at you, amazed with how you look. “Hi Liz. Wow, you looked stunning as usual.” You nod, and you hug her. Her scent is so intoxicating that you almost let out a small moan but you managed to hold it. “Hi y/n. You look great.” She greets you with a small smile and tries hard not to look too excited to see you. She is still mad at you, but she misses you. Deep down she is excited to see you. She reciprocates but does not fully hug you. You can feel her right hand on your back, slide down slowly as you pull from the hug.

Mitchel comes to the three of you. “Hello my darlings! Three of my favorite chic women! Look at all of you!” He gives three of you hugs in turns. Four of you talk and catch up with each other. Mitch and Aubrey can feel the awkward tension that flares between you and Lizzie. They give each other eye contact as if they are talking about it. You told him what happened, and Lizzie told Aubrey. The whole time you try to talk with Lizzie and she talks if it’s really necessary. Lizzie acts all awkward but there are shades of anger and jealousy but she steals glances more than she should but it’s all interrupted when Jane calls her to introduce her with someone.

So you and Lizzie are separated. You decided to get a drink from the bar and leave Aubrey and Mitch who are busy talking with other people. You stand at the bar, have some drinks by yourself. You can’t lie to yourself that you are upset with how cold Lizzie is to you. You think she likes that for real or she uses it as a disguise. You got a little irritated. Then you heard a soft voice greet you. “Hey, Y/N. Having a party by yourself here? You look so nice with your outfit.”

“Oh hi Alice! Wow you look pretty yourself. I love your dress. How are you? You greet Alice from the Legal Department. You always thought she is beautiful, soft spoken, and looks innocent but not really. You can see she is flirty to you sometimes. She is always nice to you, not to mention sometimes can be a little touchy but subtly touchy.

“I’m good. How are you? Can I join you?” She asks as she subtly bite her lips when she smiles at you. You chuckle nervously. “Yeah sure. Of course. This bar has quite a space, so why not?” You smile. You and Alice talked for a few minutes, both of you had a great time talking. Both of you laugh every so often. “I never knew you could be this funny. You always look serious or tense. Try to loosen up a little bit, will you? At least when you are with me.” She smiles and she gently rubs your arms with her thumb.

You can feel someone staring at you, and you know who it is. Internally you are glad you finally got her attention. You smile at Alice. “Okay, I will try to.”

“I always love your style, your hair and especially your smell. You always smell good.” Alice leans closer to you and tries to tease you by inhaling softly your perfume around your neck and shoulder but not too close to it then she moves back and smiles.

You know and you can feel Lizzie’s stares getting more intense and a little idea pops into your mind. You want to tease Lizzie, make her jealous so you can get more attention from her.

You spend more time with Alice, and Lizzie hates it but she can’t leave the conversations with Jane and she tries not to be obvious. She tries not to care, she is still mad at you about Gwen. Her gaze keeps going back to you as if there’s a strong magnet pull.

Aubrey notices and whispers to Lizzie. “Who are you staring at? Y/n?” She teases. “No where, but since you mentioned, now I see her. What is she doing with that Legal Department girl? Did you see how they laugh and touch each other?” Lizzie whispers back without leaving her gaze at you.

“Ah you are jealous!” Aubrey teases once again. “I’m not. She just needs to watch how she acts at work, she is my assistant.” She replies and her hands squeeze her glass of drink hardly. “She is mine.” Lizzie mumbles under her breath, thankfully Aubrey didn’t hear it.

A/N: Well, I hope you you like and enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think. As usual reblog, comments, like, and feedback are appreciated. Follow me for more! We are leaving angsty town soon! So see you in next chapter!

Ch. 45

Cheerio!

Chellez TjS.

Taglist: @madamevirgo , @musicinourlips , @unstable-sapphic-hoe , @fanboy7794 , @chloe7076 , @b0mbdotc0m , @trikruismybitch , @ichala , @californianwhiterabbit , @silver-lotus , @imfuckinggenius , @sxfwap , @chaekhan , @daenerys713 , @srtamercurio , @stupidsapphicsstuff , @pattypavo , @selfwrotevision @emptysince18x , @franfineashell @heyyoweveryone @ygtft-chen @yaaskasey @sweet-like-cinnamonn @paumxmff @dopeyouth @beaniejennie @ineedafinghug @idkwhatimwriting @lucydiibi @mainly-rebloging-fics-i-like @gloriousfoxruins @grxvitye @mcubreakdown101 @aos22 @wandanatstan @paulawand @yeeterthekeeper @femalehomosexual666 @snowdrop1026 @modernmonalisa @nothingisrealanyway @idamaemann @sweeterlust @royalityofmultifandom @playboysaleen @peabrain112 @gwhaley127 @harleyswanda @bodhi-j @darth-rain @cristin-rjd @spongebobtentacles @savethefbees @i-need-them-to-hug-me . Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

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parkmuse · 4 years

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Not So Honest (M)

Word Count: 9322 (Reposted) (Wonhopes Masterlist)

Jungkook has got a pretty BIG problem, and he desperately asks you for your help.

cr.

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Dingdongdingdongdingdon-

You let out a heavy sigh, pausing your show as you get up from the couch to answer the door. That annoying repetitive doorbell rings could only come from one person.

“YAH! Where’s your fucking keys you brat-“ You stop mid-sentence from yelling at him because your eyes catch onto the large package he’s struggling to hold along with a mountain of grocery bags in his hands.

“Yeah, I forgot them this morning and remembered once I was at the store. By the way, this was at the doorstep-“ You immediately snatch it out of his grasp, twirling around as you let go of the door and let it slam back in his face. You run to the table, squealing as you set it down to try and go look for something to open it with. “My package arrived!”

You hear the front door rattle a few times before its shoved open again, him struggling to get all the bags in as he forces the door closed with a bang. “What the fuck Y/N? And I don’t even get a thank you for picking that up for you?”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook,” You replied, waving him off before you walked back over to your package.

You’ve been waiting a whole two weeks for another one of these Amazon packages. You did a little contract with some sellers there that you would test out their products for free and give your honest review in return that you get free samples of the items. So far you’ve gotten blenders, make up, wireless head phones, even a decent cellphone all for free. And all you had to do was type up a quick, honest review with the pros and cons of the product that took less than 5 minutes, then you could enjoy all your free shit. Did I say free already?

“What’s in the package? Another crappy phone?” Jungkook yells from the kitchen, placing all the food in their designated locations. You let out another heavy sigh before responding to him. “Why do you care? Go hangout with Jimin and suck each other’s dicks or something.”

“You’re just jealous cause I could probably get more dick or actually scratch that, any dick at all compared to you if I really wanted to.” You shot him a glare and he smirks, then sticks his tongue out before placing the milk in the fridge.

God, you hated that brat. You’ve hated him for so many years, basically all of your life since you’ve known each other since elementary. Your parents were great friends so you always had to hang out with him when you would go to each other’s houses, dealing with him pulling your hair and stealing all your food and toys from you almost three times a week. Once you hit high school you were even forced to baby sit him even though you were only two years older, but his parents baby him so much and think he’s not fit to stay alone in his own damn home that they’d throw him over at yours.

Even now, as two damn grown adults you are still stuck with him, forced to share an apartment since you two go to the same college because his parents don’t trust him alone or with strangers. It was a living nightmare since you basically had no privacy with this brat, always meddling in your stuff and your life and him walking out of his room practically naked every damn day. Sure, he’s grown up really well, and he’s always been cute I guess, but holy hell he gets on your nerves so much he’s lost the on chance that you would ever find him attractive. The only upside to this is that you get help paying rent, but honestly you think you’d rather live on the streets than be with this annoying kid.

At least your annoyance will be at its minimal today, too excited to let him cloud your day when you got more cool free shit-

“What the fuck?” You spit, eyes bugged and jaw dropped once you comprehend exactly what Amazon just sent to you.

“What? Another flip phone or some shit- woah,” Jungkook’s eyes widened as well once he peeks over your shoulder to see what the big deal was.

Sex toys.

Not one, not two.

A whole box full.

There were different kinds of toys like vibrators and silicone dicks in all the colors you could possibly imagine. You didn’t even know what half the shit in that box was either; there were weird looking eggs to obscure shaped things you assumed were supposed to replicate a dick but had an extended side that you couldn’t figure out what it was actually intended to do. You pulled out a box and on the cover read Sassy Anal Beads in fancy cursive lettering, finally making you lose your patience.

“Why the fuck would they send me this shit!?” You huffed, tossing the stuff back in the box. You had no use for any of this. Sure, they could keep you company since you were single as hell but you really wished they would have sent you something way more useful.

“Maybe they knew you needed it— OW!” Jungkook yelps as you punch him in the chest. He pouts as he clutches onto his pecs but you just roll your eyes.

“Shut up, you deserved it.” You walk back to the couch and plop on it with a sigh, resuming your TV show.

“Aren’t you supposed to review all this shit?” He says, digging through some more of the box as he pulls an unrealistic sized purple dildo.

“I’m not going to bother. I’ll just say they were all shitty or something,” You say as you bring your feet up to the coffee table.

“Well that’s not really fair. You have to give your honest opinion. What if King Cock Deluxe deserves five stars?” He snickers, waving it over in front of your face.

You scrunch your face in disgust, “Stop being gross.”

He laughs and tosses it back in the box, then pulls out another item. “What the hell is this thing?”

You see him examining it in his hands, his face scrunching up in confusion. It was small and black, a ring attached to the end and the top having two protruding bumps.

You’ve actually heard of that one before from one of your girl friends who was gushing all about it. It was a rabbit designed cock ring, the two ends from the top was actually a vibrator so when you had sex the “rabbit ears” would stimulate your clit. Your friend said although it looked really ugly it really did the trick, but her boyfriend never liked using it because it was way too tight on him.

“It’s a cock ring,” You said unamused, standing up to walk over to the kitchen.

“Cock ring?” Jungkook responded, still sounding confused as ever.

“Did I stutter?” You said, digging through the pantry.

“Does it make you feel really good or something?”

You turn back to face him so you can yell at him for asking so many questions, but stopped once you saw his face. He was still looking at the toy, examining it in his hand intensely.

A small smile crept on your lips, and you’re glad he was still too focused on the toy in his hands to see. “Yeah Jungkook, it makes you feel real good.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, but quickly replaces his surprise with a lazy smirk. “Yeah right, this free shit would never work.” He tosses the toy back into the box.

You snicker at his response. How has he never heard of a cock ring? Was he that inexperienced? Jungkook’s a grown man, but you’ve always seen him as the little brat next door. “I mean, I heard that got a lot of positive feedback for being one of the best sex toys out there. Men go crazy about it,” You chimed in, continuing to tease him.

“That piece of rubber? Bullshit.” He walks back into the kitchen, throwing some more groceries into the fridge. After a couple of minutes of silence and fixing up the kitchen, Jungkook speaks up again.

“I mean, what does it even do? How is it that good?”

“I don’t know, but must be pretty amazing.” You were getting kind of tired of your little white lie, and his constant repetitiveness of the topic was staring to annoy you. Before he was about to speak up again you interrupted him.

“Jungkook! I told you to buy some more damn cereal!” You whack him on the back of the head and he groans.

“I got most of the stuff on the list!” He pouts.

“You had one job kid, and now we got milk and no cereal.” You huff, walking over to grab your purse. “I always have to do things on my own around here. I’ll be back in a bit.” You grab your keys and walk out the door.

You finally made your way back home after being stuck in traffic for a good thirty minutes just for some cereal. Damn that Jeon kid for forgetting one measly thing.

You were starving since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and you were too lazy to cook anything so why not just have some cereal? You walk to the kitchen to pull out a bowl, opening the box of Frosted Flakes and filling it up to the brim. You walk over to the fridge to grab the milk, opening the door. You were met with nothing but water bottles on the top shelf and some groceries at the bottom. Confused, you looked all over the sides and in the drawers. There was a whole carton before you left and now it disappeared!

Then it clicked in your head. Your eyebrows crinkled and you let out a heavy sigh, closing the fridge. “JUNGKOOK!”

That damn kid always brings the carton of milk into his room, sometimes drinking it straight out of the container. You hated sharing food with him for this very reason, and you should really get him to stop drinking that shit because he’s getting way too big for his own good.

You waited for a good minute just to give him mercy, but by now he should have answered you, walking out of his room with a yeah, yeah as he brings the carton back out.

But there was complete silence.

You groan, walking down the hall to where your bedrooms were. He better have a good ass explanation for why he hasn’t answered you by now. You twist the knob and roughly push the door open. “Where’s the fucking milk Jungkook?!”

You pause at the door, making eye contact with a seemingly alarmed Jungkook. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed faced away from you, shirtless again, head turned with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly ajar. He looks like a deer in the headlights, his hand clutching onto the sheets crumpled beside him.

“You’re just sitting there doing nothing but didn’t bother answering me?” You thought it was a little weird, but quickly brushed it off.

“Um—well, I—“ Before he can give you an explanation, your eyes catch the item you were looking for at the night stand beside where he was sitting.

“There it is, I fucking knew it!” You strode over to the carton.

“NO! DON’T COME HERE!” He hollers, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“Whoa no need to yell, what’s on your dick?”

“N-NOTHING! Just…go to the store and get more! This is my milk!”

You could have sworn you felt a vein pop out of your temple at his remark. “I just came from the damn store! That’s a brand new carton! And my milk your ass I paid for that!”

You were seriously getting tired of him. When will you finally be able to get away from him? 5 years? 10 years? Are you really going to have to spend the rest of your life with this brat?

You don’t even know why you’re listening to him at the moment. You can do whatever you want, he can’t stop you. You continue to make a beeline to your milk, running past him to grab it and run out. Your feet catches onto his blanket, causing you to trip over and onto the floor in front of him with a loud thump.

You groan on the floor, pushing the sheet off of you and sitting up as you rub your head. You turn your head to look at a mortified Jungkook, completely colorless as he stares back at you in complete fear and embarrassment. Confused, you were about to ask what his problem was but your eyes flicked south.

A mere inches from your face was his dick in his hand, semi hard and just…all out there. What definitely made your jaw drop was that right at the base was a familiar looking object, black with bunny ears sticking out at the top.

You covered your mouth, embarrassed to have caught him in the act but also trying so hard not to laugh in front of his face because you cannot believe he’s actually doing this.

“Y/N, I-I can explain-“

You get up on your feet and grab the milk from the night stand, walking straight to the door avoiding eye contact with him. “No need to Kook, pretty self-explanatory. You have fun with that!”

You just wanted to get out of there as quick as possible before it could get even more awkward, but he calls out to you, making you stop.

“No wait! Don’t go! I-Um…”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and watch you jack off you have another thing coming-“

“NO! It’s not that! Why the fuck would I ask you that? I’m not some sicko.”

“Says the one with a bunny cock ring on his dick-”

“OKAY! You got me there,” He sighs. “But I was just curious! What was so good about this piece of plastic? And then I put it on a-and…”

“And what?” It probably didn’t feel good as he expected it to. Hell, it’s supposed to be the complete opposite.

“Well, it’s kind of…kind of stuck.”

A few seconds of silence pass as you comprehend what he just said, then you burst out laughing. He jumped in his seat, surprised by your reaction but then gives you a glare and a pout. “Why are you laughing?!”

You grab onto your sides, tears coming out of your eyes. You just can’t control yourself. This dumb kid has a sex toy stuck on him and he can’t get it off.

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry! It’s just so…so hilarious. Wow.” You wipe the tears from your cheeks as the last bits of chuckles come spewing out.

“It’s not funny! It won’t come off…a-and it really hurts.”

You can hear the pain in his voice and for a second you actually felt bad for him. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased him that much.

But then again, he deserves it.

“Well, seems like you got a real problem on your hands. I’ll leave ya to it.” You say as you start walking out the door.

“Y/N WAIT! You have to help me!”

You turn back to face him, your brows knitting in confusion. “And why do I have to do that?”

“Please Y/N, you know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t mean it.”

You stare at him for a moment, taking in his facial features. You were a couple of feet away from him but from there you could see the tears threatening to fall from his big doe eyes. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, probably to stop it from quivering in front of you. His broad shoulders visibly shook, and you sigh. He must really be in pain.

“Please, Noona.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by his response. He hasn’t called you Noona for years. The last time he called you that was years ago, during a small phase where he was actually really sweet and nice to you. You actually loved that Jungkook back then, but then he went a full 180 on you and went back to being a brat.

You bite your lip, contemplating on what to do. He winces in pain and lets out a long drawn out whimper, which immediately shot to your core. What the fuck?

You don’t know what overcame you but you had the sudden urge to touch him.

What the hell were you thinking?

You just want to help him, that’s all.

You let out a heavy sigh, then placed the milk on the TV stand, proceeding to walk over to him. “Fine, let’s just get this over with. I don’t want your parents to blame me for not watching you and you coming home dickless.”

His eyes light up in admiration for you, excited to finally be free of this dumb torture-like pleasure free device. You stop in front of him, sitting on your knees as you push his legs apart to get a better look.

Surprisingly, Jungkook didn’t have a micro penis like you thought he had all these years. It was actually really, really generous, probably one of the biggest you’ve seen. No wonder this kid had a big ego.

“Alright, let’s see what we got.” As awkward as this was supposed to feel, it didn’t feel as weird as you thought it would. Why did it feel normal to be on your knees in front of Jungkook’s dick? You honestly didn’t want to think about why other than the fact that you’ve known him all your life and being naked in front of each other probably isn’t a big as a deal as you would imagine. You guys used to bathe naked all the time; that counts for something right?

“Wow Kook, you got it lodged pretty good. How the fuck did you get that all the way up there?” You stared at the small device, tightly clenching the base of his shaft.

“I-I thought it was supposed to hurt in the beginning, and then it would feel good later. That’s how sex is for girls, right?”

You snorted. “Does it look like you have a vagina, Jungkook? I mean maybe you will after your dick falls off-“

“Stop!” He whines, pouting at you. “Don’t say that! I would die without my dick.”

“That actually sounds like a good plan, maybe we should leave it then-“ He grabs your hands in his, squeezing them tightly as you were about to sit up again.

“Y/-Noona, please, please help me. I’ll be good to you from now on. I won’t be a brat anymore if you help me. Just…please.”

He softly caresses the back of your hand, looking at you again like a lost puppy.

Was Jungkook really being obedient right now? He seems like he would do anything for you, listened to anything you said. He seemed so…submissive.

You unintentionally licked your lips, but immediately came back to your senses. It was really getting hot in here and your hands were starting to sweat.

You ripped your hands away from him. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” You played it off like you weren’t phased by what he said and his sudden new name for you. You just needed to get this shit off of him and then you could finally eat. Starving yourself is definitely not good for your head.

You take in a deep breath, then reach for him. You didn’t want to bother addressing the elephant in the room, the surprisingly pretty big elephant in the room, because you didn’t want to make this even more awkward as it is. Asking if you could touch his dick would probably make this situation even worse, so you’re just gonna do what you need to do.

You grasp onto the base of his shaft where the toy is, tugging it forward in attempts to take it off.

“OW!” Jungkook yelps, grabbing your wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“I barely even touched you brat, suck it up.” You whip your hand away from him, bringing it back to the toy.

He really got himself into a real mess here. There’s barely any space between the toy and his dick. Did he really think this wasn’t going to happen?

You attempt to pull at it again while your hand rested on his abdomen. You didn’t expect Jungkook’s abs to be so defined and rock solid under your fingertips, but you quickly brushed the thought away while you focused on the situation at hand.

When you pulled, the toy stayed put and your hand ended up grasping through the rest of his length to the tip, leaving you empty handed. You cupped the toy again, firmly pressing against his stomach while you pulled again, only to bring your hand against him again without the toy. You hear him whimper under your touch but again you don’t let it get to you, thinking he’s just being a little wuss about the pain again. After another attempt of tugging it off and your hand unintentionally grasping his length, you accidentally squeeze the end of his tip, feeling the warmth on your fingertips.

All of a sudden Jungkook lurches forward, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing tightly. His face is a few inches away from yours, his heavy pants tickling your face.

“Noona,” He chokes out.

You look up at him to see his adam’s apple bob, licking his partly chapped lips as he lets out open mouthed pants while his other hand clutches the bed sheet. You could see him breaking a sweat down his temple, looking so fucking hot for some strange reason but then something breaks your thoughts.

You feel a pulse under your touch, and you realize you’re still grasping his tip. You look down to see his dick erect, the tip partly red as you slowly feel the palm of your hand get wet. You slowly open your hand to see pre-cum leaking from his tip, some smeared along your hand.

You instantly get red, looking back up at Jungkook with the best glare you could muster up at the moment when in reality you’re freaking out and heating up inside. “What the fuck Jungkook!?”

You were about to stand up to leave when he grabs you again. “I-I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”

“You’re gross!” You try to rip your hand away, but he keeps a firm grip.

“Y/N I’m sorry! Your hand just feels really, really soft…please, just help me get it off!” He pleads. “I’ll do anything Y/N. I promise!”

You look back at your hand covered in Jungkook’s residue, groaning at the sticky substance. You hate to admit that you loved the fact he got like that because of your hands, because of you touching him. You grab the blanket off the floor and wipe your hand, not wanting to think about it. You gulp once you face him again, his cock looking bigger than before and a bit more constricted against the toy.

You press your fingertips against the toy, attempting to twist it off of him. He whimpers, eyes shut tight as you can’t help but notice his stomach clench against your touch again.

“Noona, please...” He says again in what was like a husky whisper, sounding like he’s begging for you. The high pitched whine that came after striked right at your core, causing you to bite your lip. Your stomach was doing somersaults as you tried so heavily to focus on getting this damn toy off of him, but he was making this so, so hard. No pun intended.

You tried whatever you could, pushing it upwards and to the side and downwards, but none of it seemed to be working.

“I think we need to get some oil or something and maybe it’ll slip off,” You thought. “I’ll go get some in the kitchen.”

“You won’t find any,” He said hesitantly.

“What do you mean? I thought you just bought some?”

“I…was that on the list too?” He looks at your warily, biting his bottom lips as he slowly cowers away.

Your eyes turned to slits as your brows crinkled in distress again, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Well, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Why don’t you spit on it?” Your eyes bugged out while you looked at him like crazy woman. What did he just say?

“What?” You say, looking at him incredulously.

“Well, water isn’t going to work. We don’t have anything else and that’s all I could think of.”

“Do it yourself!” You yell, red as a tomato at what he just actually asked for you to do.

“I can’t! My hands are too big! Your hands are perfect and it’s easier if someone else does it. I’ll just hurt myself. Please, just do it it’ll work!” He pouts at you again, biting his bottom lip as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “You’re so gentle Noona. Help me,” He begs.

You know his words weren’t supposed to sound dirty in any way, but god why do you keep thinking like that?

Your empty stomach was messing with your head. Not only was your head throbbing, but you can’t ignore the ache between your legs either. You thought of just telling him to fuck off and leave him there to figure it out himself, but he speaks up again.

“It really hurts…I’m begging you Y/N,” He whimpers, whispering your name with a groan at the end. You notice his uneven breaths as his stomach vibrates, his veins protruding along his arms as he still clenches the sheets, the other hand holding onto his hard cock. He grasps himself, letting out a high pitched whine as he grits his teeth, seeing his eyes water yet again from his action.

You gulp at the sight of him before you, so helpless and vulnerable that causes your core throb even more.

You press your thighs together to ease the tension. You don’t know why such a helpless Jungkook was turning you on uncontrollably, and you’d love to see how much more he could beg and sob under your touch if he’d allow you to.

You shake your head, pulling yourself out of your crazy thoughts. This is getting really bad and you knew you had to get away from him quick. You needed this to be over as soon as possible.

“Fuck, okay! But we’re never fucking talking about this again. This never happened,” You say as you kneel in front of him again. You bring a hand to your face, spitting into it and smearing it along your palm. You cup the base of his shaft and glide your palm around the skin near the toy, trying to lubricate it as much as you can.

“It’s not enough Y/N, just spit directly on it,” He groans. You were going to yell at him for telling you what to do, but spared him once you saw his flushed and pained expression. You silently obeyed, sitting up so your face hovered over his dick. You collected enough saliva in your mouth and spit on the skin below the toy, letting the liquid slip down and over his cock. You bring your fingertips to massage the area, spreading your fluid as much as you can over him. Once you think it’s enough, you try pulling the toy again but it still didn’t budge.

“I-I think you still need to add more,” He pants.

“You think I got gallons worth Jungkook? That I’m a human sprinkler?” You spew.

“Well how about you just use your mouth?” He said nonchalantly.

You gaped at him, about to tell him off but then he cuts you off. “It would be easier! You wouldn’t have to keep spitting and have it dry up. You can get it all over and then it would pop right off!”

Your patience was really wearing thin with this kid. But then he grabs you by shoulders, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours.

“You’re my only hope Noona. You can only help me with this. I’ll do whatever you want after I promise.”

“I swear I’ll be a good boy.”

Good boy?

Hearing that made the last strings of your sanity cut loose.

Fuck it.

You push him away by his chest abruptly, making him almost fall back on the bed. He caught himself before he could fall, hands flat against the bed. Before he could ask you what your problem was, you flatten your tongue along the base of his shaft.

“Y/N!” He moans aloud, bucking his hips up and into your face. You glide your tongue along his vein, swirling your tongue against his tip. You press an open mouthed kiss, then wrap the tip around the lips as you suck lightly.

“Oh fuck! Noona,” He rasps, trying so hard not to lose control and grab your hair to push you further into him. His moans egg you on and you tease his slit, earning another strangled moan of your name from him. Then you bring your mouth down onto his cock, taking him inch by inch.

You try your best to use your tongue, trying to wet every inch of his throbbing cock until you finally reach the base where the toy was. You hear him panting like he just ran a marathon above you, groaning as he watches your pretty lips around his thick member.

“Your mouth is so warm, it feels so good,” He groans, licking his lips before he gulps as he watches you intently. You stop your movements and look up to him, making direct eye contact. He looks at you in confusion, seeing the subtle glint in your eyes. Before he could say anything you swallow hard, causing him to thrash his head back and fist your hair.

“Fucking shit!” He moans, bucking his hips upward into you, causing the tip to hit the back of his throat. It hurt of course, but seeing the way he reacts to your ministrations was definitely worth it.

You pull your mouth off of him just until the tip, then bring him all into your mouth once again, sucking harshly.

“Holy fuck Y/N,” he moans, grasping the back of your head as you bob up and down his length.

“Keep fucking doing that.” You scratch his thighs, telling him that you’re the one in control instead of him before grazing your teeth slightly against his length. He whines in response, slightly nudging your hair back to stop you.

“Y-Y/N please…I’m sorry, just please keep going.” You release him with a pop, wiping the saliva from your chin as you look at him with a glare.

“Why are you telling me what to do? I thought you said you’d be a good boy?” You say as you slightly dig your nails into his massive thighs once again. “Or should I stop?”

“No! No please! Don’t stop I’ll be good I promise!” He whimpers at you, bringing his hand to your cheek to slowly caress your face.

“I’ll be good Noona.” You pretend to contemplate on your answer when you definitely weren’t going to leave him like this now, but you seem to think he’s had enough when you see his arm shake and his lips quiver.

“You better be.” You bring your mouth back to him, sinking your mouth down his hardened length as you take all of him again. You didn’t really think of Jungkook as the vocal type, but hearing him shamelessly moan and whimper your name aloud to the point the next door neighbors could hear heightened your ego tenfold.

You release him, bringing your hand up and down his shaft. You lift his dick so it’s against his stomach, about to run your tongue against him once again when you noticed something odd. A very thin line was visible on the cock ring, located on the bottom side of his dick. You bring your face closer to the line, looking at it curiously. Very small and slightly faint read the letters OPEN right above the line, in bold lettering.

Aha! You thought. Finally. Before you could bring your hand to the little slit, Jungkook calls out to you.

“Why did you stop? I’m being good Noona. Please, keep going.” He cries, and you swear it’s a tear that slips from his eyes and down his cheek than his sweat.

You lick your lips, looking back down at the toy then back at his cock.

He deserves this for being a brat all these years.

You look back up at him, giving him a sweet smile which felt seemingly odd to him. You never smiled like that at him. “Okay, since you’re being so good for me Kook,” You say sweetly.

“Why are you- fuck!” Jungkook groans when you take him all in one go, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You slightly gag, your mouth so full from his thick length but you push through it. You wanted to see this boy suffer.

You continue to go all out, hollowing your cheeks and deep throating him in the best ways possible, drowning in all his whines and cries of your name and how you were so fucking good.

“N-Noona, fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ You smile at his words.

Any second now.

At one particularly harsh suck he grabs your head, sinking you further down his cock as your mouth hits the toy. He moans at first but quickly cries in agony, fisting your hair harshly as you try to focus relaxing your throat.

“What…What the fuck…?” He whimpers, eyes squinting closed as he groans.

You release him with a pop, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “What’s wrong Kook?”

“I-There’s something wrong,” He says, grabbing his dick and wincing.

“Does it still hurt Jungkook? You want Noona to make you feel good?” You pull his hand away from him, grasping his length once again and pumping up and down slowly. He cries again, grabbing your wrist to stop your movements. “It fucking hurts Noona. What’s happening?” He sounded so lost, so helpless.

You never thought yourself to be a sadist but fuck, you loved it.

“Shh, Kookie,” You slowly rise to your feet, standing between his legs as you grab onto his shoulder. You bring a finger to his chin, lifting his head so he can look up to you. “Let Noona help you. I’ll make you feel real good.” With that, you pushed him harshly on the chest, causing him to fall back into the sheets. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts leaving you in your black lacy underwear, then turn back to him.

You lick your lips, staring at him sprawled on his bed looking so fucked out, completely naked. You climb up over him, bringing one leg over to straddle his waist.

“Y/N, what are you-“ You muffled him with a kiss, soft and sweet at first but slowly getting rougher to the touch as seconds go by. He moans when you bite his bottom lip, allowing you to delve your tongue into his hot cavern. His hands quickly find purchase on the soft flesh of your hips, holding you tightly. You suck on the tip of his tongue, earning you a groan.

You bring your mouth to his ear, nibbling his lobe before you whisper, “Just relax, Kook. And let Noona do all the work.”

You rise above him, your hands running along his arms as you meet his hands on your hips. You bring your hands to the hem of your shirt, quickly lifting it off of you and exposing your matching black lace bra.

“God damn,” he choked, eyes as wide as saucers as his mouth gaped at your beautiful figure. You chuckle at his response, then bring your hand down to your underwear. You rubbed yourself through the fabric, lightly moaning as you feel your juices seep through. You were definitely ready for him already. You use two fingers to hook your underwear, pushing it to the side while using your other hand to grab his dick.

He groans, watching your movements as you align yourself with his dick.

“Y/N, are you sure you- ahh!” His nails dig into your hips as you slowly sink onto him, your mouth slightly ajar as he fills you up perfectly.

His length and girth is the perfect size for you, filling you up to the brim as you settle perfectly onto his cock. You moan once your ass meets his thighs, sitting still as you adjust to the new found fullness.

Then, you move. You bring yourself off of him until just the tip is left, then sit back down with a slap. You moan at the sensation, but Jungkook is crying from your action.

“Holy f-fuck! Fuckkk,” He whimpers, chest heaving as you bring yourself up only to come down with another harsh slap. You continue these movements until you set a steady pace, bouncing on his length.

“Y/N! Oh my god, fuck, fuck Noona,” He writhes below you, looking like he’s about to lose his mind as he twists his head back and forth with his eyes tightly shut.

“You feel so fucking good, god, keep going please,” He whines, continuously licking his lips as his mouth constantly lets out a string of profanities and whimpers.

“Am I making you f-feel good, Kook? Ah, fuck,” You groan, speeding up your pace as the room fills with constant slap, slap, slaps.

“Yes yes yes, fuck yes, you’re so fucking good, I’m losing my mind,” He chokes, bringing one hand to squeeze your ass while the other tightly grasps onto your upper thigh. You continue going hard against him, him hitting you so deep and in just the right spots. Every time you drop down you feel something hitting against your flesh, then you look down.

You forgot the cock ring was still stuck on him, then realize it was the bunny ears. Memories of your friend saying how good the vibrator was rushed into your head, then you bring one of your hands to the toy. You press the switch on the toy, the low buzz sounds filling the room along with Jungkook’s whines. Once you sink down onto him again the product lands right on your clit, vibrating at an inhumane speed which causes your eyes to roll back.

“Oh my fucking god!” You scream, pausing your movements as you let the vibrator run against your bundle of nerves. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

You attempt to squeeze your thighs together, slowly rotating your hips instead as you let the vibrations of the toy work its magic against you. You moan aloud again, throwing your head back as the feeling of Jungkook’s cock so deep inside you along with the toys ministrations make your mind go hazy. All of a sudden you feel Jungkook’s hips lurch forward, pounding into you from below as he holds you by the hips to keep you still.

“Jungkook!” You scream, scratching his chest with his hands as he takes over.

“Y-You’re getting tighter on me, fuck, you feel so fucking good,” He moans, filling you to the brim each time as the toy continues to rub against your clit.

You can’t contain your voice now, moaning nonstop as Jungkook keeps ramming into you, the toy helping you reach your high quicker than you ever thought possible. After a few more strokes you come undone, moaning loudly as you tightly clench Jungkook’s dick. He lets out a deep groan, continuously thrusting into you as you ride out your high.

“Y/N, Y/N, fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna-“ Jungkook grabs onto your ass tightly, letting out a strangled moan. You watch as his head falls back into the bed, his stomach clenching tightly as he releases a choked sob. You felt his cock throb from within you, but no release. The side of your mouth twitches upward, but when you see his eyes fill with tears once again, him crying aloud, you finally actually start feeling bad.

You lift your hips, letting his hard cock slip out of you as you roll over beside him. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You’re about to sit up to take the cock ring off of him but all of a sudden he rolls over to hover above you, spreading your legs open and pushing your panties to the side.

“Hey, what-“ He grabs his cock and roughly shoves himself into you again, causing you to throw your head back with a moan. He has his hands on either side of your head, then brings his mouth to your ears.

“You’re so fucking tight Noona, you feel so warm.” He grabs your hips as he starts pummeling into you, making your eyes roll back.

“You’re fucking hot as hell, you moaning my name and coming all over my cock,” He grunts, “You don’t know how many times I’ve came imagining what just happened. But why can’t I fucking come now?”

“J-Jungkook, stop,” You moan, trying to get him to stop so you can take the ring off of him. But he doesn’t let up, too focused on trying to reach his release as he fucks you harder, grunting and growling as he picks up his pace. The toy continues to buzz, occasionally rolling over your nub if Jungkook angles it the right way, causing you to yell out. He spreads your legs further, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder to reach into you deeper.

“That picture of you bouncing on my dick, fucking me, using me to make you feel good, I never imagined how fucking sexy you’d actually look. And the way you moan my name, fuck I’ll come just from thinking about that next time I touch myself,” He groans, reaching behind you to rip off your bra. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking your breast as you grab his head to bring him closer. He laps your nub, licking up the valley of your breasts and brings his lips to yours.

You moan into his mouth, allowing him to ravage you some more. He brings both of your legs around his waist and you cross them, shoving himself into you faster. At this angle the toy is hitting directly on your clit each time he pounds into you, making you scream out his name as you clutch the bedsheets beside you.

“Jungkook!” You moan his name like a mantra, your release getting closer and closer. He continues kissing you, and after a few more deep strokes you come all over him again, squeezing him so hard he yells your name aloud, his cock throbbing uncontrollably as you clench tightly around him. His hands are holding your hips so tightly you know there’s going to be bruises in the morning, but you don’t care. You move your hips against him as you embrace the waves of pleasure, panting as you finally go limp. You’re about to slowly doze off from being so tired, wiping the sweat along your temple when you hear another choked sob. Jungkook pulls out of you, his dick still hard and swelled. The tip looks painfully red, the rest of his shaft looking constricted as he whimpers again.

“I-I fucking can’t,” He cries, his cheeks red and wet with tears of frustration as he looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Oh Kook,” You bite your lip. Maybe you really went too far.

You crawl over to him on his knees, carefully touching his length. He winces at your touch, whimpering as you lift it up. You press the button to turn off the vibrations, then use your fingernail to dig into the slit of the toy, pulling it forward as it pops open. He groans in relief as you slowly drag the toy off of him, tossing it to the side.

“And that’s what you get for being a brat all these years.” You say as you plop onto his bed, grabbing the sheets to cover yourself.

“What?” He looks at you confused, then his eyes widen.

“Wait…you fucking knew?”

You chuckle, “Of course, who doesn’t fucking know what a cock ring does? It stops you from coming, Kook.” You shuffle onto your side, getting ready to fall asleep.

“So you fucked with me this whole time?” He said in a low tone, venom laced in his voice.

“Fucked and fucked,” You said. “You’ve always fucked with me all these years. I was just making it even. Also we’re not telling anyone about this, okay?” You pointed back and forth from yourself to him, then plopped back onto the pillow.

Silence filled the room and you accepted it with open arms. You were just completely exhausted at this point, not having really expected such a good fuck from Jungkook. But hey, he made you feel good and you got your revenge, so it all works out. You were slowly slipping off into dreamland but all of a sudden the sheets are ripped off of you. Your legs were pulled downward, dragging your head off the pillow.

“What the fuck-“ Jungkook grabs your waist and flips you over onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the mattress while your ass is raised in the air. You attempt to turn around to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, but you cry as a hard slap echos in the room.

He smooths his rough palm against your right cheek where he spanked you, then brings his hand once again over the spot making you choke.

“You think this is a fucking joke? Making me lose my fucking mind, not letting me come three times?”

“Let go brat-“

Slap.

“The girl of my fucking dreams comes in here and sucks me off, fucks me twice, yet I couldn’t even fucking enjoy it cause I was in so much pain? You know how fucking horrible that is?” He grabs your underwear, tearing it in half as he lets it fall on the bedspread.

“Jungkook-ahh!” You moan once he brings his hand to your core, running his fingers along your slit.

“You call me a brat all the time, yell at me, yet I do everything for you,” He says as he lets a finger slip in, pumping into you as your wet juices fall down your thighs. “But you didn’t even let me come once.”

“Jungkook I can’t, not anymore,” You whimper, fisting the sheets as he plunges a second finger into you.

“Oh you can’t? But you came so many times Noona. Fuck, I even called you Noona cause I knew you secretly loved that,” He grunts. “I hate saying that. But I did it for you, to make you feel good Y/N.”

“Please,” You beg, trying to move away from his touch. But he doesn’t let up, continuing to touch you.

“I think you can go again. You never do anything for me, so you can do this. I haven’t even come yet,” He drags his fingers out of you, then leans forward so his dick sat against your cheeks and his chest leaned against your back. He brings his fingers to your lips, prodding them at your entrance. “Suck.”

You complied, opening your mouth as you lapped up your juices on him. You hear him groan behind you, slowly rubbing his length against your ass.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He leans back, pumping himself a few times before he aligns his tip at your entrance. You were going to attempt to stop him again but he pounds right into you, causing your face to fall flat onto the sheets.

He immediately starts off rough and fast, holding you by the hips as he drags you to him, fucking you onto him. You mewl, so sensitive from the last two rounds that you didn’t have the strength to do anything.

“Fuck, you’re still so fucking tight,” He groans, “God, I imagined fucking you so many times before, but I never thought it’d feel this good.”

“Jungkook…” You moan, slowly feeling the coiling in your stomach return.

“All these years Y/N, having to deal with seeing you in those short shorts, those low tops, fuck, you were such a fucking tease,” His thighs slap harder against your ass.

“Did I ever tell you I walked in on you changing once? I fucking ran to my room and jacked off that entire night to that image.” You moaned in response, thinking about the thought of Jungkook touching himself, pumping his shaft hard and fast as he thought of you, moaning your name as he came. And he was only a couple of feet away from you in the other room.

“But I never did anything about it, because you always treated me as the little brat next door,” He growled, flipping you over so you were on your back, then pushing himself right back in.

“Tell me Y/N, do you still think of me as a kid?” He grabbed one of your breasts, kneading it as he sucked on the other. “Would some brat make you feel this fucking good?”

You moaned in response, grabbing his hair as you tried to pull him closer to you. He sucked harder, pinching your nub between his fingers as he continued thrusting you at a harsh pace. He let you go, rising up to adjust you again, hooking his arms around your thighs as he fucked you into his mattress.

“Fuck, Jungkook! Oh my fucking god,” You moan aloud, slightly arching your back as he drilled into you, making your body slowly inch upward and closer to the bedframe. The hinges squeaked uncontrollably, the bed frame hitting against the wall each time he thrusted into you.

The angle was causing you to see stars, his length hitting you in your deepest and most pleasurable spot.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna-“

He immediately stops his movements, causing you to groan at the loss of your blissful release.

“Why the fuck did you stop!?” You yell, tears of frustration clouding your vision.

He smirks at you in return, leaning forward until his face is a mere inches from yours.

“I don’t think you deserve it. Why should I let you come again?” You try to move in response, but he still has his arms around your legs, keeping you in place.

“Please,” You beg, wanting nothing more than to just drown in euphoric feeling of letting go against him.

“How are you gonna make me?”

“I’ll do anything! I won’t call you brat anymore! Just please, let me come,” You whimper, bringing your hands to cup his face.

“Hmm…” He contemplates for a little while, then you whine another please before he chuckles.

“You’ll do anything?”

“Anything.”

“Will you be my girlfriend after this?”

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops, not expecting that request at all. You thought he’d want you to suck his dick again, which you wouldn’t mind. But girlfriend?

He grabs your hand into his, then slowly caresses his face into your touch. He turns his face to kiss the inside of your palm, then each of your fingertips.

“I’ve loved you since I was 7. You’re the only girl for me, and we’re practically going to be together for the rest of our lives cause of our parents. My parents don’t want me to be with anyone else either, so we already have their blessing.” He smiles at your speechless face, then brings himself forward to give you a kiss on the nose.

Butterflies fill your stomach, and you feel like you can’t breathe for a moment. This brat has been with you for so long you never realized you actually loved him too, and you wouldn’t know what you would do without him.

“So do I take that as a yes?” He says, peppering sweet kissing along your jawline.

You bite your lips, but slowly your mouth curves into a smile. “You’re such a greaseball.”

He chuckles, bringing his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, melting into his kiss.

“Okay not to ruin the moment but I’m kind of fucking dying here and I feel like my dick is going to fall off,” He groans, feeling him still hard within you.

You giggle, giving him one last kiss on the lips before moving away from him. “Where do you want to come?”

“Fuck,” He grunts, licking his lips as he contemplates.

“I want to come inside you.” You nod at his response, “That’s fine, I’m on the pill. And how do you want me?”

“On top.” You nod again, smiling at him as you lift yourself up, changing positions with him. He falls back on the sheets and groans while he watches you straddle him, lining his cock with your soaking entrance. Once again you sink onto him, allowing him to fill you up to the brim. Both of you sigh in content, him kneading your breasts and you holding onto his chest.

You quickly start bouncing on him, wanting him to have his relief as quickly as possible. He groans as your ass slaps against his thighs harshly every time you come down, eyes closed shut as his mouth hangs open. You clench against him, trying to milk him out for his release, and he moans your name louder. You feeling the throbbing occur and you know he’s close. You were so focused on trying to get him off that you didn’t realize Jungkook reached for the toy again, turning the power on as the slight buzzing filled the room. Your eyes pop open and you cry aloud once he presses the vibrator part of the cock ring against your clit, making you writhe above him.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, Jungkook, fuck,” You mewl, moving faster against him as he keeps the toy against your bundle of nerves.

“Come on Y/N, come for me babe. Come all over my cock,” He grunts, and after a few more seconds of the toy against you you let go, lurching forward as you throw your head against Jungkook’s chest, crying his name aloud. He grabs onto your hips and plants his feet flat on the bed, fucking you through your high, and after another half dozen strokes he chokes your name out, coming inside of you in long, hot spurts. Jungkook’s warmth felt nice inside you, and you continued moving as best you could until he finished, groaning as he slowly went limp inside of you.

Both of you were panting and you could feel his rapid heartbeat slow against your cheek. He brings a hand to brush through your hair, bringing a blanket to cover the both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I love you Y/N,” He said, kissing your temple.

“And I love sex toys now even though it hurt like a bitch, but at least it brought us together.” You slap his chest, causing him to let out a chuckle. “We should give it a 5 star review. The toy sucked ass for me but it also brought me this beautiful ass,” He said as he squeezed one of your cheeks. “Pretty great if you ask me.”

“You’re still dumb and a brat,” You said as you rested your chin on his firm chest, staring up at him. You leaned forward to kiss his bottom lip, right where his mole was that you always secretly adored.

“But honestly, I love you too.”

#jungkook #bts #fanfic #comedy #smut #notsohonest #wonhopes

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goldencuffs · 4 years

Text

fake dating au

“— I promise to love and respect you always.”

“Hmm?” Laurent turned from the view of the lake and saw that Torveld was down on one knee, with a velvet box in his hand. There was a ring in it — a ghastly one, with only one diamond. Honestly. Laurent frowned. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Er —” Torveld seemed to have trouble balancing himself. He was also getting very red. “I’m proposing?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m proposing,” Torveld repeated firmly. To his credit, he did sound much more confident. Unfortunately, it was undermined by the sweat on his forehead and his shifting eyes.

“Oh,” Laurent said. He paused. “Why?”

“Why?” Torveld repeated, incredulous. “Because — For all the reasons I just said! Love and respect and — and status!”

Laurent stared down at him. “This is the third time we’ve spoken. And I don’t think the first time counts since you threw up in the middle of our conversation.”

“I told you I had a stomach bug,” Torveld hissed. He looked mortified, and in the distance, Laurent could see Jord and Lazar muffling their laughter.

Laurent grimaced in an attempt to mask his own unbidden smile. The memory of that first encounter haunted him, but it was undeniably hilarious — objectively, of course.

Torveld watched his face and wilted. “You’re not going to say yes, are you?”

Laurent tried to look a little compassionate. It only made Torveld frown, so Laurent suspected he had failed horribly. “I’m afraid not,” he said.

Torveld stood up and pocketed the box. He looked very put out.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Then he ruined it by asking: “How much did my father pay you?”

Torveld went very still. “Um.”

“Come on,” Laurent chided. “You’re the sixth person to propose to me this month. I know what Al is like.”

Torveld cleared his throat, then muttered a figure under his breath.

Laurent’s eyebrows rose and his stomach dropped; it seemed the King really was serious about marrying Laurent off as soon as he turned twenty one.

And really, Laurent wasn’t opposed to the idea of marriage, not at all. In fact, getting married to a man with a large cock and an even larger fortune was one of his top ten dreams. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it now. He liked having freedom; most of his days were spent reading, gathering gossip on various Lords. and getting fucked by foreign, dashing men. And if Vere was short on foreign, dashing men, then Laurent had his guardsmen to keep him company in bed. There was a reason Lazar had extended his contract for another five years, after all.

It just infuriated Laurent that Al was doing this behind his back: setting him up on frivolous excursions with men who were low enough in rank to be appeased with marrying a second son.

It also made Laurent feel more unwanted than usual — but that thought was going to stay firmly lodged into his brain until his death.

Looking at Torveld now, Laurent realised that Al would not stop here. No doubt he had more men lined up for Laurent to meet. Perhaps he was waiting until Laurent got so tired of it, he would say yes to the next man who walked into the Palace.

Like hell that was going to happen.

Laurent knew he had to do something to stop it right now. He assessed Torveld, trying to think. He knew the man was a notorious gossiper — to the point where his own brother, the Crown Prince, had barred him from Council meetings because he ended up spilling everything to anyone who would listen.

So, Laurent said the one, plausible thing he could think of. “I’m sure you know why I had to say no, of course.” He kept his tone coy.

Torveld immediately piqued, curious. “No, why?”

Laurent bit his lip, pretending to survey the area around them for any potential eavesdroppers. He leaned in close. “I’m seeing someone. It’s very serious, but we’ve had to keep it lowkey in case Al tries to break us up.”

Torveld’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Is he —” He lowered his voice. “A commoner?”

Laurent’s nose scrunched. Ha! As if he’d succumb himself to that. No, obviously, Laurent’s imaginary lover would be amazing, respected by all, tall, hot as fuck, powerful, in touch with all the latest trends, and fantastic in bed. Someone so admirable and high in rank, that even Al would be impressed.

Laurent said the first name that sprung to his mind. “It’s Damianos.”

Granted, the only reason Laurent had even thought of him was because Al had mentioned him during breakfast. Something about how high Akielon taxes were and blah blah blah — as if Laurent cared. But, a man like Damianos did fit a majority of the aforementioned traits. Although, Laurent had no way of knowing whether being fantastic in bed was one of them.

Torveld looked suitably shocked. “The King of Akielos?”

Laurent smiled, smug. “The very same.”

Torveld was awed by the news. Then, he frowned. “But why would your father want to break you up? I thought he wanted a formal, political relationship with Akielos. A marriage seems like a good alliance.”

“Uh,” Laurent paused. He didn’t even know Al wanted that. Was that why he was always going to Akielos? He tried to search for an answer, and when he couldn’t find one, said, “Oh no, excuse me, I forgot I had an appointment with —” He hurried away before he had to think of something.

Al came into his room later that evening, after a substantial amount of knocking. He always knocked now — sometimes more times than what was strictly necessary; the last time he had barged into Laurent's room, unannounced, Laurent had been on all fours, in between two very well endowed brothers, noblemen from Vask.

Al hadn’t spoken to Laurent for four months after that. It was only when Auguste came back from college and made Laurent apologise to their father did he finally ease up.

As soon as he was inside, Al said, “Torveld tells me you rejected his proposal because you’re in a relationship with the King of Akielos.”

Laurent put his book down, face up, and swung his legs over the bed. “Good god, he really can’t keep a secret, can he?”

Al ignored him, as he tended to do most of the time. “Well?”

Laurent said, “Yes, it’s true.”

“When did this start?”

“When did what start?”

Al glared. “This very serious relationship, as Torveld put it.”

They were still talking about that? Laurent made up a number. “Three years.” Oh no; that was too high of a number. “No! I mean, we’ve been talking for three years but uh — one year. We’ve been together for one year.”

“How did this even happen?” Al said. “Damianos has not visited Vere since you were thirteen.”

Laurent remembered that trip; his first kiss had happened during one of the many balls they had hosted, with a girl from Akielos. Afterwards, Laurent had said, “Oh, I’m definitely gay.”, and she had spilled juice all over his lap.

It had been a fun night.

Laurent said, “We started talking online.” That was plausible; and mentioning anything to do with technology would no doubt bore Al.

He was right; Al already looked like he was trying to wrap this up as fast as possible. “And he’s committed to you completely?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Al looked thoughtful. “I assume he’s the one that’s been spending all that money on those ridiculous gifts that have been delivered to you over the last few months.”

“Of course!” Laurent said quickly. “As if I’d be irresponsible enough to buy myself a 1954 Ferrari! That was definitely Damianos.”

Laurent was seeing more and more perks to this plan. Maybe he could finally buy himself a retro Mercedes and blame it on Damianos, too.

Al’s face did something strange. Laurent sprung to his feet, concerned. “What is it? Are you having a heart attack?”

Al’s face morphed into a scowl, which was much more familiar. “I was smiling,” he said, sharply.

“Oh.” Laurent said. How the heck was he supposed to know that? Al never smiled at him.

There was a small pause. Al said, “Is he open to the idea of marriage?”

Laurent almost rolled his eyes. He said, “I think so. But, he’s so busy running a country and what not, it’s never really come up.” He took a deep breath. “I suspect in a few years, we will be married.”

He waited. And waited.

Finally, Al nodded. “See to it if you can convince him to get married sooner.”

“I will,” Laurent said. “In the meantime… you’ll stop setting me up all those Lords and noblemen?”

Al watched him for a few beats. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Laurent grinned; this was better than anything he could have hoped for.

“Don’t make that face,” Al snapped.

Laurent frowned.

Al stood in his room for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded once and left.

Laurent immediately called Jord and Lazar into his room to celebrate.

Pretending to be in a relationship with the King of Akielos made Laurent’s life so much richer, it was a wonder why he hadn’t thought to do it sooner.

It was easy, too; all he had to do was occasionally smile dreamily into his phone, as though he had received the most thoughtful, wonderful love letter, and stare out the window. He also began leaving notes with the gifts he bought himself; Al didn’t say anything when a blue Mercedes showed up, because Damianos had given it, of course.

Laurent could stay up all night playing video games and when he’d fall asleep during Council meetings the next morning, all he had to do was moan about the time difference between Akielos and Vere to be forgiven.

People listened to him more, especially when Laurent began sentences with, “Well, Damianos said…” It was how Laurent convinced Al that he needed a new crown, one with more rubies this time.

Laurent’s sex life also became much wilder; it seemed men became very turned on when they thought they were fucking the boyfriend of a King. One of them had even asked Laurent to call him ‘Your Majesty’ in bed, which Laurent liked well enough.

The best part of it was the fact that Al finally left him alone. He stopped pestering Laurent about his princely duties and stopped saying things like, What would your mother think of you? each time another man crept out of his room. In fact, sometimes Al even asked him about his day. It was truly bizarre stuff.

It should have been Laurent’s first clue that things would come crashing down, sooner rather than later.

After three months of living indulgently, Al said over breakfast one day, “I thought you would be jumping for joy today.”

“Why’s that?” Laurent muttered into his toast. He had a horrid hangover, and his ass was sore.

Al frowned at him. “Sit straight,” he snapped.

Laurent said, “I can only sit gay.” When that joke fell flat, he sat up, with great effort. Al was still staring at him, so he said, “What?” a little sharper than he intended to.

Al’s mouth thinned. “I sincerely hope you don’t misbehave like this around your beau. I shudder to think what the delegates would say.”

“My beau?” Laurent said, face twisted. “Ugh, what century are you from?”

Al was silent; a very bad sign. Laurent continued to butter his toast, hoping to be forgotten about for the rest of the day.

That was not the case. Al decided to punish Laurent in the cruellest way; he was forced to attend four separate meetings with his father, and then attend a small, private dinner at Heston’s estate.

Halfway through the meal, Herode, one of the only people on the Council who could stand him said, “You must be very excited today, Your Highness.”

Laurent paused. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” After his father, three other Lords had approached him with the same words; Laurent had only smiled and nodded.

Now, he had a feeling that his father must have said it for a reason.

Herode smiled kindly; Laurent imagined it was a fatherly kind of smile, except he didn’t quite know, did he? “The Akielon King is going to be visiting Vere for the first time in eight years.” Herode’s expression grew sly. “I’m sure we can all guess as to why he’s suddenly interested in visiting.”

Laurent dropped his knife. It made several heads turn; Laurent flushed and ducked his head. To Herode he said, “The Akielon — Damianos is coming? When?”

Herode’s eyebrows met together in the middle. “You weren’t aware, Your Highness? It was confirmed last night; he should be here within a week.”

A week! Laurent’s eyes widened. Had someone told Damianos about what Laurent was doing? Was that why he was suddenly coming to Vere — to beat him up? Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Thankfully, the panic on Laurent’s face was mistaken for something else. Herode said, “Oh! Did the King want to surprise you?”

“Yes, he probably did,” Laurent said weakly. “He’s always doing that… surprising me.” He let out a weak chuckle.

“I think that’s wonderful,” said Herode, and god, he really was the sweetest man ever. Why hadn’t he given birth to Laurent?

“Yes, wonderful,” Laurent agreed, stomaching sinking. He was so utterly fucked — and not in the good way.

#remember when i said i was working on a fake dating au #this was it #i didnt really like it last year but reading it rn after months i kinda like it???#its lighthearted and fun lmao #also laurent calling aleron al might be a new favourite trope #captive prince #damen x laurent #my writing #my fic #please lmk what u think!#queue #fake dating au

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Nine

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

They continued to practice, Roman intermittently kicking Damien, or stepping on his toes from using the wrong foot. Every time, Roman would apologize, and every time, Damien would wave away the apology. And with time, Roman improved. Damien started cracking jokes and making Roman laugh, and he focused on where he was stepping less, and focused on Damien more. In twenty minutes, he had learned the basic box step, and he wasn’t kicking anyone on accident anymore.

“Now that you know the box step, it’s time to learn the turn,” Logan said. “It’s not that difficult. Every time you take a step, you move your feet at a quarter of an angle to what you had been doing before. At the end two boxes, you should be facing the same way you are now. Ready to try?”

“No,” Roman said, staring up at Damien anyway.

Damien smiled reassuringly, and they tried the steps, painstakingly slow. Roman nearly rolled his ankle from turning a bit too much on one of the steps, but after a few tries, Roman was able to turn without hurting himself. Not hurting Damien was a little trickier, but he was avoiding kicking more and more.

“I think we should try the progression,” Logan said. “What that is would be essentially stretching the box you two are using, so that you move forward, or backward, across the dance floor instead of simply staying in the same place.”

“Joy,” Roman said.

“It will be all right, Roman,” Damien murmured. “You’ve done wonderfully so far.”

Roman swallowed and nodded, and they tried it. Damien had to get adjusted to Roman’s shorter legs, and he stepped on Roman’s toes a couple times in revenge as he got a handle on the adjustment.

They made a whole rotation around the ballroom and Logan clapped. “Excellent, both of you. Now, you will have to practice to make sure you can do this without looking at your feet, but if you can dance for the entire song without an error, I will conclude today’s lesson.”

Logan started playing the song on his phone, and Damien moved Roman across the dance floor. Roman kept on having to resist the urge to look at his feet. But when Damien started singing along to the song, Roman was transfixed. His voice sounded positively angelic, smooth as honey and he sang with just as much heart as the singer on the video.

Roman was still trying to get over the fact that Damien was singing to him...singing a song about true love, when the chorus started. And it was in that moment Roman knew that he loved Damien. The affection was so strong, he was surprised his heart didn’t burst. Tears sprang to Roman’s eyes, and Roman couldn’t cover the smile that was forming on his face.

Damien smiled just as wide as Roman did as he continued to sing, and they danced their way around the ballroom, Roman not having to look down once, all doubts about his dancing ability fading away as he focused solely on Damien. When the song ended, Roman was actually disappointed that he wouldn’t get to continue dancing. He heard clapping from the doorway to the ballroom, and he saw their mothers standing there, both of them beaming.

Roman turned red but Damien just laughed good-naturedly. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked, a gleam in his eye.

“Long enough to know that you can cure anyone from having two left feet,” the Queen said. “And that those singing classes you took in school didn’t go to waste.”

Roman let his hands drop from Damien’s, feeling disappointed in doing so. When the fluttering in his heart didn’t stop when he saw Damien laugh at the Queen, Roman was surprised. Usually, he could feel bursts of love for someone and they would fade away as the moment that caused the feeling passed. But this feeling remained. He was shocked. Did this mean...that he actually loved Damien? More than having a cute guy being chivalrous to him; did he actually love the man in question, and not just the actions? He took a shaky breath. What did that mean for him?

“Veronica, I trust you won’t stop practicing after this one time, thinking that you can waltz without issue from now on. Practice is what makes perfect,” Roman’s mother lectured.

“If you want, Your Majesty, I could continue dancing with Veronica for the rest of the morning,” Damien said, wrapping a hand around Roman’s waist, and Roman felt electricity shooting through him at the action.

“No, the two of you have much more to do than simply dance,” his mother said. “You both have more of the wedding to plan out for the rest of the morning, seeing as how one of you has meetings later today.”

Damien sighed. “Yes, I tried to ask my father if I could get out of the meetings, but he refused. I was hoping to spend some more time just...relaxing, and getting to know the two of you better, but a nation never rests.”

Roman felt disappointment settle in his stomach. He wanted to continue dancing, at least a little bit, just to hear a little more of Damien’s voice. But the infernal wedding was getting in the way. “What needs to be done this morning?” Roman asked.

“We need to finalize seating for the guests,” the Queen said. “Naturally, some people aren’t the most...receptive to others who will be here, and we need to make sure no one gets into a fight with someone else because they were sitting next to each other.”

Roman nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. He was still eternally thankful that he had wriggled out of getting bridesmaids and a Maid of Honor. He honestly would not have been able to handle that, but since the wedding was on such short notice, he didn’t have the time to pick out people who he could tolerate standing next to him at his wedding. “We wouldn’t want a war breaking out before the reception.”

“We might just get one yet,” his mother pointed out. “If you don’t tell people why you didn’t pick them as bridesmaids.”

“I think most people will understand, Mother. Especially considering the short notice,” Roman sighed. “We talked about this before.”

Damien snorted. “Truth be told, Your Majesty, I had no idea who I would make my Best Man if we were having an entire wedding party.” He offered Roman’s mother a fake smile that rivalled one of her own. “I think Veronica was very pragmatic in that decision.”

“Aw, thank you,” Roman said, looking up at him and offering him a grin. “I’m glad that someone else sees the reasoning behind my decisions.”

“Well, we are getting married,” Damien pointed out. “Perhaps there’s a reason we just...click?”

“Other than the fact that we’re both very attractive and want to please the other?” Roman asked with a teasing grin.

“Yes, other than that,” Damien said with a slight blush. Apparently being called attractive flustered him. Interesting.

The Queen offered Roman an amused smile. “We should probably get going and figure that out, however difficult it may be to leave this room. I know it’s rather nice in here, but we can’t bring the entire guest list over when there are more than one hundred people invitations have been sent to. And we have to find places for every last one of them.”

Roman could feel his blood pressure rising. “Damien,” he said, turning. “If you so much as even think about shirking out of this and leaving the three of us to plan this on our own, I will make your life a living hell.”

Roman’s mother gasped but Damien just laughed, vowing, “I would never dream of it, my dear.”

The two of them left the room at their mothers’ insistence, but they stayed close together as they walked through the halls. Roman kept on feeling his heart flutter whenever Damien’s hand brushed against his, and Roman knew he had contracted the love bug badly. His mother wasn’t making things any easier, either, giving him glares for using an alleged swear word. “So, do you know who’s being invited to our little...social engagement?” Damien asked Roman.

“Social engagement, hm?” Roman asked with a wicked grin.

“No, I am not doing this with you too,” Damien said. “I get enough puns from Patton!”

“Ah, but you’re the one who said it!” Roman exclaimed. “I just pointed it out and gave it the recognition it deserved!”

Damien gave Roman a half-hearted scowl and Roman just giggled. He knew that the love bug was going to make his life agony for a while, so he may as well enjoy the moment now, when it wasn’t as prevalent. “I don’t know everyone who’s being invited, but I know the majority of my extended family has agreed to come, as well as several people who either advise my father or work with him in some other fashion, and I know that Remus has a few people like that as well.”

Damien nodded. “I anticipate it’s much the same on my end,” Damien said. “I don’t know for certain. Truth be told...I was avoiding gaining information about this whole occasion for a while because I was terrified of it becoming real.”

“Has it? Become real?” Roman asked.

“It has,” Damien said. “But I think that I have also grown to appreciate it, and I have a certain excitement surrounding the occasion.”

“Why do you think that is?” Roman asked, glancing at Damien.

Damien brushed some hair out of Roman’s face gently and Roman nearly fainted. “Well, marrying someone as lovely as you certainly has something to do with it.”

“Oh,” Roman said softly, not knowing what else to say.

Damien offered Roman a smile and Roman smiled nervously back. “I don’t know what to do when pretty boys flirt with me,” he blurted, laughing.

“Neither do I,” Damien whispered into Roman’s ear.

Roman laughed harder, clapping a hand over his mouth. He sucked in air and turned with a scowl to Damien. “Come on, that’s mean!” he objected.

“I’ll stop if you will,” Damien offered.

Roman considered. “No,” he said. “I like being sarcastic too much. But you’re allowed to complain, as am I.”

“I can work with that,” Damien agreed.

They got to the room where the list of guests resided, which was conveniently located by the kitchen, no doubt so they could work through lunch if they had to. Roman and Damien sat down next to each other on one side of the table, and their mothers sat on the opposite side. Roman arched his eyebrows at the rows upon rows that the cathedral they were using had on a diagram placed on the table, and the long list of people who were expected to come. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Sadly,” Damien agreed. “But if we finish it today, we might be able to do something together tomorrow that doesn’t involve wedding planning. You seemed to enjoy dance practice.”

“Dancing is fun when you’re not kicking your partner in the shins,” Roman said with a shrug.

“I agree,” Damien said. “Perhaps we can dance again tomorrow, should we have the time.”

“I’d like that,” Roman agreed, smiling.

They turned back to the list and Roman’s smile dimmed. “Okay. Easy ones first. Close family should be in the first row of each pew.”

“Agreed,” Damien said. “Less close individuals who are still family can sit in the second and third rows.”

“Dignitaries who hold high rankings of power should be in the fourth and fifth. Is it bad to want to banish children to the back rows?”

Damien laughed. “Only if you use the word ‘banish,’” he informed Roman. “But I think we should figure out which dignitaries wouldn’t throttle each other if they sit next to each other, first.”

Roman sighed. “You’re right, and I hate that you’re right.”

Damien offered Roman a small commiserating smile, and he looked at the list of dignitaries who were to be invited. “I know that Charles doesn’t like Nancy whatsoever, we should probably keep those two as far apart as possible.”

Roman looked over the names, half of them recognizable and another half with no idea as to their identities. “I know Mira gets along well with most people, so she shouldn’t be too hard to place. We can probably save her for later once we’ve eliminated some of the troublemakers.”

“Hm...Timothy is the same,” Damien mused. “Isabelle might not like someone but she is unlikely to start a fight over it, so we can probably place her later as well...”

They went through their lists slowly, sorting people into groups where they needed to be careful with placement, and where the guests could sit wherever they pleased, setting up seats for each of them. Once that was done, Roman’s stomach had started to snarl and he groaned, stretching one arm across the table while resting his head on the other one. “I’m starving,” he complained. “I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Damien pulled out his phone and tutted at the screen. “I have to go to meetings in an hour.”

“Don’t leave me here,” Roman whined. “Hungry and alone is just cruel!”

Damien pat Roman’s arm and offered, “We could have lunch? Just the two of us?”

Roman pulled himself up until he was resting on his elbows. “You mean that?”

Damien tilted his head downward once. “There’s still much about you I’d love to learn, my dear.”

Roman sat up fully. “I wouldn’t object to having lunch just the two of us.”

Damien stood and offered Roman a hand. “Well, then we’d better make the most of the time we have.”

Roman took his hand with a smile. “You two must better behave,” Roman’s mother warned. “No food fights, understand?”

“Your Majesty,” Damien said, turning to look at Roman’s mother. “I would never dream of it. And I’m sure you and my mother have some things you’d rather speak about without us present, I would think that now would be the perfect time to have those conversations.”

Roman’s mother didn’t say anything else and Damien led Roman into the kitchen, calling, “Patton! I’m going to use the stove and nothing you can do will stop me!”

For a second, there was no noise in the kitchen. Then, there was the sound of rushing footsteps and Patton burst through a side door, yelling, “Your Highness, don’t you dare touch the stovetop!”

Roman cackled. “Are you about as good a cook as you are an artist?” he asked Damien.

“I burned pasta one time!” Damien protested. “Honestly, Patton, I haven’t made a mistake since! Why monitor me so closely in the kitchen?”

“Because the one time you burned the pasta was the one time I wasn’t watching you,” Patton gasped. “I’ll let you make food within reason, but tell me what you want to make so I don’t question you every step of the way.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “I was just going to make grilled cheese.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice,” Roman said, rubbing his hands together. “Any chance we could make tomato soup with it?”

“So long as we have the supplies to make it quickly?” Damien looked to Patton.

“Uh, might take half an hour to prepare,” he said apologetically. “We don’t have any of the canned stuff stocked up at the moment.”

“Do you have ketchup, in that case?” Roman asked.

“We do,” Patton said.

Damien stared at Roman. “You...put ketchup on your grilled cheese?!”

“If there’s no tomato soup, I tend to dip grilled cheese in ketchup, yeah,” Roman said with a shrug. “Why?”

“That sounds...absolutely disgusting,” Damien said.

“Oh come on,” Roman said. “Some people put it in the sandwich when they grill it, all I do is dip! Which is worse, hot ketchup or room-temperature?”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Damien muttered to himself. “This is by far the worst conversation I have ever had.”

“Hey! Damien!” Roman protested. “It’s not that weird! And it tastes amazing!”

Patton snickered as he moved around the kitchen, grabbing a pan and butter and bread and cheese. “While your fiancé has an existential crisis, I’ll make the both of you the grilled cheese, sound gouda?”

Roman gave Patton a laugh and a thumbs-up. Patton got to work and Roman led Damien to one of the counters that had two stools underneath it. He guided Damien onto one and then sat on the other himself, looking Damien over. He wasn’t exactly frozen in place, but he was definitely perturbed and his mouth was moving, though his words were inaudible. His fingers were twitching, and he didn’t respond to Roman staring at him, until Patton gave them two plates with a grilled cheese each and put them down a little harder than necessary to capture their attention. Damien jumped and Patton gave Roman a bottle of ketchup. “Enjoy the sandwiches,” Patton said. “And Damien, please try and stay in this dimension a while longer? Your fiancé could probably use a little company.”

Damien turned pink and Roman just laughed as he squirted ketchup onto his plate. “I argue that any respectful company is good company, so it doesn’t have to be Damien who engages me in conversation,” Roman said, looking at Patton. “Would you want to stay and chat for a while?”

“Sure,” Patton said, grabbing a stool and sitting across from Patton and Damien at the counter.

Damien sighed. “You know, Roman, if you didn’t have such an odd choice in food-and I use the word food very, very loosely-I would argue you would be an ideal candidate for any suitor or suitress you’d happen to find.”

Roman paused right before he dipped his grilled cheese in ketchup. “Wait. Did I not tell you?”

“Not tell me...what?” Damien asked. “Because we have the whole transgender part of your identity sorted.”

“But did I tell you my orientation?” Roman asked.

“...No,” Damien said after a moment of thought. “I don’t believe so.”

“I’m gay,” Roman said, with a slightly hysterical laugh. “I’m a transgender gay man.”

“Oh,” Damien said. “So we can drool over men we find attractive together, got it.”

Roman snorted, and Patton giggled at them. “You two already seem so relaxed together,” he noted. “You may as well have known each other your whole lives.”

Damien shrugged. “Well, Roman is remarkably good company,” he said.

“Shut up,” Roman mumbled, cheeks heating up. “You’re not half bad yourself.”

Damien offered Roman a toothy grin at that, and Roman resisted the urge to blush harder. Instead, he elected to dip his grilled cheese into the awaiting ketchup and took a bite, humming. “Patton, this grilled cheese is amazing.”

“I still say that dipping it in ketchup is disgusting,” Damien protested.

“Have you ever tried it dipped in ketchup?” Roman asked.

“Do I have to?” Damien asked, wrinkling his nose.

“If you want a stance on this subject, yes,” Roman said, taking a slice of Damien’s grilled cheese and dipping a corner in ketchup before offering it to Damien.

Damien looked disgusted but took the sandwich and bit off the corner covered in ketchup. He frowned, chewing it slowly, before swallowing. Roman waited with baited breath for Damien’s verdict. “That’s not half bad, actually.”

“Yes!” Roman cheered, throwing a fist into the air. “I knew you’d like it if only you tried it! I was right!”

“Shut up and pass me the ketchup bottle,” Damien grumbled, hand out.

Roman obliged and the three slowly but surely started up conversation.

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13 @sanders-sides-crofters @blushy-gigglee-mess @wannacrymetoo @kaytikitty @magicalspacepanunicorn @bootsinthesun @pricklyfish777 @flowersanddinosaurs @leiasolo77 @birdybabybird @enby-phoenix @luna–28 @justagaygoose @the-prince-and-the-emo @fandomsandanythingelse @randommuffinyt @snekky-boi @thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot @twilight-trix @abby5577 @escalatingtoofast @friendlyfacestabbing @remus-is-stinky @foggybanditdreampeanut @ghostskull300 @sprinklestheditty @canvas-the-florist @askthesnake @samuel-the-gay @determination-saved @juicy-cashew @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @nafsbluebery @redisawerewolf23 @voidvirgil

#roceit #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #royal growing pains #our creations

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codyssfern · 5 years

Note

ooh, a request? okay so what about being shawns gf right in the middle of this clownery, like he has no choice but to do the pr stunt with c but then it keeps getting harder on him and after the day on the beach he totally breaks down and tells you he cant do it anymore and you comfort him and just 🥺 the angst 🥺 the fluff 🥺 the feels

decided to combine these two requests and give y’all a sequel. might want to read this one first.. enjoy ;)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:

“Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello spice things up at Miami Beach!”

your heart sunk as you scrolled through all the pictures and videos of your ex boyfriend with the girl he sworn would never come between you two. it had been almost 4 weeks since you broke up with shawn. 4 weeks long heartbreaking weeks you’ve spent inside your apartment, watching movies, eating like never before, and going to sleep at 3am every night. you had tried your best to avoid any media outlets talking about your ex boyfriend but that’s kind of impossible when he’s one of the most famous people in the world. if it wasn’t your friends sending you articles, it was you turning on the tv and seeing nothing but shawn all over the screen. it was you in line waiting to buy breakfast and suddenly his song started playing. it was you cleaning your closet and stumbling upon one of his shirts. he was everywhere. everywhere but with you.

today it was your first day back at work after kindly asking your boss to give you some time off to sort out some things. when you arrived you were greeted with pity looks and endless hugs. you wanted the earth to swallow you whole but in a way it made you feel like everything you went through was real. andrew had made it his goal to keep your and shawn’s relationship out of the media, even before all of this he was always telling shawn to keep you two on the down low. of course there were always fans who saw more than what andrew wanted them to see, fans who questioned everything, and got suspicious. there was a bit of talk about you after the breakup, like “where is y/n? why isn’t she of any of the tour pictures anymore?” or “why did y/n and shawn unfollow each other?” but the questions remained unanswered.

“shawn just calm down!”

but he couldn’t. he’d been pacing back and forth for the last 10 minutes, everyone in the room swore he had made a dent on the carpeted floor.

“i can’t do this anymore!” the soft cries and cracks in his voice made everyone go silent. “i can’t keep lying to my friends, my family- my fans! my girlfriend. my real girlfriend!”

andrew started motioning for people to leave the room so it could just be him and shawn.”

“shawn to be fair y/n did break up with you..” gerty says as he closes the door.

shawn turns to him, “and would you care to tell me why?! why do you think she broke up with me?”

gerty sighs, “kid you did sign the contract. you can’t keep blaming me or the rest of the team for your actions,” shawn couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, “i know it’s been hard-”

“now you know that’s a load of bullshit andrew!” andrew’s eyes widened, he’s never seen shawn so angry, “you told me there was no reason for me to go over the contract because you already had. when i wanted to go over it myself you wouldn’t let me! you kept saying it was fine.”

shawn wanted to hop on a plane, go to y/n, and tell her that she was right all along. that he should’ve kept bugging andrew until he gave in and let him read the contract before signing it. hell that he shouldn’t have agreed to any contract in the first place. not one that he felt would put his career and personal life on the rocks.

“i should’ve listened to y/n and fired your ass a long time ago!”

andrew knew that if any of this got out his ass would be dust. the label itself would fire him. as shawn’s manager he should never let shawn sign any contracts without having shawn go through them first.

“i’m sorry kid but i did what i thought was best for your career. both me and camila’s team thought this would be a good thing-”

“well it wasn’t! it isn’t. its all bullshit and i want out of it.” shawn was desperate. he felt like his world was falling apart day by day and not to mention his anxiety lately was off the roof. “now if you can’t get me out of this mess i’m contacting a lawyer, a lawyer outside of the label and you know what that would mean for you.”

andrew had no other option but to agree.

you weren’t so excited be back home. frankly you were tired of being alone. tired of moping around. you even asked your boss to give you an extra shift to cover for all the ones you missed but she didn’t allow it so you had no choice but to go home. you took a bath, made yourself dinner, and now you were watching tv in the living room with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around your cold body. you had a few glasses of wine with your dinner and you were starting to feel sleepy. alcohol always made you sleepy which was something shawn used to tease you about.

if it hadn’t been for the buzzing coming from the coffee table in front of you, you would’ve passed out cold. when you went to look at who was calling, you could have sworn your heart had stopped.

shawn mendes

you wanted to click the small red button and continue with your night but your fingers didn’t move. it was like you were frozen. you let out a sigh of relief when the call failed through and his name was no longer on your screen... thought that didn’t last as long as you want it because not even a minute after he was calling again.

“fuck it!” you said to yourself before pressing the green button.

all you heard was loud shuffling. like a bunch of people were crowded in one tiny room but in less than a few seconds all you could hear was his voice.

“y/n...”

you stood up and found yourself pacing around your living room, “i hope you’re not drunk right now shawn.”

“i’m not. i’m just on the verge of losing my mind,” he admits, “i’m so sorry. i’m a fucking dumbass and you were right. you were right all along.”

hearing him cry was almost as bad as seeing him cry. he had never cried on the phone with you and it all made you want to hop on a plane and go to him.

“anxiety has been eating me alive since you left. i can’t do what they want me to do anymore- can’t be who they want me to be,” shawn cries, “please just tell me what to do y/n. help me.”

you felt stupid looking around your apartment as if you were going to find an answer that way. you felt as if a ticking bomb was about to go off any second now, you were confused. hurt. worried. but most of all scared.

“shawn i can’t tell you what to do,” you start, “but just breathe okay? do the breathing exercises we used to do before a show,” you remind him, “take a deep breath, cmon.”

“i-i i can’t,” his chest was only getting tighter.

you took a deep breath and told him to do the same. soon enough he started following your actions. this wasn’t the first time shawn had called you while he was having an anxiety attack, there were common with him.

“all better?” you let out a weak smile.

shawn took one more deep breath before finally letting himself feel relaxed or well at least better. he was no way near feeling relaxed.

“yeah. thank you.” he smiles, “y/n i- i fucked up and i let the best thing in my life just walk out right out of it and i just fucking stood there like an idiot!” you chuckle making him let out a breathy laugh, “that night you left is like you took my heart with you or something and i just felt empty.”

you really didn’t know how much of this rambling and confessions you could keep listening to, it already had you tearing you and pouring yourself another glass of wine.

“i just want one more chance. i want to do it right.” he finally finishes.

you groan in frustration, “shawn there’s just- i don’t think we can do that! it’s impossible. the last month of our relationship we spent it arguing it and saying so many horrible things to each other-”

“i know. i know,” he interrupts, “and i want to make it up to you. we should make it up to each other, we deserve one more chance... so just open the door, y/n.”

you were about to say something but then you realized what he said.

“open the door? what door? like a metaphorical one...?” and then there was knocking on your front door.

there is no freaking way. you thought to yourself.

“shawn i swear to god if you’re out there i’m gonna kick your ass.”

he laughs and you start walking towards the door, “i’d like to see you try.”

you unlock the door and it took you a few seconds before actually twisting the knob and opening it. you once again just stood there frozen as the tall boy stood in front of you looking at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. and you were.

you chuckle in disbelief, “you fucking idiot.”

“please just.. come here.”

he extends his arms out, inviting you into them and this time you don’t think twice about it. wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling your head on his chest as he left a kiss on top of your head.

you could get used to this again.

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes prompts #shawn mendes imgaine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction

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space-blue · 3 years

Text

The Hound of Arnas

My ports disengage, returning me to consciousness. I stay on my back for a while, gaze turned inward, browsing through the nets. While my body warms I review the datafeeds I requested before going to sleep. Soon there is nothing for me to do but roll out of my dingy alcove, one in many in this shabby plug-a-night for cyborgs and droids. No one pays me any mind as I amble through what passes as a lobby and step into the already busy street.

"Please, parts!" A hand grabs my coat. "Any parts you can spare, I beg you, for my child, all his ports are outdated, he can't link, ple–"

The beggar clamps her mouth shut the moment she realises what she is talking to, her dull eyes already hunting for more pliable targets. Smart woman. She will sooner convince an AI to donate parts off its droid body than the likes of me, and she knows it. Shells don't have parts to give. We're bio-engineered integral cyborgs. Expensive models like mine are even grown with full DNA print. Parts tailored for me in a body as perfect as one can dream. If I chopped my right hand and gave it away, no one else could use it.

However, getting this close to godhood comes with a sixty years binding contract, which is why I'm walking the trash ridden streets of an off-grids slum doing a bloodhound's job. Looking for a human here like a needle in a smelly haystack.

The first two days I spent along the dark sea and the beach–the rocky expense that once held sand, that we still call beach–where workers on long rafts poled their way through the mass of seaweeds they turn into fuel. I could have been done in half a day, talking to supervisors, or the AIs that regulate our dead ocean's shallows. But unlike its simulations, the sea has a smell and a taste, almost a presence. It fascinated me, so I took my time.

Today I walk away from the shore. I've decided to talk to locals or else I'll be here until I catch the carbon plague.

My legs take me past triage factories, down streets smelling of rancid grease, where mechanics bend over patrons' cybernetic limbs, bartering their services, weaving through cables like jungle creepers, children running past yelling the names of parts they sell; ports, encrypted 9G cards, 5D sticks, or accessory mods. Soon the street dissolves in a wider field. I scramble partway up a metal gangway that wraps around a building to the roofs. From there I can see, sprawled at my feet, the buzzing activity of the Mud-Market. Cyborg modders with four arms selling flatbreads faster than they can turn them. People sitting on crates half sunk in the eponymous mud, tearing at steamed bug-buns, furiously betting on some game only them can see. Others haggling over second-hand garments and scraps of food. Even a few ADroids weave through the crowds, projecting bright holos and loud slogans.

I sigh and sit heavily, my legs dangling over the tin roof of a partmonger. This wreathing mass of bodies discourages me, somehow. Resting my back to the wall, I turn inwards to log into official networks. I find a few agents in the area, and summon the closest, Agt. Edenton, an ID officer.

Before long, three kids come running out of the market, out of breath with laugher. I look down. One of them, a little blond fellow, doesn't register to my eyes. Unchipped. Or, more likely, never chipped: someone's illegal brood. Another has a cybernetic arm made of scraps. Both wave at the third, a black haired runt not possibly past seven, who leaves them to enter the street. The gangway quivers under me, heralding the kid's approach. He sits not far, flashes his credentials–this is indeed Edenton– and opens a private channel for us to discuss away from prying eyes or ears, for all the world just two strangers enjoying the view before them.

'What's a pricey Shell like you doin' here?'

I stifle a laugh. The voice that popped in my head is a deep man's bass, completely out of place coming from the scrawny boy. Edenton gives me a withering look, and I sober up as I realise what an ID officer's job would be, shelled as a kid. Hunt unchipped children like the one I'd seen, gain their trust, follow them home, have it tagged, maybe chip them himself. The kind of job you got because someone thought you deserved it...

I poke his arm, surprised to find him made out of regular flesh.

'Is this a BioShell? Aren't those pretty rare and pricey as well? Incubation is hard to do.'

Edenton's frail shoulders shrug. 'They make kids like me easily, they don't try for perfection. The body decays after a year, so we swap regularly. It's just a pain to be in a tube for two months while a new body grows around you.'

I'd shiver, if my body could.

To answer Edenton's own question, I display my working seals and credentials, and watch his eyes widen. A military Shell in the direct employ of Arnas CEO, wielding seals that give her unlimited power is a scary sight, I'm sure.

'This is Halena Tesselandottir,' I say, flashing pictures of a young woman. 'Used to live in the grids, legal as you please and pretty bigwigged. Took her chip off, came to those slums.' I wave my hand, letting Edenton imagine the sort of drama that could push someone to such extremes. 'Back then she was a modder.' Lists of parts and softwares join the pictures. 'Augmentations, but no cybernetic replacements. I'm pretty sure she downgraded, since many mods are trackable. She was spotted in this slum, so I was sent to find her. I'd like some help.'

An order dressed as a request that Edenton accepts with good graces. In no time he comes up with a cunning plan that won't damage his cover, and I mentally pat myself on the back for involving him.

We weave our way through narrow streets, continuing our secret dialogue. I learn that Edenton has been undercover in this slum for four years, and soon guess that he got there by asking too many questions. He's fourty-two, single, grumpy. We spend some time polishing our plot in a back alley. We'll need our public feeds to display some action to look credible.

Finally ready, I step into a wider street, Edenton's weightless body cradled in my arms, and stumble towards an older woman, busy smoking in front of a brothel. Edenton's notion being that such Madams know everything, and everyone.

"Seima," I call, picking her name from her public feed, "this kid just crashed into me. He banged his head hard..."

Seima rushes up to us with a face like Edenton is her own grandchild. She looks at me with narrowed eyes. Can't blame her for mistrusting a Shell in a muddy coat, but my public feed has a record of the entire "incident" we orchestrated, and Edenton moans, the voice passing his lips a mewling so pitiful that I stare as well. His feed flashes with one of the pictures of Halena I gave him.

"He's been showing that image the whole time, could it be his mother? If you know her, maybe I could leave him to you..."

It's the magical words. Trying to shirk my responsibilities, am I? She'll find the boy's mom in no time, she swears, and furiously propagates Halena's picture through her personal network. Finding where Halena (or Hena, as she now goes by) works is a matter of minutes. The hardest part of the job is to pry Madam Seima off Edenton.

Out of sight I put him back on his legs, and we hurry to intercept Halena before someone warns her that we've been asking after her.

It's almost too easy. She's exactly where we were told. Unchipped, so nearly impossible to track, she was betrayed by the simplest of human drives, everyone's inherent need to network and socialise.

Edenton's bass vibrates in my skull. 'What are you gonna do?'

He follows me over crumbled walls and up stairwells that lead us to a rooftop. Lying down, we can spy on Halena and her companions, sorting garbage, probably paid by the amount of recyclable they can sift.

I scan her face, still young, but scarred by the mods she took off her temples and neck, as I'd guessed. I extend my arm, fingers splayed, lock, breathe out, and fire. My shoulder joint shifts, swallows the recoil. People scream, run to cover. Edenton jumps, grabs me with his little hands. In the street her blood flows, joining the streams of dark fluids down the gutter. Half her head is gone.

"Why," Edenton cries. "What did she do to deserve that?!"

"I never asked," I reply, "and neither should you."

~~ April 2016 – Theme : Dystopia – Don't want to toot my own horn, but this story marks one year and one month of writing, and the progress is rather evident. It is my favourite of my older pieces.

#original work #original story #competition #scifi #dystopia #cyberpunk

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seasaltmemories · 5 years

Text

Shadow

Rating: T

Summary: It was something out of a fairy-tale, what a noble knight would ask of a beautiful princess. Deals between demons and scrawny redhead girls didn’t go this way.

Back when Mieru swore to the gods she would search the ends of the earth if it meant reuniting with Yuya, she hadn’t thought she’d actually have to travel the entire world. When she first set out from their small village, her plan had been simple. She would head in the general direction the king’s guard had escaped in, and then when faced with a fork in the road she’d call on her magic crystal to show her the right way to go.

But after a weak of trudging through the forest, such shiny, idealistic notions had begun to lose their luster. It wass hard to feel like a brave heroine when you’re covered in twigs and bug bites--when the only way you can reliably clean the dirt from your skin is rub your smelly sweat in. She was starting to have to ration the food she had brought, and for all as dutiful to the gods as she had been, they seemed to have no problem with sending her wandering in circles.

With a sigh, Mieru plopped on a nearby tree-stomp. She told herself she was only taking a break, because her Darling was expecting her, and she couldn’t let him down. He’d love her and smother her with kisses when they found each other, no matter how tangled her red curls were. After all, true love was stronger than any evil king or inconvenient fiancee.

However once she tried to force her aching legs to stand again, they decided that no, turning to jelly was better than pursuing romance.

The scar on Mieru’s left hand began to ache. She had tried to ignore it for so long, yet it’s pain was becoming sharper and sharper with each passing day. For the first time since leaving home, she confronted the shadow that trailed behind her.

“You know you don’t look a thing like me.” Where the afternoon sun should have produce a dark doppelganger of herself, the silhouette of something inhuman crept. At her words though, it stood and coalesced into a young boy the spitting image of Yuya himself.

“I don’t see the reason to play pretend. Self-delusion is far from a good look on you.” No he wasn’t exactly like her Darling. Her studies should had prepared her to recognize the signs.

Demons were never able to get the eyes quite right. No matter what, they always mirrored the slits of a predator.

“I don’t see how being prettier would get me out of this mess.” She groaned as she cupped her face in her hands. It was better to embrace tiredness. Acknowledging her physical weakness might mask the her true unease at his presence. “Demon, do you have any suggestions on the course of action I must take?”

He chuckled slyly at the question. “Like I said, playing dumb does you no favors. You know the contract we made together.”

Technically she didn’t. When she had called on the gods to bring Yuya back to her, no matter the cost, she hadn’t expected to find this copycat bound to her instead. With much cursing and complaining on her part, slowly she had come to understand that her prayer might have been answered indirectly.

“I can do many things to make myself useful,” A shadow had slithered down the curve of her calf at this suggestion. “No heart can hide its desire from me. I will satisfy them all.”

“Can you return my Darling back to me? He is waiting for me to take him home, I just know it!” Mieru lied.

“If you’re willing to pay the price I name, I shall do anything for you.” The darkness seemed to almost revel at the mere notion of servitude. “But know loyalty can only be bought by blood.”

She had allowed the demon to slice open her hand himself--even let him greedily lap as the blood that trickled slowly from the wound. In the end, it would all be worth it if it meant Yuya would return to her side.

Since then she hadn’t summoned him. She hadn’t wanted to risk any more mutilation if it wasn’t necessary. Mieru told herself that she wouldn’t become another Faust. She wouldn’t bleed herself dry to save Yuya, only to lose herself in the end.

“What would it cost for you to guide me to a safe village so that I can buy some more food that won’t poison me. It has to be in the direction Yuya is, you can’t just dump me on the opposite side of the country.” Mieru rattled off every possible condition she could think of, hoping to avoid any loopholes in the process.

“Let me think about it for a moment,” He tapped a clawed finger against his chin. “What would be equivalent to your safe passage?”

Grisly images consumed Mieru’s mind. Would he curse her so that every step she took felt as if she walked on burning coals? Would he cut out her eyes so that she would be forced to depend on him for the rest of the trip?

“How about you privilege me with the opportunity to kiss your hand?”

Mieru blinked twice as the request registered on her ears. “My hand?” It was something out of a fairy-tale, what a noble knight would ask of a beautiful princess. Deals between demons and scrawny redhead girls didn’t go this way. “What’s the catch? Will you eat it?!”

The demon laughed loud and long. “Oh you are such a delight, my dear.” He closed in on her until they were barely a breath apart. “I simply wish to show my mistress respect. I have not had such an honor in decades.”

Mieru tried to stay calm, but her cheeks heated all the same. She had to regain control of this situation, before he tried to press even more boundaries.

“As long as it is just a kiss, and just on my hand, then I agree.” She took a step back, but before she could generate much distance between them, he had already fallen to his knees and gripped her left hand.

This time as his lips traced the scar he had created, no tongue followed. It was as pure and as chaste as that of an innocent schoolboy’s, but when his eyes looked up to meet hers, she found a very different hunger consuming them.

“Yuri...” She hadn’t meant to say a word, yet the name fell unbidden from her lips.

“My calling me by my true name, how obscene,” He gave a cat-like grin. “Well it is better to know what is truly yours and what isn’t. Follow me, it should take less that an hour before he return to civilization.” He transformed back into his shadow form, only this time he extended towards the sun, creating a path before her.

Mieru paused to study the scar one last time. As irrational as they might be, demons always had a motive for what they chose to steal. Flattery and adoration didn’t change that, even if there was something nice about the attention and interest and...

She slapped her cheek. How dare she let her mind fall right into the gutter. What would Yuya think if he saw her wavering like this?

“Wait for me, Darling. I’ll be there soon,” She whispered to herself as she finally took off and followed the demon.

Still she wondered if more than simply physical exhaustion could explain why she continued to feel breathless for the rest of the day.

#demonshipping #arc v #yuri #mieru hochun #arc v rare pair week #my lame writing #otp: you and me are irresistible #prediction princess #little shit #fruit clones dual #arpw19

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alwayschoosechocolate · 5 years

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Are we even speaking the same language? (Part 10)

Sophie moves to Seoul to become a language assistant at one of Seouls biggest music companies. Even though her Korean is far from perfect, she quickly seems to get along with some of the biggest stars in the company. But the language might not be the only barrier, she has to overcome.

Characters: All seven members of BTS, paring between Namjoon x main character

Word count: 3891

Genre: romance, angst, fluff

Warnings: struggles with mental health

Comments: When the dialog is written in cursive, it’s in Korean. When it’s bold, it’s in Danish.

Masterpost with the other parts of the story, can be found here (x)

Namjoon kept his promise. It was driving him crazy not to constantly check up on Sophie during the next few days, while her friend visited, and when Sophie suggested that they should go out for a few drinks, it took his entire willpower to answer her in a casual tone, that he would love to, but because of the their schedule he didn’t have time. Knowing that she was going to be drunk alone with her friend and no one to watch over her, made him feel helpless. And a little pathetic, if he was honest. He knew, he should listen to her, but he couldn’t stop his mind from going into overdrive with the ‘what-ifs’. So, when he heard that Hoseok and Jimin were going to join them along with Cathrine, Hannah and Julia, he was beyond relieved. He knew, that they would keep an eye out for Sophie, if this friend went too far. Never the less, he still stayed at the studio later that night, so he could get to them quickly, if it would be necessary. Not that he got much done. Every time, his phone lit up, he was mentally halfway out the door, before realizing, that it only was another photo or video from them. Progressively the pictures got more blurred and the videos louder. Whenever it showed Sophie with her arms around her friend or sitting too close to him for Namjoons liking, he gritted his teeth and let out a low growl. It bugged the hell out of him, that he couldn’t do anything. He had to do something to get his mind of it. Of her.

So, he walked down to Yoongis studio, hoping that he could help distract him for a while.

Even though, he knew the code, he still knocked on the door, knowing how Yoongi hated surprised visits.

“Joon, what are you doing here? I thought, you would be out the others?”

Yoongi stepped aside to let him in, and Namjoon let himself sink onto the couch before answering.

“Nah, I had to work tonight.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t argue.

“Then what are you doing here?” Yoongi smirked knowingly. “Looking for a distraction from their updates?”

Namjoon groaned and sent him a despairing look.

“I don’t know what to do, hyung. She’s is so stubborn. I can’t just tell her not to talk to guys, we don’t know. She is gonna get pissed.”

“Why is it so different, when it’s someone we don’t know? She spends hours at the dorm, hanging out and cuddling with the kids?”

Namjoon sent him an annoyed look.

“You know, why it’s different. I trust them. I know them. I have no idea, what kind of guys she would talk to or hang out with.”

“Then maybe tell her?”, he shrugged.

Namjoon felt himself deflate.

“I can’t. I promised her, that I would trust her and wouldn’t treat her like that again.”

Suga took in his friends disheartened state and let out a sigh.

“Then maybe you should just do that, Namjoon.”

Namjoon let out a low groan into his hands at Yoongis words.

“You’re right. I promised her. I only have to keep it together until tomorrow.”

He threw a dry look at the smaller man, when he heard his snickers.

“He isn’t her only friend, Joon. And, what are you gonna do, when we go on tour? Cause I’m pretty sure, that if you try to forbid her again, she won’t accept that offer to be your girlfriend, that you so gracefully threw at her in the middle of an argument.”

“She did accept it,” Namjoon smirked. “She even signed the contract. No arguing.”

Yoongi blinked at him with astonishment.

“Well, that’s it then. Namjoon, you have to trust her. She obviously trusts you. The least you can do, is extend her the same favor.”

“I know, you’re right,” – he leaned back on the couch with a sigh, letting his head fall back against the wall – “but I was really hoping you would say something else.”

Yoongi let out a laugh, before turning back towards his computer.

“Sorry, dude. That’s my final answer.”

Namjoon let out a heavy sigh, checking the time on his phone for the 1000nd time that night. Hopefully, they would go home soon.

The conversation was flowing, the alcohol was being downed, the music was blasting, and Sophie was having fun. She sang along to the songs with the girls, downed shots with the guys and felt herself relax.

Ever since Daniel arrived, Namjoon had been withdrawn, the number of texts had severely decreased and it was obvious to her why. But so far, he hadn’t made a bigger deal out of it than that. Although, Jimin had hinted at how Namjoon struggled with the idea of a guy staying at her place. Even if it was just on the couch. Jimin himself had luckily not made anymore comments concerning the issue.

“Yo! Soph, look at this!”, Daniel exclaimed, placing a tray filled with shots on the table in front of them. “I had to explain to her, how to mix them, but they should be just like how we used to do them back in Berlin.”

Sophie’s eyes widened, and she clasped her hand over her mouth at the sight of the shots and couldn’t help laughing at her friend.

“Daniel, are you kidding me? We can’t drink all of the those!”

“Since when do you back down from shots?”, he asked, shaking his head at her words, before turning towards the others. “You should have seen how we partied in Germany. She could outdrink most guys, and these babies” – he gestured to the shots – “were her poison of choice.”

Sophie shook her head at his words but couldn’t help laughing along with him.

“Really? And here we are, thinking that Sophie doesn’t like partying,” Hannah laughed, cocking an eyebrow at Sophie, causing her to shrug her shoulders in a half apology.

Out the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Cathrine explain what was happening to Hoseok and Jimin.

“Really?”, Jimin asked with a smirk, as he turned to Sophie. “ You never told us, that you used to be a party animal.”

“You never asked,” she winked at him.

“Okay okay, enough flirting! Time for shots!”, Daniel yelled, wiggling his eyebrows at the circle at the table.

Sophie rolled her eyes at him but picked up a glass along with the rest of the table, downing the shot and letting the liquid coat her throat.

“Wow,” she exclaimed in surprise, turning to Daniel. “It tastes just like back in Berlin!”

He winked at her and dragged her in for a gentle headlock.

“I told you so!”

Sophie let out a loud laugh, as she pushed herself away from him. When she looked up, she caught Jimin with his phone up.

“Jiminie?”, she asked in a stern tone, eyeing him across the table.

“What? I just wanted to catch the moment,” he answered, feigning innocence.

Sophie knew that he had been sending pictures and videos to the boys’ group chat all night. When she was sitting next to Hoseok, his phone kept blowing up with notifications from the group chat.

“Is he the one, you’re dating?”, Daniel asked her, nudging her with his shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows.

“No, you idiot,” Sophie answered, smacking his arm with a laugh. “He couldn’t come. He had to work.”

“Now, that won’t do, Soph. You know, I have to approve of which ever man gets close enough to you, to be lucky enough to call you his girlfriend.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side.

“Daniel, we’ve been over this. And it was two years ago,” Sophie laughed awkwardly.

“I know. I know. And no hard feelings.” He let her go to put up his hands in surrender. “I just need to make sure, that this guy is good enough for you.”

Sophie rolled her eyes with a laugh, catching Jimins confused glance across the table. She sent him a soft headshake.

“You don’t have to worry, Daniel.” She coupled her softened voice with rubbing his arm, hoping he would leave the topic.

“Well, one of us have to, and we both know, it isn’t gonna be you.” Daniel took a big mouthful of his beer. “Does he know?”

Sophie shook her head and dropped her eyes to her lap.

“Not yet. He doesn’t need to know yet.”

She could feel Daniels eyes on her, burning holes in the side of her skull, and she could sense that the others were watching them as well.

“Alright. I trust you to make the right decision. Or at least rational. To be honest, you always have.” Daniel snorted a laugh, before turning back towards the rest of the table. “One more shot?”, he asked, eyeing the others. They all shook their head, excusing themselves.

“Well, Soph!”, he exclaimed, turning towards her. “Looks like, we’ll have to finish them then.”

Sophie giggled as she eyed the remaining shots.

“Just like old days. Four for you, three for me?”, she laughed.

“Let’s do it,” he laughed, dividing the shots between them.

She felt Hannahs hand on her arm the same second, as she saw the others concerned looks.

“Sophie, are you sure, that’s a good idea?”

“Don’t worry, Hannah. It’s fine,” she laughed softly, before turning back to Daniel. “Are we doing them all at once or do you want to spread them out?”

“Pussy! We always do them all at once!”

They both laughed at his dramatic tone, before downing the shots.

Ten seconds later, they were gone. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Jimin typing away on his phone. Fueled by the alcohol, Sophie grabbed him and pulled him away from the others.

“Jimin, why do you keep texting Namjoon?”, she slurred, already feeling the amount of alcohol effecting her speech.

When she saw, that he was looking for an excuse, she just sent him a stern look, and Jimin let out a defeated sigh.

“He asked me to look after you. To make sure you were okay.”

Sophie huffed and rolled her eyes at his words. Great. She had had a babysitter all night, and she hadn’t even realized.

“Why?”

“He just wants you to be safe, Soph.”

She let out an annoyed laugh.

“Bullshit. He doesn’t trust me.”

She shook her head in annoyance and huffed out a groan, when she saw Jimins screen light up, flashing Namjoons name on the caller-id.

“Jimin, could you bring her home to the dorm with you guys tonight?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, babe.” Namjoon froze on the spot, when he heard Sophies icy voice. “But Jimin won’t bring me anywhere, as I will be sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

“Hi love” – Namjoon cleared his throat – “are you having fun?”

“Don’t give me that, Namjoon. I know you asked Jimin to spy on me. What happened to trusting me?”

He winced at her harsh tone and tried coming up with an excuse.

“I do trust you. I just wanted to make sure, that you were okay.”

“Bullshit, Joon.”

He let out a heavy sigh, letting the line fall silent for a moment, before owning up to her.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, but he has had his hands all over you all night, and then Jimin sent me a video of you downing shots with him. Babe, you have to understand how that makes me feel.”

“I’m not questioning, how it makes you feel. I never did. But I asked you to trust me to make my own decisions and judgement calls. If you can’t trust me, Joon…” Sophie let out a shaky breath.

“I do! Sophie, I do trust you! I’m sorry, I disturbed you. Go back to the others and have fun, okay? Just send me a text, when you’re home, so I can sleep.”

“Alright, I will,” she answered with a slight eyeroll. “I’ll come by the studio tomorrow after work.”

She ended the call and handed the phone back to Jimin with a stern look. Jimin just gave her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Soph.”

“It’s okay, Jimin. Just don’t do it again.”

She pulled him in for a hug, before walking back to the table and the others.

An hour later, she and Daniel were wasted. Jimin and Hoseok had gone home, as had Julia and Hannah. Only Cathrine had stayed to make sure, that they would at least go home at some point.

They were currently a giggling mess on the couch, Sophie doubled over in laughter and Daniel with his head thrown back. During the night, they slipped more and more German sentences into their conversations, and Cathrine found it hard to keep up with their talking.

But since Daniel had an early flight the next day, Sophie and he agreed to get some food and make their way home. Cathrine made Sophie promise to send a text, when she got home, before letting them wander off into the streets.

“Your friends didn’t seem to like me,” he laughed, as they stumbled through the streets arm in arm.

“Don’t take it personally. They are crazy protective.” Sophie covered her giggled with her hand.

“Of you? Why? It’s not like you need protection,” he laughed, ruffling her hair.

“I know, but they don’t believe me. I think some of it might be cultural,” she contemplated, smoothing her hair down.

“Well, I didn’t see your guy, but I don’t really see why they would be nervous. They are some really good-looking guys, Soph! I’m proud of you!”

Sophie giggled at his words and shook her head.

“I don’t see, why that has anything to do with it, but thank you?”

“Well, it must be because your guy gets jealous. Not that I blame him. I mean, we weren’t even dating, and I was jealous of everyone, who walked past you.”

“Daniel. Can we not talk about it? I feel awful, for what I put you through,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his arm.

“You shouldn’t feel bad. It was my own fault.” He shook his head. “Anyway. I’m just… I’m glad you finally let someone in. You should have someone to lean on as well.”

Sophie nibbled on the inside of her cheek, feeling the guilt freeze through her veins. Sure. ‘Let someone in’ might be an overstatement, but at least she was trying.

When he left for the airport the next morning, Sophie let herself sink down on the couch for a few minutes with a book. Daniel had been one of her closest friends for a long time, but still, being around someone 24/7 was exhausting, and she still had work that day.

Luckily, the day passed by uneventful, and when she was done, she went straight home, sending Namjoon a short text, saying she would come by the studio tomorrow instead, as she was so tired.

She turned off her phone and took her book to the floor, cuddling up against the corner between the bookcase and the wall. She had intended to read, but after rereading the first page five times, she gave up, putting down the book, and getting up to get a cup of coffee instead.

She settled back on the floor, now with her coffee instead and just sat there enjoying the quiet, the only sound being her sipping on the charcoal drink.

She let her mind wander, thinking back to her time in Berlin, her friends there. Sometimes it was hard to grasp just how different her life was now from Berlin. How different Berlin had been from Denmark. Almost like each place held a different life for her. Although, the ties to those lives were not to be cut. She was doing her best to keep moving, but she didn’t want to forget, where she had been or what had happened in her life. Moving on was one thing but putting the past behind her was different. She was still learning from her mistakes.

She closed her eyes and took another sip of the coffee, letting the bitter taste linger on her tongue, before swallowing. She searched her body for signs of how she was feeling, and suddenly realized, that she hadn’t had any hesitation cancelling on Namjoon. Searching again, she realized that she couldn’t bring herself to care. She groaned to herself as she took another sip, trying to muster up some annoyance, anger, sadness. Just something. But nothing happened. She sighed heavily and laid herself down on the floor, back against the bookcase. Curling in on herself, she closed her eyes and tried recalling some of her strongest memories. Trying to force a reaction out of herself. Nothing. She felt her stomach growl, but ignored it, staying on the uncomfortable floor. At some point she fell asleep, hip aching, shoulder and arm prickling from blood loss, chest heavy.

She woke up hours later, taking in the dark room in a haze, before dragging herself to bed and going back to sleep. She dreamt of white caskets and green forests that night.

The next day passed by in a mist. She wasn’t hungry. She wasn’t tired. She wasn’t bored. She wasn’t happy. She was just… there. She remembered talking to Cathrine and the girls, but couldn’t remember, what it had been about. She had been too unbothered to engage in the conversation. She knew, that she was going to Namjoons studio after work, but she felt more like going home. Hopefully he would be busy with work and not want to talk too much.

When she knocked on his door, it immediately swung open, making her wonder if he had been waiting right behind it.

“Hi jagi.”

Namjoon dimples flashed, as he smiled at her, pulling her in for a hug. Not knowing she needed it before feeling his arms around her, Sophie hugged him back tightly, breathing in his scent.

“Joonie,” she hummed against his chest.

He chuckled slightly at her tight hold on him.

“You missed me?” He pulled back to place a soft kiss on her lips. Sophie reached up to trace his chin and jawline, feeling the muscles work under his skin as he deepened the kiss. Her lips left his as she snuggled closer to him and hummed.

“I’m sorry, I had Jimin look after you. I know, I should have trusted you.”

Sophie let go of him with a sigh, sitting down in the corner of the couch.

“I…” She rummaged her brain, trying to find the right words. Namjoon sat down next to her. “I can’t talk about that today. I just need to… not.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at her words.

“Are you mad at me?”

She shook her head, feeling in her stomach, that she was telling him the truth. She wasn’t mad.

“I’m just not in the mood for… talking, today.”

He gave her a concerned look, as he watched her lie down on the couch and pull the blanket up to cover her.

“Are you sick? Do you need medicine?”

Again, she shook her head.

“I don’t need anything.”

His eyes traced her body under the blanket, as he tried to figure out, what was happening. She was just looking at him, but he couldn’t decipher the look in her eyes.

“Do you want to cuddle?”

She seemed to consider it for a moment, before shaking her head.

“I just want silence, Joon. So, either you stop asking me questions, or I go home.” Her soft voice caressed his ears, but he still felt like he should do something. Her words were harsh, but her soft features and they way she was hiding under the blanket, told him that he should just listen to her.

“Alright, babe. Just let me know, when you get hungry, so we can order something.”

He went back to working, turning every now and then to check on her. Every time he was met with her clear eyes, peering into his. When he smiled at her, she returned it, but otherwise her face was blank. He was halfway concerned about her and halfway annoyed with her about the last few days, but she seemed so small on the couch, and he couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. When he asked if she wanted food, she just shrugged her shoulders.

“Sophie, you’re making me worry. Is everything okay?”

“I’m just a little down today. It happens every now and then. I can go home, if it disturbs you,” she stated already pulling the blanket off her, to stand up from the couch, before Namjoon rushed to her side.

“No, no, no. Please,” – he pulled her onto his lap, locking his arms around her waist, as she made herself comfortable – “your mental state doesn’t disturb me, babe. I just want to make sure, you’re okay?”

She shrugged her shoulders before leaning her head on his chest.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Namjoons deep voice enveloped her heart in a comforting wave, but she didn’t have an answer for the questions, he would be asking.

“Not really. There is nothing to talk about.”

The room fell silent, as he caressed her form, running his hands over her back and thighs, caressing her cheek and hair. Sophie stayed in his lap, letting him ease his protective gene, until she started squirming.

“Don’t you have to work? You shouldn’t waste time on me.” She straightened herself up from the hunched position, and placed a kiss to his temple, before getting up from his lap. “I’ll go home, so you can work in peace.”

“But Sophie, we’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll be gone five days, remember?”

His confused eyes met hers, as she mirrored his expression. She had completely forgotten about that.

“Oh right. Well, then I’ll see you, when your back.” She bent down and kissed his cheek. “I’m really sorry, Joon. I know this sounds like a cliché, but it really doesn’t have anything to do with you, and unfortunately there isn’t anything you can do. I just need to be alone for a few days.” She sent him a soft smile.

“Can I come to your place, when we get back?”, he pouted.

She cooed at his expression, before cradling his face in her hands.

“Of course, babe. You’re always welcome. Just text me when, so I know when to expect you.”

He sent her a dimpled smiled that didn’t quite reached his eyes and she lightly touched one of his dimples, before letting go of his face and leaving the studio.

He stayed seated on the couch for a few minutes, eyes still locked on the door. Waiting. Finally, he got up with a sigh, packed his stuff and went back to the dorm.

He sent her a short message before boarding the plane the morning after. He wasn’t really expecting an answer, so when his phone lit up with a new message, he smiled softly at the screen, before stuffing it back in his pocket.

Sophie / 8.03am I know, you love me. I’m sorry, I can’t explain it to you. Have fun with the concerts and take care of yourself and the others. Safe flight and I’ll see you soon.

// Part 11 //

Comment: Thank you for reading, I hope you’re enjoying it!

Side note: How are we all doing after the comeback? I haven’t stopped listening to the songs since they dropped. I loooove Microcosmos! It just gives me such a fuzzy feeling!

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maxwellyjordan · 5 years

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Symposium: The “intensely factual” question of physicians’ admitting privileges

Robin Fretwell Wilson is the Roger & Stephany Joslin Professor of Law and Director of the Epstein Health Law & Policy Program at the University of Illinois College of Law.

Last month I lost someone close to me after an infection that began as double pneumonia ravaged her body. In the space of a day, a mother of nine in the prime of her life slipped away. It was so improbable. So permanent. And if that loss was not tragedy enough, the husband she left behind contracted MRSA, an antibiotic-resistant bug that can be deadly. MRSA lurks in the very facilities that care for us. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, over 90,000 people die from healthcare-associated infections every year, more than double the number of people who die in auto accidents.

That my friend could die from an infection so suddenly is hard to process. But complications often arise during the course of medical treatment, including at large hospitals and small clinics.

This forum considers the Supreme Court’s decision in June Medical Services v. Gee to stay Louisiana’s latest regulation of abortion providers — one that the sponsoring legislator explained as providing “a safe environment … that offers women the optimal protection and care of their bodies.” Louisiana would require physicians performing abortions to have admitting privileges at a hospital within 30 miles of the abortion clinic.

Two simple questions have occupied me: Are women experiencing medical complications when having abortions? Would Louisiana’s new requirement actually help them if the cataclysmic occurs?

What I’ve learned

In the most recent year for which CDC provides data, 2013, the number and rate of reported abortions across the nation reached “historic lows,” due, in part, to increased access to contraception. In that year, four women died as a result of complications from legal abortions — a year in which medical professionals performed 664,435 abortions.

Between 1973 and 2014, 437 women died from complications after a legal abortion — women whose deaths are as devastating as my friend’s death from septic shock brought on by pneumonia. These women also leave behind families, friends and futures cut tragically short.

Abortions carry risks including blood clots, heavy bleeding, cuts, tears, perforations, and infection.

Simply being in a healthcare facility carries risk: Roughly 4.5 infections occur for every 100 hospital admissions, a risk that extends to office-based surgical suites and free-standing surgical centers. Still, given the tens of millions of abortions performed since Roe v. Wade, the procedure is remarkably safe.

Didn’t we decide this already?

It feels like we just had this conversation about admitting privileges, in Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt. There, the Supreme Court struck down Texas’ dual regulation of abortion — an admitting-privileges requirement and a requirement that abortion clinics meet the physical-plant rules for ambulatory surgical centers. The court held that both requirements imposed an undue burden on a women’s right to seek a pre-viability abortion.

Like Louisiana, Texas required physicians to “have active admitting privileges at a hospital that … is located not further than 30 miles from the location at which the abortion is performed or induced.” Previously Texas required that a physician have privileges or a relationship with a physician who does. Texas justified the stricter requirement as “help[ing] ensure that women have easy access to a hospital should complications arise during an abortion procedure.”

The rub: Statistics and testimony showed it is “extremely unlikely that a patient will experience a serious complication at the clinic that requires emergent hospitalization.” Instead, most complications “occur in the days after the abortion, not on the spot.”

Abortion-rights advocates skewered Texas for requiring abortion providers to have privileges while ignoring dentists, cosmetic surgeons and other providers whose patients also experience complications.

And at oral argument Texas’ attorneys could not cite a “single instance in which the new requirement would have helped even one woman obtain better treatment.”

The requirement erected a “substantial obstacle in the path of a woman’s choice.” Why? Because some Texas hospitals will not extend privileges unless the physician admits so many patients per year. Indeed a physician who had “delivered over 15,000 babies” across 38 years “was unable to get admitting privileges at any of the seven hospitals within 30 miles of his clinic.” The Supreme Court ultimately concluded that “the record contains sufficient evidence that the admitting-privileges requirement led to the closure of half of Texas’ clinics.”

All eyes on Kavanaugh

Already, observers are reading the tea leaves about whether the Supreme Court’s new composition will affect the outcome in June Medical.

In a striking dissent from the grant of the stay, Justice Brett Kavanaugh emphasized the “intensely factual” question of physician admitting privileges.

Because the law had not taken effect, he observed, “the parties have offered, in essence, competing predictions about whether those three doctors can obtain admitting privileges”:

Louisiana has three clinics that currently provide abortions. As relevant here, four doctors perform abortions at those three clinics. One of those four doctors has admitting privileges at a nearby hospital, as required by the new law. The question is whether the other three doctors—Doe 2, Doe 5, and Doe 6—can obtain the necessary admitting privileges. If they can, then the three clinics could continue providing abortions. And if so, then the new law would not impose an undue burden for purposes of Whole Woman’s Health. By contrast, if the three doctors cannot obtain admitting privileges, then one or two of the three clinics would not be able to continue providing abortions. If so, then even the State acknowledges that the new law might be deemed to impose an undue burden for purposes of Whole Woman’s Health.

The district court concluded that the three doctors likely could not obtain admitting privileges and enjoined the law. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the 5th Circuit concluded they could and lifted the injunction.

Facts will matter, as will the justification for the law

Already, two courts have made wildly different predictions about Louisiana’s law — based on facts surmised in a facial challenge.

The 5th Circuit chalked up the possibility that a physician might struggle to get privileges to the physician’s own “intervening … failure to apply for privileges in a reasonable manner.” The “almost-universal requirement” by Texas hospitals that their medical staff “maintain minimum annual admissions” operated as “a per se bar.” But here:

There is an insufficient basis in the record to conclude that the law has prevented most of the doctors from gaining admitting privileges. Similarly, any clinic closures that result from the doctors’ inaction cannot be attributed to Act 620.

What drives admitting privileges?

Importantly, Louisiana’s legislature offered a different spin on requiring admitting privileges. It heard testimony that Louisiana women experiencing complications “had been treated harshly by the provider.” A patient who “began to hemorrhage, [was told] ‘to get up and get out.’”

For Louisiana lawmakers, admitting privileges were crucial not only for responding to complications, but also for ensuring “continuity of care, qualifications, communication, and preventing abandonment of patients.” This meant all patients. Louisiana’s requirement brought abortion providers “into the same set of standards that apply to physicians providing similar types of services in [ambulatory surgical centers].”

Admitting privileges have long operated to bind patients to their physician: When a person seen in the emergency room is admitted to the hospital, their primary-care physician takes over their care, assuming that physician has privileges. This both ensures continuity of care and avoids patient abandonment. It makes good on the duty of physicians to follow through in caring for patients during the spell of illness. It also prevents hospitals from poaching every emergency-room patient who is regularly seen by a member of the hospital’s medical staff.

The weakness of this traditional model is obvious: Not everyone has a primary-care physician and not everyone gets sick near their physician’s hospital. Over time, hospitalists developed to admit patients to the hospital when their own primary-care doctors could not. But that development has largely passed Louisiana by. Although the number of hospitalists in the U.S. has grown from 10,000 in 2003 to over 50,000 in 2016, in 2013, Louisiana had the lowest number of hospitalists in the country. This places an even greater premium on one’s physician having privileges somewhere.

Some reflexively assume that Louisiana hospitals, many of which are religiously affiliated, will deny privileges to doctors who perform abortions. After all, Louisiana, like Texas, is a stronghold for opposition to abortion. Louisiana is a heavily Catholic state.

Although requirements for admitting privileges differ from institution to institution, the one thing facilities that receive certain federal funds cannot do is “discriminate” against physicians based upon their religious or moral beliefs about abortion. These conscience protections have insulated physicians who want to do abortions in their private offices or clinics from losing their livelihoods, just as they protect abortion objectors.

What does all this mean?

Perplexingly, few people seem to be asking these fact-dependent questions. Instead, ideology about abortion seems to drive how many view Louisiana’s law.

If Louisiana’s law could prevent the kind of loss I recently experienced, I think many people would approach it with an open mind. But without a thicker factual record– without more from lawmakers about the value and feasibility of the physician-privileges requirement or, at this juncture, without waiting to see whether the doctors can in fact obtain admitting privileges and what effect this has on access–it is hard to tell whether Louisiana’s law will actually do that.

And that is part of the problem. In what remains the most divisive conflict in America, lawmakers would do well to develop the facts instead of asking for our blind trust.

***

Past cases linked to in this post:

Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 (1973) Whole Woman’s Health v. Hellerstedt, 136 S. Ct. 2292 (2016)

The post Symposium: The “intensely factual” question of physicians’ admitting privileges appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

Quitters, Inc.

Stephen King (1978)

Morrison was waiting for someone who was hung up in the air traffic jam over Kennedy International when he saw a familiar face at the end of the bar and walked down.

'Jimmy? Jimmy McCann?'

It was. A little heavier than when Morrison had seen him at the Atlanta Exhibition the year before, but otherwise he looked awesomely fit. In college he had been a thin, pallid chain smoker buried behind huge horn-rimmed glasses. He had apparently switched to contact lenses.

'Dick Morrison?'

'Yeah. You look great.' He extended his hand and they shook.

'So do you,' McCann said, but Morrison knew it was a lie. He had been overworking, overeating, and smoking too much. 'What are you drinking?'

'Bourbon and bitters,' Morrison said. He hooked his feet around a bar stool and lighted a cigarette. 'Meeting someone, Jimmy?'

'No. Going to Miami for a conference. A heavy client. Bills six million. I'm supposed to hold his hand because we lost out on a big special next spring.'

'Are you still with Crager and Barton?'

'Executive veep now.'

'Fantastic! Congratulations! When did all this happen?' He tried to tell himself that the little worm of jealousy in his stomach was just acid indigestion. He pulled out a roll of antacid pills and crunched one in his mouth.

'Last August. Something happened that changed my life.' He looked speculatively at Morrison and sipped his drink. 'You might be interested.'

My God, Morrison thought with an inner wince. Jimmy McCann's got religion.

'Sure,' he said, and gulped at his drink when it came. 'I wasn't in very good shape,' McCann said. 'Personal problems with Sharon, my.dad died - heart attack - and I'd developed this hacking cough. Bobby Crager dropped by my office one day and gave me a fatherly little pep talk. Do you remember what those are like?'

'Yeah.' He had worked at Crager and Barton for eighteen months before joining the Morton Agency. 'Get your butt in gear or get your butt out.'

McCann laughed. 'You know it. Well, to put the capper on it, the doc told me I had an incipient ulcer. He told me to quit smoking.'

McCann grimaced. 'Might as well tell me to quit breathing.'

Morrison nodded in perfect understanding. Non-smokers could afford to be smug. He looked at his own cigarette with distaste and stubbed it out, knowing he would be lighting another in five minutes.

'Did you quit?' He asked.

'Yes, I did. At first I didn't think I'd be able to - I was cheating like hell. Then I met a guy who told me about an outfit over on

Fortysixth Street. Specialists. I said what do I have to lose and went over. I haven't smoked since.'

Morrison's eyes widened. 'What did they do? Fill you full of some drug?'

'No.' He had taken out his wallet and was rummaging through it. 'Here it is. I knew I had one kicking around.' He laid a plain white business card on the bar between them.

Stop Going Up in Smoke!

237 East 46th Street

Treatments by Appointment

'Keep it, if you want,' McCann said. 'They'll cure you. Guaranteed.'

'How?'

'I can't tell you,' McCann said.

'Huh? Why not?'

'It's part of the contract they make you sign. Anyway, they tell you how it works when they interview you.' 'You signed a contract?' McCann nodded.

'And on the basis of that -'

'Yep.' He smiled at Morrison, who thought: Well, it's happened. Jim McCann has joined the smug bastards.

'Why the great secrecy if this outfit is so fantastic? How come I've never seen any spots on TV, billboards, magazine ads -'

'They get all the clients they can handle by word of mouth.'

'You're an advertising man, Jimmy. You can't believe that.'

'I do,' McCann said. 'They have a ninety-eight per cent cure rate.'

'Wait a second,' Morrison said. He motioned for another drink and lit a cigarette. 'Do these guys strap you down and make you smoke until you throw up?'

'No.'

'Give you something so that you get sick every time you light -'

'No, it's nothing like that. Go and see for yourself.' He gestured at Morrison's cigarette. 'You don't really like that, do you?'

'Nooo, but -'

'Stopping really changed things for me,' McCann said. 'I don't suppose it's the same for everyone, but with me it was just like dominoes falling over. I felt better and my relationship with Sharon improved. I had more energy, and my job performance picked up.'

'Look, you've got my curiosity aroused. Can't you just -' 'I'm sorry, Dick. I really can't talk about it.' His voice was firm.

'Did you put on any weight?'

For a moment he thought Jimmy McCann looked almost grim. 'Yes. A little too much, in fact. But I took it off again. I'm about right now. I was skinny before.'

'Flight 206 now boarding at Gate 9,' the loudspeaker announced.

'That's me,' McCann said, getting up. He tossed a five on the bar. 'Have another, if you like. And think about what I said, Dick.

Really.' And then he was gone, making his way through the crowd to the escalators. Morrison picked up the card, looked at it thoughtfully, then tucked it away in his wallet and forgot it.

The card fell out of his wallet and on to another bar a month later. He had left the office early and had come here to drink the afternoon away. Things had not been going so well at the Morton Agency. In fact, things were bloody horrible.

He gave Henry a ten to pay for his drink, then picked up the small card and reread it - 237 East Forty-sixth Street was only two blocks over; it was a cool, sunny October day outside, and maybe, just for chuckles -When Henry brought his change, he finished his drink and then went for a walk.

Quitters, Inc., was in a new building where the monthly rent on office space was probably close to Morrison's yearly salary. From the directory in the lobby, it looked to him like their offices took up one whole floor, and that spelled money. Lots of it.

He took the elevator up and stepped off into a lushly carpeted foyer and from there into a gracefully appointed reception room with a wide window that looked out on the scurrying bugs below. Three men and one woman sat in the chairs along the walls, reading magazines. Business types, all of them. Morrison went to the desk.

'A friend gave me this,' he said, passing the card to the receptionist. 'I guess you'd say he's an alumnus.'

She smiled and rolled a form into her typewriter. 'What is your name, sir?'

'Richard Morrison.'

Clack-clackety-clack. But very muted clacks; the typewriter was an IBM.

'Your address?'

'Twenty-nine Maple Lane, Clinton, New York.'

'Married?'

'Yes.'

'Children?'

'One.' He thought of Alvin and frowned slightly. 'One' was the wrong word. 'A half' might be better. His son was mentally retarded and lived at a special school in New Jersey.

'Who recommended us to you, Mr Morrison?'

'An old school friend. James McCann.'

'Very good. Will you have a seat? It's been a very busy day.'

'All right.'

He sat between the woman, who was wearing a severe blue suit, and a young executive type wearing a herring-bone jacket and modish sideburns. He took out his pack of cigarettes, looked around, and saw there were no ashtrays.

He put the pack away again. That was all right. He would see this little game through and then light up while he was leaving. He might even tap some ashes on their maroon shag rug if they made him wait long enough. He picked up a copy of Time and began to leaf through it.

He was called a quarter of an hour later, after the woman in the blue suit. His nicotine centre was speaking quite loudly now. A man who had come in after him took out a cigarette case, snapped it open, saw there were no ashtrays, and put it away looking a little guilty, Morrison thought. It made him feel better.

At last the receptionist gave him a sunny smile and said, 'Go right in, Mr Morrison.'

Morrison walked through the door beyond her desk and found himself in an indirectly lit hallway. A heavy-set man with white hair that looked phoney shook his hand, smiled affably, and said, 'Follow me, Mr Morrison.'

He led Morrison past a number of closed, unmarked doors and then opened one of them about halfway down the hall with a key.

Beyond the door was an austere little room walled with drilled white cork panels. The only furnishings were a desk with a chair on either side. There was what appeared to be a small oblong window in the wall behind the desk, but it was covered with a short green curtain. There was a picture on the wall to Morrison's left -a tall man with iron-grey hair. He was holding a sheet of paper in one hand.

He looked vaguely familiar.

'I'm Vic Donatti,' the heavy-set man said. 'If you decide to go ahead with our programme, I'll be in charge of your case.' 'Pleased to know you,' Morrison said. He wanted a cigarette very badly.

'Have a seat.'

Donatti put the receptionist's form on the desk, and then drew another form from the desk drawer. He looked directly into Morrison's eyes. 'Do you want to quit smoking?'

Morrison cleared his throat, crossed his legs, and tried to think of a way to equivocate. He couldn't. 'Yes,' he said.

'Will you sign this?' He gave Morrison the form. He scanned it quickly. The undersigned agrees not to divulge the methods or techniques or et cetera, et cetera.

'Sure,' he said, and Donatti put a pen in his hand. He scratched his name, and Donatti signed below it. A moment later the paper disappeared back into the desk drawer. Well, he thought ironically, I've taken the pledge.

He had taken it before. Once it had lasted for two whole days.

'Good,' Donatti said. 'We don't bother with propaganda here, Mr Morrison. Questions of health or expense or social grace. We have no interest in why you want to stop smoking. We are pragmatists.' 'Good,' Morrison said blankly.

'We employ no drugs. We employ no Dale Carnegie people to sermonize you. We recommend no special diet. And we accept no payment until you have stopped smoking for one year.' 'My God,' Morrison said.

'Mr McCann didn't tell you that?'

'No.'

'How is Mr McCann, by the way? Is he well?'

'He's fine.'

'Wonderful. Excellent. Now . . . just a few questions, Mr Morrison. These are somewhat personal, but I assure you that your answers will be held in strictest confidence.'

'Yes?' Morrison asked noncommittally.

'What is your wife's name?'

'Lucinda Morrison. Her maiden name was Ramsey.'

'Do you love her?'

Morrison looked up sharply, but Donatti was looking at him blandly. 'Yes, of course,' he said.

'Have you ever had marital problems? A separation, perhaps?'

'What has that got to do with kicking the habit?' Morrison asked. He sounded a little angrier than he had intended, but he wanted - hell, he needed - a cigarette.

'A great deal,' Donatti said. 'Just bear with me.'

'No. Nothing like that.' Although things had been a little tense just lately.

'You just have the one child?'

'Yes. Alvin. He's in a private school.'

'And which school is it?'

'That,' Morrison said grimly, 'I'm not going to tell you.'

'All right,' Donatti said agreeably. He smiled disarmingly at Morrison. 'All your q~estions will be answered tomorrow at your first treatment.'

'How nice,' Morrison said, and stood.

'One final question,' Donatti said. 'You haven't had a cigarette for over an hour. How do you feel?'

'Fine,' Morrison lied. 'Just fine.'

'Good for you!' Donatti exclaimed. He stepped around the desk and opened the door. 'Enjoy them tonight. After tomorrow, you'll never smoke again.'

'Is that right?'

'Mr Morrison,' Donatti said solemnly, 'we guarantee it.'

He was sitting in the outer office of Quitters, Inc. ,the next day promptly at three. He had spent most of the day swinging between skipping the appointment the receptionist had made for him on the way out and going in a spirit of mulish co-operation - Throw your best pitch at me, buster.

In the end, something Jimmy McCann had said convinced him to keep the appointment - It changed my whole fife. God knew his own life could do with some changing. And then there was his own curiosity. Before going up in the elevator, he smoked a cigarette down to the filter. Too damn bad if it's the last one, he thought. It tasted horrible.

The wait in the outer office was shorter this time. When the receptionist told him to go in, Donatti was waiting. He offered his hand and smiled, and to Morrison the smile looked almost predatory. He began to feel a little tense, and that made him wa~t a

cigarette.

'Come with me,' Donatti said, and led the way down to the small room. He sat behind the desk again, and Morrison took the other chair.

'I'm very glad you came,' Donatti said. 'A great many prospective clients never show up again after the initial interview. They discover they don't want to quit as badly as they thought. It's going to be a pleasure to work with you on this.'

'When does the treatment start?' Hypnosis, he was thinking. It must be hypnosis.

'Oh, it already has. It started when we shook hands in the hall. Do you have cigarettes with you, Mr Morrison?'

'Yes.'

'May I have them, please?'

Shrugging, Morrison handed Donatti his pack. There were only two or three left in it, anyway.

Donatti put the pack on the desk. Then, smiling into Morrison's eyes, he curled his right hand into a fist and began to hammer it down on the pack of cigarettes, which twisted and flattened. A broken cigarette end flew out. Tobacco crumbs spilled. The sound of Donatti's fist was very loud in the closed room. The smile remained on his face in spite of the force of the blows, and Morrison was chilled by it. Probably just the effect they want to inspire, he thought.

At last Donatti ceased pounding. He picked up the pack, a twisted and battered ruin. 'You wouldn't believe the pleasure that gives me,' he said, and dropped the pack into the wastebasket. 'Even after three years in the business, it still pleases me.'

'As a treatment, it leaves something to be desired. Morrison said mildly. 'There's a news-stand in the lobby of this very building.

And they sell all brands.'

'As you say,' Donatti said. He folded his hands. 'Your son, Alvin Dawes Morrison, is in the Paterson School for Handicapped Children. Born with cranial brain damage. Tested IQ of 46. Not quite in the educable retarded category. Your wife -, 'How did you find that out?' Morrison barked. He was startled and angry. 'You've got no goddamn right to go poking around my -' 'We know a lot about you,' Donatti said smoothly. 'But, as I said, it will all be held in strictest confidence.' 'I'm getting out of here,' Morrison said thinly. He stood up.

'Stay a bit longer.'

Morrison looked at him closely. Donatti wasn't upset. In fact, he looked a little amused. The face of a man who has seen this reaction scores of times - maybe hundreds.

'All right. But it better be good.'

'Oh, it is.' Donatti leaned back. 'I told you we were pragmatists here. As pragmatists, we have to start by realizing how difficult it is to cure an addiction to tobacco. The relapse rate is almost eight-five per cent. The relapse rate for heroin addicts is lower than that. It is an extraordinary problem. Extraordinary.'

Morrison glanced into the wastebasket. One of the cigarettes, although twisted, still looked smokeable.

Donatti laughed good-naturedly, reached into the wastebasket, and broke it between his fingers.

'State legislatures sometimes hear a request that the prison systems do away with the weekly cigarette ration. Such proposals are invariably defeated. In a few cases where they have passed, there have been fierce prison riots. Riots, Mr Morrison. Imagine it.' 'I,' Morrison said, 'am not surprised.'

'But consider the implications. When you put a man in prison you take away any normal sex life, you take away his liquor, his politics, his freedom of movement. No riots - or few in comparison to the number of prisons. But when you take away his cigarettes - wham! bam!' He slammed his fist on the desk for emphasis.

'During World War I, when no one on the German home front could get cigarettes, the sight of German aristocrats picking butts out of the gutter was a common one. During World War II, many American women turned to pipes when they were unable to obtain cigarettes. A fascinating problem for the true pragmatist, Mr Morrison.'

'Could we get to the treatment?'

'Momentarily. Step over here, please.' Donatti had risen and was standing by the green curtains Morrison had noticed yesterday.

Donatti drew the curtains, discovering a rectangular window that looked into a bare room. No, not quite bare. There was a rabbit on the floor, eating pellets out of a dish.

'Pretty bunny,' Morrison commented.

'Indeed. Watch him.' Donatti pressed a button by the window-sill. The rabbit stopped eating and began to hop about crazily. It seemed to leap higher each time its feet struck the floor. Its fur stood out spikily in all directions. Its eyes were wild.

'Stop that! You're electrocuting him!'

Donatti released the button. 'Far from it. There's a very low-yield charge in the floor. Watch the rabbit, Mr Morrison!'

The rabbit was crouched about ten feet away from the dish of pellets. His nose wriggled. All at once he hopped away into a corner.

'If the rabbit gets a jolt often enough while he's eating,' Donatti said, 'he makes the association very quickly. Eating causes pain. Therefore, he won't eat. A few more shocks, and the rabbit will starve to death in front of his food. It's called aversion training.' Light dawned in Morrison's head.

'No, thanks.' He started for the door.

'Wait, please, Morrison.'

Morrison didn't pause. He grasped the doorknob . and felt it slip solidly through his hand. 'Unlock this.' 'Mr Morrison, if you'll just sit down -'

'Unlock this door or I'll have the cops on you before you can say Marlboro Man.' 'Sit down.' The voice was as cold as shaved ice.

Morrison looked at Donatti. His brown eyes were muddy and frightening. My God, he thought, I'm locked in here with a psycho. He licked his lips. He wanted a cigarette more than he ever had in his life.

'Let me explain the treatment in more detail,' Donatti said.

'You don't understand,' Morrison said with counterfeit patience. 'I don't want the treatment. I've decided against it.'

'No, Mr Morrison. You're the one who doesn't understand. You don't have any choice. When I told you the treatment had already begun, I was speaking the literal truth. I would have thought you'd tipped to that by now.' 'You're crazy,' Morrison said wonderingly.

'No. Only a pragmatist. Let me tell you all about the treatment.'

'Sure,' Morrison said. 'As long as you understand that as soon as I get out of here I'm going to buy five packs of cigarettes and smoke them all on the way to the police station.' He suddenly realized he was biting his thumb-nail, sucking on it, and made himself stop.

'As you wish. But I think you'll change your mind when you see the whole picture.' Morrison said nothing. He sat down again and folded his hands.

'For the first month of the treatment, our operatives will have you under constant supervision,' Donatti said. 'You'll be able to spot some of them. Not all. But they'll always be with you. Always. If they see you smoke a cigarette, I get a call.'

'And I suppose you bring me here and do the old rabbit trick,' Morrison said. He tried to sound cold and sarcastic, but he suddenly felt horribly frightened. This was a nightmare.

'Oh, no,' Donatti said. 'Your wife gets the rabbit trick, not you.' Morrison looked at him dumbly.

Donatti smiled. 'You,' he said, 'get to watch.'

After Donatti let him out, Morrison walked for over two hours in a complete daze. It was another fine day, but he didn't notice. The monstrousness of Donatti's smiling face blotted out all else.

'You see,' he had said, 'a pragmatic problem demands pragmatic solutions. You must realize we have your best interests at heart.

Quitters, Inc., according to Donatti, was a sort of foundation - a non-profit organization begun by the man in the wall portrait. The gentleman had been extremely successful in several family businesses - including slot machines, massage parlours, numbers, and a brisk (although clandestine) trade between New York and Turkey. Mort 'Three-Fingers' Minelli had been a heavy smoker - up in the three-pack-a-day range. The paper he was holding in the picture was a doctor's diagnosis: lung cancer. Mort had died in 1970, after endowing Quitters, Inc., with family funds.

'We try to keep as close to breaking even as possible,' Donatti had said. 'But we're more interested in helping our fellow man. And of course, it's a great tax angle.'

The treatment was chillingly simple. A first offence and Cindy would be brought to what Donatti called 'the rabbit room'. A second offence, and Morrison would get the dose. On a third offence, both of them would be brought in together. A fourth offence would show grave co-operation problems and would require sterner measures. An operative would be sent to Alvin's school to work the boy over.

'Imagine,' Donatti said, smiling, 'how horrible it will be for the boy. He wouldn't understand it even jf someone explained. He'll only know someone is hurting him because Daddy was bad. He'll be very frightened.'

'You bastard,' Morrison said helplessly. He felt close to tears. 'You dirty, filthy bastard.'

'Don't misunderstand,' Donatti said. He was smiling sympathetically. 'I'm sure it won't happen. Forty per cent of our clients never have to be disciplined at all - and only ten per cent have more than three falls from grace. Those are reassuring figures, aren't they?'

Morrison didn't find them reassuring. He found them terrifying.

'Of course, if you transgress a fifth time -'

'What do you mean?'

Donatti beamed. 'The room for you and your wife, a second beating for your son, and a beating for your wife.'

Morrison, driven beyond the point of rational consideration, lunged over the desk at Donatti. Donatti moved with amazing speed for a man who had apparently been completely relaxed. He shoved the chair backwards and drove both of his feet over the desk and into Morrison's belly. Gagging and coughing, Morrison staggered backward.

'Sit down, Mr Morrison,' Donatti said benignly. 'Let's talk this over like rational men.'

When he could get his breath, Morrison did as he was told. Nightmares had to end some time, didn't they?

Quitters, Inc., Donatti had explained further, operated on a ten-step punishment scale. Steps six, seven, and eight consisted of further trips to the rabbit room (and increased voltage) and more serious beatings. The ninth step would be the breaking of his son's arms.

'And the tenth?' Morrison asked, his mouth dry.

Donatti shook his head sadly. 'Then we give up, Mr Morrison. You become part of the unregenerate two per cent.'

'You really give up?'

'In a manner of speaking.' He opened one of the desk drawers and laid a silenced .45 on the desk. He smiled into Morrison's eyes. 'But even the unregenerate two per cent never smoke again. We guarantee it.'

The Friday Night Movie was Bullitt, one of Cindy's favourites, but after an hour of Morrison's mutterings and fidgetings, her concentration was broken.

'What's the matter with you?' she asked during station identification.

'Nothing . . . everything,' he growled. 'I'm giving up smoking.'

She laughed. 'Since when? Five minutes ago?'

'Since three o'clock this afternoon.'

'You really haven't had a cigarette since then?'

'No,' he said, and began to gnaw his thumb-nail. It was ragged, down to the quick.

'That's wonderful! What ever made you decide to quit?'

'You,' he said. 'And. . . and Alvin.'

Her eyes widened, and when the movie came back on, she didn't notice. Dick rarely mentioned their retarded son. She came over, looked at the empty ashtray by his right hand, and then into his eyes: 'Are you really trying to quit, Dick?'

'Really.' And if I go to the cops, he added mentally, the local goon squad will be around to rearrange your face, Cindy.

'I'm glad. Even if you don't make it, we both thank you for the thought, Dick.'

'Oh, I think I'll make it,' he said, thinking of the muddy, homicidal look that had come into Donatti's eyes when he kicked him in the stomach.

He slept badly that night, dozing in and out of sleep. Around three o'clock he woke up completely. His craving for a cigarette was like a low-grade fever. He went downstairs and to his study. The room was in the middle of the house. No windows. He slid open the top drawer of his desk and looked in, fascinated by the cigarette box. He looked around and licked his lips.

Constant supervision during the first month, Donatti had said. Eighteen hours a day during the next two - but he would never know which eighteen. During the fourth month, the month when most clients backslid, the 'service' would return to twenty-four hours a day.

Then twelve hours of broken surveillance each day for the rest of the year. After that? Random surveillance for the rest of the client's life.

For the rest of his life.

'We may audit you every other month,' Donatti said. 'Or every other day. Or constantly for one week two years from now. The point is, you won't know. If you smoke, you'll be gambling with loaded dice. Are they watching? Are they picking up my wife or sending a man after my son right now? Beautiful, isn't it? And if you do sneak a smoke, it'll taste awful. It will taste like your son's blood.'

But they couldn't be watching now, in the dead of night, in his own study. The house was grave-quiet.

He looked at the cigarettes in the box for almost two minutes, unable to tear his gaze away. Then he went to the study door, peered out into the empty hall, and went back to look at the cigarettes some more. A horrible picture came: his life stretching before him and not a cigarette to be found. How in the name of God was he ever going to be able to make another tough presentation to a wary client, without that cigarette burning nonchalantly between his fingers as he approached the charts and layouts? How would he be able to endure Cindy's endless garden shows without a cigarette? How could he even get up in the morning and face the day without a cigarette to smoke as he drank his coffee and read the paper?

He cursed himself for getting into this. He cursed Donatti. And most of all, he cursed Jimmy McCann. How could he have done it?

The son of a bitch had known. His hands trembled in their desire to get hold of Jimmy Judas McCann.

Stealthily, he glanced around the study again. He reached into the drawer and brought out a cigarette. He caressed it, fondled it. What was that old slogan? So round, so firm, so fully packed. Truer words had never been spoken. He put the cigarette in his mouth and then paused, cocking his head.

Had there been the slightest noise from the closet? A faint shifting? Surely not. But -Another mental image - that rabbit hopping crazily in the grip of electricity. The thought of Cindy in that room -He listened desperately and heard nothing. He told himself that all he had to do was go to the closet door and yank it open. But he was too afraid of what he might find. He went back to bed but didn't sleep for a long time.

In spite of how lousy he felt in the morning, breakfast tasted good. After a moment's hesitation, he followed his customary bowl of cornflakes with scrambled eggs. He was grumpily washing out the pan when Cindy came downstairs in her robe.

'Richard Morrison! You haven't eaten an egg for break-fast since Hector was a pup.

Morrison grunted. He considered since Hector was a pup to be one of Cindy's stupider sayings, on a par with I should smile and kiss a pig.

'Have you smoked yet?' she asked, pouring orange juice.

'No.'

'You'll be back on them by noon,' she proclaimed airily. 'Lot of goddamn help you are!' he rasped, rounding on her. 'You and anyone else who doesn't smoke, you all think ah, never mind.'

He expected her to be angry, but she was looking at him F with something like wonder. 'You're really serious,' she said. 'You really are.'

'You bet I am.' You'll never know how serious. I hope.

'Poor baby,' she said, going to him. 'You look like death warmed over. But I'm very proud.' Morrison held her tightly.

Scenes from the life of Richard Morrison, October-November:

Morrison and a crony from Larkin Studios at Jack Dempsey's bar. Crony offers a cigarette. Morrison grips his glass a little more tightly and says: I'm quitting. Crony laughs and says: I give you a week.

Morrison waiting for the morning train, looking over the top of the Times at a young man in a blue suit. He sees the young man almost every morning now, and sometimes at other places. At Onde's, where he is meeting a client. Looking at 45s in Sam Goody's, where Morrison is looking for a Sam Cooke album. Once in a foursome behind Morrison's group at the local golf course.

Morrison getting drunk at a party, wanting a cigarette -but not quite drunk enough to take one.

Morrison visiting his son, bringing him a large ball that squeaked when you squeezed it. His son's slobbering, delighted kiss.

Somehow not as repulsive as before. Hugging his son tightly, realizing what Donatti and his colleagues had so cynically realized before him: love is the most pernicious drug of all. Let the romantics debate its existence. Pragmatists accept it and use it.

Morrison losing the physical compulsion to smoke little by little, but never quite losing the psychological craving, or the need to have something in his mouth - cough drops, Life Savers, a tooth-pick. Poor substitutes, all of them.

And finally, Morrison hung up in a colossal traffic jam in the Midtown Tunnel. Darkness. Horns blaring. Air stinking. Traffic hopelessly snarled. And suddenly, thumbing open the glove compartment and seeing the half-open pack of cigarettes in there. He looked at them for a moment, then snatched one and lit it with the dashboard lighter. If anything happens, it's Cindy's fault, he told himself defiantly. I told her to get rid of all the damn cigarettes.

The first drag made him cough smoke out furiously. The second made his eyes water. The third made him feel light-headed and swoony. It tastes awful, he thought.

And on the heels of that: My God, what am I doing?

Horns blatted impatiently behind him. Ahead, the traffic had begun to move again. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, opened both front windows, opened the vents, and then fanned the air helplessly like a kid who has just flushed his first butt down the john.

He joined the traffic flow jerkily and. drove home.

'Cindy?' he called. 'I'm home.' No answer.

'Cindy? Where are you, hon?'

The phone rang, and he pounced on it. 'Hello? Cindy?'

'Hello, Mr Morrison,' Donatti said. He sounded pleasantly brisk and businesslike. 'It seems we have a small business matter to attend to. Would five o'clock be convenient?'

'Have you got my wife?'

'Yes, indeed.' Donatti chuckled indulgently.

'Look, let her go,' Morrison babbled. 'It won't happen again. It was a slip, just a slip, that's all. I only had three drags and for God's sake it didn't even taste good!'

'That's a shame. I'll count on you for five then, shall I?'

'Please,' Morrison said, close to tears. 'Please -He was speaking to a dead line.

At 5p.m. the reception room was empty except for the secretary, who gave him a twinkly smile that ignored Morrison's pallor and dishevelled appearance. 'Mr Donatti?' she said into the intercom. 'Mr Morrison to see you.' She nodded to Morrison. 'Go right in.'

Donatti was waiting outside the unmarked room with a man who was wearing a SMILE sweatshirt and carrying a .38. He was built like an ape.

'Listen,' Morrison said to Donatti. 'We can work something out, can't we? I'll pay you. I'll-' 'Shaddap,' the man in the SMILE sweatshirt said.

'It's good to see you,' Donatti said. 'Sorry it has to be under such adverse circumstances. Will you come with me? We'll make this as brief as possible. I can assure you your wife won't be hurt. . . this time.' Morrison tensed himself to leap at Donatti.

'Come, come,' Donatti said, looking annoyed. 'If you do that, Junk here is going to pistol-whip you and your wife is still going to get it. Now where's the percentage in that?'

'I hope you rot in hell,' he told Donatti.

Donatti sighed. 'If I had a nickel for every time someone expressed a similar sentiment, I could retire. Let it be a lesson to you, Mr Morrison. When a romantic tries to do a good thing and fails, they give him a medal. When a pragmatist succeeds, they wish him in hell. Shall we go?'

Junk motioned with the pistol.

Morrison preceded them into the room. He felt numb.

The small green curtain had been pulled. Junk prodded him with the gun. This is what being a witness at the gas chamber must have been like, he thought.

He looked in. Cindy was there, looking around bewilderedly.

'Cindy!' Morrison called miserably. 'Cindy, they -'

'She can't hear or see you,' Donatti said. 'One-way glass. Well, let's get it over with. It really was a very small slip. I believe thirty seconds should be enough. Junk?'

Junk pressed the button with one hand and kept the pistol jammed firmly into Morrison's back with the other.

It was the longest thirty seconds of his life.

When it was over, Donatti put a hand on Morrison's shoulder and said, 'Are you going to throw up?'

'No,' Morrison said weakly. His forehead was against the glass. His legs were jelly. 'I don't think so.' He turned around and saw that

Junk was gone.

'Come with me,' Donatti said.

'Where?' Morrison asked apathetically.

'I think you have a few things to explain, don't you?'

'How can I face her? How can I tell her that I. . .I . . 'I think you're going to be surprised,' Donatti said.

The room was empty except for a sofa. Cindy was on it, sobbing helplessly.

'Cindy?' he said gently.

She looked up, her eyes magnified by tears. 'Dick?' she whispered. 'Dick? Oh . . . Oh God . . .' He held her tightly. 'Two men,' she said against his chest. 'In the house and at first I thought they were burglars and then I thought they were going to rape me and then they took me someplace with a blindfold over my eyes and. . . and. . . oh it was h-horrible -' 'Shhh,' he said. 'Shhh.'

'But why?' she asked, looking up at him. 'Why would they -'

'Because of me,' he said 'I have to tell you a story, Cindy -'

When he had finished he was silent a moment and then said, 'I suppose you hate me. I wouldn't blame you.'

He was looking at the floor, and she took his face in both hands and turned it to hers. 'No,' she said. 'I don't hate you.' He looked at her in mute surprise.

'It was worth it,' she said. 'God bless these people. They've let you out of prison.'

'Do you mean that?'

'Yes,' she said, and kissed him. 'Can we go home now? I feel much better. Ever so much.'

The phone rang one evening a week later, and when Morrison recognized Donatti's voice, he said, 'Your boys have got it wrong. I haven't even been near a cigarette.'

'We know that. We have a final matter to talk over. Can you stop by tomorrow afternoon?'

'Is it -,

'No, nothing serious. Book-keeping really. By the way, congratulations on your promotion.'

'How did you know about that?'

'We're keeping tabs,' Donatti said noncommittally, and hungup.

When they entered the small room, Donatti said, 'Don't look so nervous. No one's going to bite you. Step over here, please.'

Morrison saw an ordinary bathroom scale. 'Listen, I've gained a little weight, but -'

'Yes, seventy-three per cent of our clients do. Step up, please.' Morrison did, and tipped the scales at one seventy-four.

'Okay, fine. You can step off. How tall are you, Mr Morrison?'

'Five-eleven.'

'Okay, let's see.' He pulled a small card laminated in plastic from his breast pocket. 'Well, that's not too bad. I'm going to write you a prescrip for some highly illegal diet pills. Use them sparingly and according to directions. And I'm going to set your maximum weight at. . . let's see . .

He consulted the card again. 'One eighty-two, how does that sound? And since this is December first, I'll expect you the first of every month for a weigh-in. No problem if you can't make it, as long as you call in advance.'

'And what happens if I go over one-eighty-two?'

Donatti smiled. 'We'll send someone out to your house to cut off your wife's little finger,' he said. 'You can leave through this door, Mr Morrison. Have a nice day.' Eight months later:

Morrison runs into the crony from the Larkin Studios at Dempsey's bar. Morrison is down to what Cindy proudly calls his fighting weight: one sixty-seven. He works out three times a week and looks as fit as whipcord. The crony from Larkin, by comparison, looks like something the cat dragged in.

Crony: Lord, how'd you ever stop? I'm locked into this damn habit tighter than Tillie. The crony stubs his cigarette out with real revulsion and drains his scotch.

Morrison looks at him speculatively and then takes a small white business card out of his wallet. He puts it on the bar between them.

You know, he says, these guys changed my life.

Twelve months later:

Morrison receives a bill in the mail. The bill says:

QUITTERS, INC.

237 East 46th Street

New York, N.Y. 10017

1 Treatment $2500.00

Counsellor (Victor Donatti) $2500.00

Electricity $ .50

TOTAL (Please pay this amount) $5000.50

Those sons of bitches! he explodes. They charged me for the electricity they used to. . . to Just pay it, she says, and kisses him.

Twenty months later:

Quite by accident, Morrison and his wife meet the Jimmy McCanns at the Helen Hayes Theatre. Introductions are made all around.

Jimmy looks as good, if not better than he did on that day in the airport terminal so long ago. Morrison has never met his wife. She is pretty in the radiant way plain girls sometimes have when they are very, very happy.

She offers her hand and Morrison shakes it. There is something odd about her grip, and halfway through the second act, he realizes what it was. The little finger on her right hand is missing.

0 notes

amusewithaview · 7 years

Text

like a lazy ocean hugs the shore (darcy x namor)

A/N: this is a remix/redux of far beyond a star/near beyond the moon. This is for (and because of) @phoenix-173.

Darcy wasn’t really sure how she felt about moving to New York, specifically to Stark Tower. It wasn’t that she didn’t like cities, she loved them. It wasn’t even the proximity to Avengers and their related mayhem. She’d long since grown used to dealing with super-powered beings and their equally super-powered egos. No, the issue was the proximity to the ocean.

It didn’t make the dreams worse, but it did make them more frequent.

London was bad enough, but she had known London would be nothing more than a pit stop, a temporary stay. Darcy had hoped thought that Jane’s next posting would be somewhere more like New Mexico. Landlocked. She needed the break from the dreams and the never-ending call that echoed through them. The call that was made of ocean waves and a man’s voice, inextricably linked.

He’d spoken to her in dreams since her sixteenth birthday. Some kids got cars, Darcy got Namor, the King of Atlantis.

Her mother had sat her down three days prior, all fluttering hands and shifting eyes, unable to even look at her child when she laid out the bad news. Great-grandma Dorma had been Atlantean royalty, betrothed to marry the prince of the waters. There had been a civil war, years of fighting, during which she had explored further and further afield until she came upon humans and, like in all the best fairytales, Dorma fell in love.

“I’ve seen this movie,” teenage Darcy had snarked. “I liked it better with the singing crab.”

Delilah rolled her eyes extravagantly and huffed. “Honestly, Darcy, life isn’t all about men. Dorma fell in love with human culture. She loved our music and our dances, our food and our cities. She didn’t want to be a queen, she wanted to live. So she went to a sea witch.”

Darcy mimed a yawn.

Delilah’s eyes flashed. “Fine,” she said, “be a pest. The worse you are the easier it’ll be for you to convinced Him to give up on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The betrothal contract was signed in blood and magic, because of that Dorma couldn’t entirely get rid of it, it had to be fulfilled somehow. The King of Atlantis is owed a wife. She took the parts of her that were most strongly tied to that debt and left them in the magic’s keeping. They can only be claimed by one of her daughters, of daughters’ daughters - and so on. Your grandmother was already seeing your grandfather when she turned sixteen, she only had the dreams for a few days. I had them for two years.”

“Dreams?”

Her mother sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking up to stare at the ceiling. Her fingers set up a restless tapping, accompanied by the tinkle of her bangles shifting on her wrist. “His name is Namor,” she said after a moment. “He will tell you... all sorts of things.” She looked down again at Darcy, lips pursed. “I don’t know whether it’s better to warn you more or let it ride. Don’t agree to anything he offers. He’s tricky.”

“Mom, you can’t be serious,” she said.

“You’ll see,” Delilah said grimly. She shook her head, looking frustrated with herself, “Grandma explained it better. I tried.”

You didn’t try very hard, Darcy thought.

That night, she dreamt of drifting, a fathomless amount of time spent hanging in a formless space. It wasn’t pitch-black, but an ever-shifting cloud of darkness with just enough variation that she could track motion. Time passed, and eventually she felt something push up against her, closer than whatever force kept her afloat in this void. It wrapped around her like a blanket and then it made a sound sort of like a contented sigh.

Daughter of Dorma, a voice sighed. I have been waiting.

It was strange, as the voice spoke it went from a sense to actual words, from meaning she felt to sounds she heard. The man, the voice sounded male, had a warm tenor, the kind that resonated a little. It was a smooth, controlled voice, and the way he spoke was very deliberate, as if his words were chosen carefully and for maximum impact.

“My mother’s name is Delilah,” she said after a moment.

“Darcy, daughter of Delilah, daughter of Diana, daughter of Dorma. You are part of an unbroken chain, a lineage of women who forsook their duty.”

It was just insulting enough to make her grit her teeth. She bit back her first (colorful) response and instead remained silent, waiting.

He made a a soft sound of interest. “You are not what I expected from a daughter of Delilah,” he said after a moment.

Darcy smirked at the darkness around her because subverting expectations was her raison d’etre and that little trait had been inherited on both sides. “So, is this the part where you ask me to marry you and pull a reverse Little Mermaid?” she asked, her tone making it explicitly clear what she thought of that.

“No, this is the part where you wake up.”

He had woken her forty minutes before her alarm was due to go off. She wasn’t sure if it was deliberate or not, but - “He seems like an asshole,” was the first thing she said to her mother that morning.

Delilah looked relieved. “Well, if we’re lucky, you’ll only have to deal with him for a few years. Just... be careful.”

“King, huh? We elect our officials.”

“And how does that work out for you?”

“You know I’m not legally an adult, right?”

“If you were representative of the adults of humankind, I would consider waging war on the surface for their own good.”

“...go bite a fish.”

“So this ‘prom’ is a celebratory ball?”

“Kind of but not really.”

“A rite of passage?”

“Kind of?”

“Does it involve a feat of bravery? Test of skills?”

“...eh, close enough.”

“So you have visited the surface!”

“It has been decades, but yes.”

“Do anything interesting? Meet anyone famous?”

“There was a man, he was called ‘Captain America.’ I believe he achieved some notoriety among your kind. He was... a friend.”

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shut up, you did not meet Captain America!”

“Met and fought with, on multiple occasions.”

“Wow. Also, god, you’re old.”

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“...you choose these idioms merely to vex me.”

“Yeah, and you’re dodging the question.”

“I have a counsellor who may be planning a coup.”

“Yikes, that sounds bad.”

“It will be. For him.”

“He was not worthy of you.”

“Yeah. I get that. Still sucks.”

“...if he finds his way to the waters, it will not go well for him.”

“I appreciate the thought but please don’t drown my ex-boyfriend.”

“Hmph.”

“Namor.”

“As a favor to you, he may keep his wretched hide intact.”

“You’re a gentleman and a scholar.” Darcy made a mental note to avoid complaining about any other romantic entanglements. For their sake.

“So... I turn eighteen tomorrow.”

“As it is a birthday of some significance to your people, I wish you well.”

“Yeah, thanks. I was wondering... are you going to go away?”

“Your pardon?”

“You stopped bugging my mom when she turned eighteen, isn’t that the cut-off? The make-or-break day?”

“You thought-” soft laughter emanated from the darkness and Darcy got the vague sense of being hugged combined with gentle amusement. “Your mother had proven she was ill-suited for rule within a few months of our introduction. I continued to speak with her at the behest of my council. We have been many years without an heir, and at that time we were experiencing a period of unrest.”

“In other words-”

“No, I do not intend to sever our connection."

Her mother relaxed after her birthday. There was a weight that Darcy hadn’t noticed that seemed to disappear. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that the dreams - that Namor - never went away. The dreams remained as they always had: inconsistent, coming and going on a schedule she never fully understood. They were, at the same time, one of the only constants in her life.

“My dad died a week ago.” There was silence and a vague impression of waiting. Darcy’s words stuttered as if her breathing was ragged, though she’d long since given up trying to understand how speech worked in this dream space: “I didn’t really know him that well, so it’s not that I’m sad about actually losing someone close to me. I think - I think I’m sad about losing the idea of him.”

“A loss is a loss, whether you mourn the man or the father he might have been, you still mourn.”

“Yeah, I guess. Have you...? Sorry, stupid question, I know you’ve seen war.”

This time the pause was different, almost hesitant, though Darcy was reluctant to use that word to describe any aspect of Namor. “Your foremother...,” he said after a moment, “when she left for the surface I was... angry. I knew her as a friend and I...perhaps took her presence for granted. Once I was over my anger I found I did not miss her, I missed the reassurance she brought.”

“You missed the future queen, not the woman who was supposed to be queen.”

“Yes.”

“Dude, you realize that’s probably part of the reason she left, right?”

“I had, yes. Do not call me ‘dude.’”

“The salmon was... okay.”

“What else did you try?”

“Tuna and something called ‘white fish.’”

“Your thoughts?”

“It was good. I’d eat it again.” He didn’t say anything, but he emanated ‘I told you so’ so strongly that if she could have, she would have kicked him. “Someday you have to try a burger, fair is fair.”

“We shall see.”

“I’m changing my major again.” She got an impression of vague curiosity and interest. “To political science.” The interest sharpened. “Don’t get all weird about it, there’re some really good professors here and I want to take advantage. I’m going to keep the religious studies as a minor.”

“To go with your philosophy minor.”

“...and the culture studies minor. The system maxes at three.” There was a strong impression of satisfaction that made Darcy bristle. “Stop that,” she said. “I told you not to get all weird about it! I’m just studying what interests me.”

“What interests you interests me,” he all but purred. Then, before she could retort, “Will this extend the duration of your studies further?”

“Yeah, another year. My dad left enough money that I can swing it, barely.”

“If that becomes an issue, know that what treasures I have are at your disposal. Your education is important.”

“...thanks. That offer sounds like a fish with a hook in it.”

“Another idiom? How quaint.”

“You know, I realized, you’re probably my best friend.”

“Good.”

“Really?”

“Yes, this pleases me.”

“Am I your best friend?”

“You are my closest confidant.”

“You’re being cagey.”

“’Friend’ is, perhaps, not the word I would choose, no.”

“What would you-” she woke up scowling. Cagey bastard.

“It just seems a little... extreme?”

“You would have me be lenient.”

“Well, yes. It sounds like it was a first offense and the evidence you’ve described is mainly hearsay. I mean, obviously I don’t know anywhere near as much as you do about the parties involved, but as an impartial-”

“You have made your point.”

“And the guard who oversaw the trade? What’s going to happen to him?”

“I had not decided, you have thoughts?”

“Do I ever... Um. Is this helpful? You were just venting, I didn’t mean to derail you, I just wanted to be a shoulder.”

“Idioms,” he sighed. “You have a different perspective. I may not always agree, but I benefit from your words, if only as another view of the problem. You have, as you have said, no horse in the race. It is...refreshing.”

“Aw, now who’s using idioms?”

“It’s been almost a month.”

“I know.”

“It’s - we’ve never gone that long without-”

“I know,” he said tersely.

“Did something... happen?”

“You are too far.”

“I didn’t know that was even possible.”

“Neither did I.”

“...I’ve missed you,” she admitted.

“And I, you,” he said, and she felt warmth blossom from without and within.

“Something has happened.”

“Understatement.”

“What happened, Darcy?”

She gathered herself, anticipating his reaction. “So,” she started cheerfully, “you remember that internship?”

“Yes. You are still in the desert,” he said, words clipped.

“I... yeah. You can tell?”

“Yes.”

“Anyways... I met a god? His name was Thor. He fell from the sky and the whole town nearly got destroyed and my boss’s work was stolen and there were government agents everywhere - it was nuts!”

“You were in danger, why?”

“Well, I mean, everyone was in danger, not just me specifically.”

“You did not go on the battlefield?”

“...Technically-”

“How much longer?”

“What?”

“Your internship, its duration and the fulfillment of your degree requirements. How much longer?”

“The internship runs through the end of May, then I’m all done.”

“And what do you intend to do at that time?”

“I’m not... I might stay on with Jane,” she said in a rush.

“Why?”

“Well... her work is interesting. I’m - I feel useful here.” She snorted. “Plus, it’s not like I’ve gotten any better offers, so-” Her words cut off there as she felt something. It was like pressure hitting peak and then suddenly she was being inundated with feelings.

“No better offers?” Namor inquired silkily, but behind his words was a wealth of incredulity and anger and regret and other feelings, less clear, muddied by the overwhelming frustration that was at the forefront.

Darcy was left reeling. “I-”

“You would be queen,” he said softly but intensely. The emotions she’d been sensing cut off with all of the suddenness of a switch being flipped. It was a relief, his words alone were drenched in so much feeling she was dizzy with it. “You could never be bored, not with all the oceans to explore, all the many peoples you would find, the new things to learn. You would be eminently useful, as a council member, ruling at my side. You are the partner I was promised. This offer has been waiting for you for years, you have not been ready to take it.”

“But that’s - I’m not-” She felt shaky, jittery, too much going through her mind but too little sticking around long enough to develop into coherent thought. “Queen and wife,” she said at last, quietly. “I don’t know - do you even care for me, I mean, in that way?”

There was a crystal clear moment of such perfect shock and disbelief that she started to try and wake herself up to avoid potential embarrassment. She felt him reach out to her retreating consciousness and grab hold, keeping her cradled in the warm and dark of their private dream space. Then he opened the floodgates and Darcy could feel every single thing he felt for her: pride so strong it made her blush, fondness saturating every action and word, a strain of tenderness kept well-hidden, though not so well as the desire and abject want that had her shivering in reaction.

“Such confessions as you ask of me are best delivered in person, where more than our minds can meet. I would have you, as wife and queen, as the daughter of Dorma and a promise fulfilled, but more importantly as your self. I cherish you, and my only regret in our interactions is that I have not made that more clear.”

He released his hold on her then and let her flee to wakefulness with his words resounding in her mind and heart like a bell struck. From that moment, everything changed. From that moment, it wasn’t a question of if, but when.

“Are you scared of the ocean?” Jane asked her once, just after the move to New York. “You always stare at the water but you never go near it.”

“Not scared, exactly,” Darcy hedged. “I just have a healthy respect for the water and all its creatures. It’d be way too easy to get pulled under, and there are all sorts of currents we can’t see. I’ll steer clear.

It was the middle of the day, but she could have sworn she heard the echo of masculine laughter.

“Remember that conversation, all those months ago, about the ocean and how I don’t mess with it?” Darcy asked, eyes shut as she tried to ignore the sway of the sinking boat beneath her feet.

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. "I would like to take this moment to say that your concerns about currents was valid and I am now equally concerned.”

“Probably not equally,” she muttered. “This is such bullshit, though. I mean, what are the odds that the baddie of the week with a mad-on for Thor would live in a freaking houseboat?”

“Slim to none.”

“But the whole water thing. God, he’s never going to let me live this down,” Darcy said, now edging up onto a cot as best she could considering her arms were shackled to the wall. “I’ve been bleeding into the water for at least a minute or two. Since whenever the water reached us. Not enough that I’m worried about sharks, but enough.”

“Enough for what?” Jane asked cautiously.

As if on queue, there was a loud crunching noise and then a man burst through one side of the room, bringing with him a deluge of water.

“Hi, honey,” Darcy called with a quavering sort of bravado. He was here, in the waking world and not in her dream. The reality of him, the intensity of his presence, the intelligence in his face, the physicality on display, was overwhelming. “You miss me?”

“You are in danger, again,” he snarled, taking the room in at a glance before stalking over to Darcy and unceremoniously ripping her chains off the wall. He reached out and gently ran his fingers over her skull, scowling when he reached the bleeding bump on her head, before cupping her cheek.

She shivered under his touch and was momentarily grateful that her pupils were already dilated from the dim interior. The chill would camouflage any other obvious reactions to his presence. He was both familiar and un, every part of his person matched up with the voice that had lived in her head for over a decade. There were new things to catalogue, though: physical tells she hadn’t had access to in the dream space, reactions he could no longer hide.

“I would have waited for you to come to me,” he said.

“I know.”

“But now-”

“I know,” she said. “And we can talk about it in a minute, but first can you get Janie and me out of here?”

Namor turned to Jane, eyes narrowed. “This is the scientist.”

“Glare later, help now,” she said firmly, barely restraining the urge to lean against him and borrow some of his equilibrium.

He pursed his lips, frowning and gently guided Darcy along beside him until he reached Jane and could rip her chains off the wall as well. He removed the manacles at her wrists, tearing the metal away as if it was tissue paper. Once freed, he wrapped an arm around each woman, Darcy nearly plastered to his side while Jane was held much less close, and pulled them towards the hole he’d made in the hull.

“Deep breath, Janie!” Darcy shouted just before they hit the water.

They reached the beach in mere moments, nowhere near long enough for Darcy, who had never been in the ocean before. Darcy, who had never even been swimming before. Darcy, who had not realized that the peaceful drifting she had experienced in the dream space was the barest echo of the true wonder of being cradled and kept by the ocean.

Jane staggered onto the sand and flopped down, gasping for air, while Darcy stood knee-deep in the waves. Part of her, a large part, wanted to dive back in head first. The rest of her remembered things like friends, family, responsibilities, and not becoming a statistic. It helped that Namor’s arm was still wrapped around her waist, supporting her and providing, ironically enough, a grounding presence. Being in his arms now was strikingly similar to the feel of the dream space, but more immediate, their contact set off sparks enough that she wondered if her hair would stand on end if it was dry.

“So, about that confession-”

He tangled his fingers in her wet hair and tilted her face up to his own, pressing his lips to hers. It was surprisingly gentle for the moment, sweet and soft and over far too quickly. Her eyes fluttered open afterwards to find his face inches from hers.

“You are each of the things I wanted and everything I never thought to ask for,” he murmured into the space between them. “If anything were to happen to you, I would take a consort out of necessity, but the throne I built for you would remain empty till the end of my reign. I love you, Darcy.”

And everything inside of Darcy said yes.

A second after that, her skin started to glow. It grew brighter and brighter until she shut her eyes and buried her face against Namor’s chest. The light was accompanied by a tingling coolness that started at her extremities and coursed to her center before echoing back to the bounds of her skin. This happened over and over till every part of her seemed to be ringing. Then it cut off so suddenly and jarringly that she might have fallen without Namor to hold her up.

Darcy blinked, the world seemed slightly... different. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was a promise fulfilled,” he said, half joyful and half triumphant.

#amuse writes stuff #darcy lewis #namor mckenzie #darcy x namor #darcy is descended from dorma #magic bonds #still not entirely happy with the ending but i am tired so #may touch up later #basically darcy accepted the proposal at the end and so poof #she gets all of dorma's magic and undersea abilities #queen darcy

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gleefuldarrencrissfan · 7 years

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Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Glee Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Characters: Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez, Sue Sylvester, Brittany S. Pierce, Artie Abrams, Carmen Tibideaux, Jesse St. James, Quinn Fabray, Sam Evans, Mercedes Jones, Kitty Wilde, Sebastian Smythe, Jake Puckerman, Marley Rose, Ryder Lynn, Will Schuester, Emma Pillsbury, Coach Beiste Additional Tags: Competition, Reality TV, Alternate Universe, Eventual Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson & Sam Evans Friendship, Kurt Hummel & Rachel Berry friendship, Duet, Slow Burn Summary:

“Noah, take a seat,” Carmen ordered.

“I prefer Puck.”

“We don’t really care what you prefer,” Sue sneered. “Do you want to tell us why you think you’re here today?”

“Because you want to tell me how much the viewers loved my badassness?” Puck replied with a small chuckle.

“Actually, it’s due to your inability to keep it in your pants,” Jesse retorted..

“Woah, what am I being accused of?” Puck inquired.

“Are you, the self-proclaimed ‘sex shark’, trying to claim that you haven’t slept with a contestant?” Sue taunted.

“No, I really haven’t yet,” Puck claimed.

“So it’s just a judge, then?” Sue accused.

“W-what, Puck stammered?

“Do you admit it, or do we have to bring out the evidence,” Sue threatened.

“What am I admitting to?”

“Let’s just say you are guilty of multiple infractions?” Carmen stated.

“Huh?” Puck said, scratching his head.

“What she means is that you are in breach of your contract on multiple accounts,” Wesley stated.

“Just tell me straight what I supposedly did, dude. I haven’t done anything inappropriate in the house.” Puck huffed.

“Yes, technically, you didn’t do anything in the house, unless you count the pool house, which I had bugged, by the way,” Sue revealed with sly grin. “So cut the bull, Mr. T, and admit what you did.”

Puck gulped. “Well, Ms. July and I got a little wasted in the pool house a few times. For such a little chick, she can hold her alcohol even better than me. We played some drinking games, and I have to honestly say I don’t remember everything we did afterwards, except retching in the pool. I did clean it afterwards though, free of charge,” he smirked.

“Mr. Puckerman, I’m afraid that won’t do you any good. Although thank you for not leaving it in the pool. Although, mightn’t it have been a good idea to clean up the pool house too?” Carmen asked.

“Uh, yeah, that might have been a better plan,” he admitted. “So I’m getting booted over a few drinks and getting freaky with the hot judge?”

“Mr. Puckerman, we told you, we actually have some other infractions that could actually get you incarcerated,” Wes warned, “but we won’t press charges if you come clean about them all and leave quietly. No one can know you made the show. We are spinning it as if you were cut in the audition rounds.”

“Pressing charges for drinking and a couple of blow jobs?” Puck asked. “Which of those is illegal? I’m over 21.”

“You broke your contractual agreement of sobriety, not to mention using illegal substances. Cannabis is illegal here.”

“Huh?”

“Pot, Puckerman,” Jesse answered.

“Oh, I thought it was legal here. Mr….I mean, the person that sold it to me said that it was ok if it was medicinal.”

“Ignorance and stupidity is not a medical condition,” Sue snarked. “And you are lucky we aren’t pressing charges. We heard that you don’t do well locked up.” Sue held up an envelope. That scar on your nipple. I can’t believe you had that thing put back in after those hoods ripped it out when you were in Juvie. And now you need to spill the rest of your indiscretions. What about the Prom Queen?”

“I didn’t have sex with her. I wanted to, but that girl is uptight, although I don’t think I’m the only one on the chopping block if you really want to throw out anyone playing hide the sausage.”

“That is no concern to you, Mr. Puckerman. You have committed multiple infractions, therefore, you are dismissed,” Madam Tibbideux explained. “You need to collect your belongings and leave the premises immediately.”

“Wait, I’m off the show?”

“Yea, Mr. T, you are. “Now, get the hell out of my office and the house. You have five minutes before I allow Becky to get out the matches,” Sue warned.

“But wait, you guys were serious about all of that? Like I said, I didn't actually tap that. I mean she did play with my…”

“Mr. Puckerman, you are dismissed. Good day to you, sir,” Carmen asserted.

“Alright, let’s go!” Shannon barked, escorting him out of Sue’s office.

“Man, this is bull!” he yelled,storming out of the office and nearly slamming into Kurt.

“Puck, are you ok?” Kurt asked.

“I’m out man. Hopefully, you and Curly bow tie boy didn’t do the dirty in the pool house. She has it totally bugged, man.”

“Um, no. I can’t say that I did,” Kurt answered. “I’m not really sure why I’m here.”

“I don’t know, but apparently, I have 5 minutes to get my stuff out or Sue’s gonna burn it, so I gotta go. Good luck man.”

Puck was being sent home? Kurt’s mind began to race. What if they regretted hiring him as a stylist? What if they decided to send him home after the situation with Sebastian? Kurt’s anxiety began to rush over him until he was a quivering bundle of nerves. He just got back here, and he didn’t want to leave again.

“Come in, Mr. Hummel,” Carmen summoned.

“Did I do something wrong?” The countertenor questioned

“No, we just wanted to inform you that you were an absolute hit on Twitter. Audiences loved you. And we haven’t really announced this to the other contestants yet, but unfortunately, we dismissed Mr. Puckerman due to breach of contract. That leaves his spot vacant, that is, unless you would like to rejoin the contestants on the show.”

“Really? I’m back on the show?” Kurt gushed. His nerves instantly relaxed, and he sat down calmly in an empty chair.

“Well, Mr. Hummel, audiences were impressed with your talent and your personality. And the other contestants love you. We hated that you left the show, and honestly, you would be helping us out so that we have even numbers again. What do you say?” Carmen asked.

“Yes, absolutely!” Kurt smiled. “I’d love to.”

“Now, before we make it official, we have to have you look back over the contract again. We are very serious with all of the stipulations that you agreed to. So before you accept, we need to address the allegations of a possible relationship with Elliott Gilbert,” Wes stated.

“We’re just friends,” the brunette answered. “Then, how do you explain this,” Sue asked, turning around the monitor of the PC screen. It was a very clear photo of the kiss between himself and Elliott.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Kurt started to explain.

“Really, because it looks like you and Glitter Rock are playing tonsil hockey,” Sue taunted.

“He kissed me, but it was because he was trying to get a guy to leave me alone. He thought if he claimed to be my boyfriend, the other guy would back off. Besides, Mr. Thompson informed me that dating a crew member was not against the rules. However, I’m not nor will I see a co-worker.”

“Very well, Mr. Hummel. Well, we need you to read back over the contract and give us an answer as quickly as possible. If we extended this to you, could you commit to it?” Carmen asked.

“I think so, but I would like to run it by my dad. I’d be leaving him again. And I really don’t think I could abide by the family contact clause. I really would need to check in with him daily.”

“Done. We installed computers and set up email accounts. We could make an exception so that you could email your father daily to check in for peace of mind. Any other concerns?” Madam Tibbideaux asked.

“Mr. Smythe,” Kurt answered.

“I’m sorry, but he’s a contestant too, and so far, he hasn’t broken his contract. For this next performance, we will pair you with Puckerman’s partner, Finn Hudson. Is that ok? I know that puts you at a slight disadvantage, but we will help you in any way possible.”Carmen assured him with a soft smile.

“No, that’s fine. Finn is a great guy, and I think we’ll sound amazing together,” Kurt smiled.

“Very good then. As for Mr. Smythe, we can try to make sure that you two don’t room together or get paired for a duet, but that’s the best we can do,” Carmen sympathized. “Although, we are confident that you can handle him. I heard he’s been a lot more corrigible since the little incident, ” she smiled knowingly.

“Yeah, it was pretty unfortunate. Red definitely wasn’t his color,” he chuckled nervously.

“No it wasn’t,” Carmen smiled. “Welcome back, Mr. Hummell.

“Come on in, and take a seat,” Carmen told the blonde. “We need to have a serious talk.” The dancer looked around, and seeing Wes Montgomery, one of the show’s attorney’s,she hesitated to sit. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, but we need to discuss your contract with the show. You have been in breach of your contract several times, and we have decided that you are no longer a fit for this production,” Mr. Figgins explained calmly.

“Excuse me? I’m being fired! she screamed. “How dare you? Over what?”

“Ms. July. We ask you to hold your temper,” Wes advised. “You know that there have been several incidences, and lately, you haven’t really been executing your duties with the professionalism that you are required to exhibit as a judge on this show. You have arrived late, clearly intoxicated.”

“What I do on my own time is my own business,” Cassie objected angrily. “I have a life, and I’m not a contestant. I didn’t have to sign a contract about my use of substances. I’m of legal age to drink.”

“Yes, but marijuana is still illegal. Not to mention, we have reason to believe that you have been not only smoking it, but you have also been behaving inappropriately with a contestant.”

She walked right over to Sue and stuck her finger directly in her face. “Excuse me! How dare you accuse me of such nonsense,” she warned. Ms. July’s face was bright red with rage as she, for a moment, took her hands and started pushing things off of Mr. Figgin’s desk. A cell phone hit the ground.

Sue slapped her finger away from her nose. “Watch it Roxie! You might want to pick that up and push play,” Sue said. “I’d say the nonsense is what came out of your mouth.”

Cassie pushed play and listened. The video was blurry, and you couldn’t actually see who was making the racket. “Seriously, this is what you are using to prove this was me. That doesn’t really sound like me. You can’t prove that this is me at all.”

“Actually we can. Mr. T squealed, kinda like you did in this video,” Sue smirked.

“It wasn’t me.” Cassie said, rolling her eyes.

“Then explain why your hair was found in the poolhouse,” Sue chided.

“Like I’m the only blonde,” she sneered.

“Yours is the longest and dirtiest,” Sue pointed out.

“What about the dancer chick? Or the mouthy chick. Or the Prom Queen. They are all blondes.

Sue leaned over and snatched a strand of hair from Cassie’s head. “None of their hair samples match this one, Sue cackled, tossing the baggie on the table. “Seriously, what were you thinking? Sleeping with a contestant!”

“You still don’t have proof that we actually slept together,” Cassie argued.

“No, and we don’t need it because just you fraternizing with him and using illegal substances is enough to terminate you,” Mr. Figgins explained. “Ms. July, you need to remove your personal effects and leave the premises immediately.”

“Whatever, I hated this gig anyway,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and slamming the door behind her.

“Well, that actually went better than I would have imagined,” Carmen commented. “I know she has a history of lashing out. Do you have a replacement in mind? The live shows start next week.”

“Yeah, we are looking at a few, but actually we thought we might try a celebrity judge or two,” Mr. Figgins commented. “With your contacts, I know that you could help us find a few people.”

“I know quite a few celebrities as well. I once shot a video of ‘Physical’ right along with the original Ms. Olivia Newton John,” Sue gloated. “Not to mention, I personally know Michael Bolton.”

“Great,” Carmen commented. “So are we ready to make the adjustments for the show tonight?” Carmen asked.

“I think we have it covered.”

“Wait right here!” Shannon barked. “And no funny business!”

“The two blondes shook a little at her order.”

“What’s going on? the blonde girl asked.

“Do you think they know. I mean, Puck is packin’ right now. I can’t believe he’s leaving. The show didn’t even officially start, and they just sent him home. I mean, I know that he was rough around the edges, but he was a good guy,” Sam said.

The skinny blonde nodded. “He is, surprisingly, Quinn admitted. “I mean, he was a total player though. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Guppy mouth, Feberge’, get your butts in here. You want to explain this?” Sue held up the baggie. “At first, I thought the Prom Queen and Geronimo were knocking boots, but we found this long blonde hair in the bathroom. No big deal. The same girl lost a couple strands of hair, except that they don’t come from the same head, DNA doesn’t lie. So why would your hair be found together, on the same towel.

“Sam loaned me his towel after I got out of the hot tub. He was about to get in, but I forgot my towel so he lent me his. My back was hurting due to my injury, and his muscles were sore from overdoing it in dance rehearsal. He was being sweet,” Quinn explained quickly.

“Oh, well that makes sense,” Sue said. “So you just gave him the towel to use after you dried off you drenched hair.”

“Well, I’m sure that the steam from the hot tub dried that towel right up. I offered to bring him another, but he’s such a gentlemen. He told me that he would just use that one so I didn’t have to go get from from the dryer,” Quinn explained.

“And the sore muscles and back pain, that’s what all the moans and giggles were about, right?” Sue inquired.

“Exactly, Sam grinned. “She gave me a shoulder rub.”

“And what else did she rub while you were in the hottub together?” Sue asked slyly.

Sam frowned. “Nothing.”

“So you didn’t have sex?”

“Of course not,” Quinn answered with a smile.

‘Very good, Queenie. I almost believed your little act of innocence, that is, if we didn’t have audio of your squeaky little voices on the camera. And here you were badmouthing Stegasaurus Head for being a manwhore when you were doing the dirty with his friend.

“Ms. Sylvester, we really didn’t sleep together,” Sam reiterated what Quinn had said earlier.

“And you expect me to digest that steaming pile of horse poo you just tried to shovel down my throat. Seriously?”

“Yes, we do.” Quinn answered.

“And why would I?” Sue questioned.

“Because Quinn is a tease,” Sam blurted. “And I’m not a manwhore.

“So much for being a gentleman, Sam,” Quinn accused, rolling her eyes.

“Well, what else do I call it? All you ever let us do was make out. I could barely touch you,” Sam replied.

“Whatever, Sam. Mrs. Sylvester, you aren’t really going to toss us over this? Seriously?” Quinn asked.

“No, but don’t think that just because you two didn’t actually do the nasty, you get to get off scott free?”

“You’re going to kick us out?” Sam asked, frowning.

“No, but only because you both were too pathetic to actually get down and dirty, but mark my words, there will come a time I may need your assistance, which I will expect your total allegiance, unless you want this released,” Sue warned. As she was talking to them, her foot grabbed Quinn’s purse strap and casually pulled it under her desk so that the blonde didn’t see it.

“Meaning?” asked Sam.

“I’m doing you a favor. I may need you to do one for me,” she smiled slyly. “This is a warning. If it happens again, you are out on your ass. Clear?”

Sam nodded. Quinn stared at her stoned faced.

“Now, get the hell out of my office,” Sue roared.

Sam turned quickly to head for the door. He motioned for Quinn to go first, and he exited behind her closely.

“That was close!” Sam sighed.

“She’s not going to kick us out. They wouldn’t have enough people for the show,” Quinn reasoned. “She’s just trying to intimidate us.”

“I can do intimidations. Alright, alright, alright. Let’s go play the bongos with our shirts off,” he smirked, trying to sound like Matthew Mcconaughey.

“Uh, really Sam? That’s what you say immediately after we about get kicked off of the show?” Quinn said, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, Barbie, get your butt back in here. You forgot something?” Becky screamed.

“Oh, I forgot my purse. Go on without me Sam,” She assured him.

Quinn walked right in grinning slying, not waiting for Becky to see her in. “So what did you want that you couldn’t say in front of Sam?”

“Q, you’re smart, but you underestimate me. I know you and Beiber hair didn’t have sex, but I know you aren’t as innocent as you claim to be. Actually, from what I understand you were a grade A bitch in school, just like one Sue sylvester.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Quinn remarked.

“Oh, no dear, you are just like me, in that we both use our beauty and intelligence to get what we want. And you have something I want.”

“And what makes you think you can manipulate me?” Quinn challenged, her hands on her hips.

“How old is Beth now?” Sue questioned, tossing a file folder on the table.

“How did you know about Beth?”

“I told you. I know how to get what I want. I also know that you don’t necessarily care about winning this. You just want to get back at your ex, and you wanted to make a name for yourself. Which won’t happen if you get eliminated now?’

“What do you want?” Quinn asked through gritted teeth.

Sue tossed a cell phone on the table. “Put it on silent. If it vibrates, you answer it.”

“Alright contestants. Round two of the Twitter-off is about to commence. Before this airs, we know that you are fully aware that Mr. Puckerman is no longer a contestant on the show,” Carmen stated. “Please heed the example and make sure that you are abiding by all of the terms in your contract. That being said, it left us with a vacancy, so without further ado, we would like to welcome back Mr. Hummel.”

Kurt stepped into the room, smiling directly at Blaine.

“Frankenteen, Kurt will take Smuckerman’s place in your duet,” Jesse snickered. “I hope that your song calls for Alvin, Simon, and Theodore.”

“Um, we were doing ‘We Will Rock You.’ Is that in your wheelhouse?” Finn asked Kurt nervously.

“I actually have a pretty wide range. It extends almost 3 octaves, so I think our ranges are similar. I actually have an idea that I think will work,” Kurt smiled.

“Cool dude,” Finn smirked, stepforward to fistbump Kurt.

“Alright, moving on. Our live show airs soon. We have some changes we would like to discuss. We have also decided that Sue will stay on the judging panel with Mr. St. James and I,” Carmen explained. “However, we have excused Ms. July from the judging panel due to some issues that we will not discuss. We have decided, instead of hiring a new judge, we will have guest celebrity judges each week. And regarding the vacated stylist job, Mr. Hummel has agreed to help you with your look as much as he can, but we have given his clients out to his assistant, Chandler. If there are no questions, we will move on,” remarked Carmen.

“Why did Puck leave?” asked Brittany.

“We aren’t going to go into details, but he was in violation of his contract. That’s all I’m going to disclose. Any other questions not pertaining to the departures of Ms. July or Mr. Puckerman?” Carmen asked.

Nobody uttered a word. “Very well. Moving on to the show tonight. The pace of the show is a little slower, so you should have a little time to type out more this time than last. Please remember the guidelines about acceptable tweets, as opposed to inappropriate comments. If you have any hateful or inappropriate comments directed at you, do not take the bait and alert us immediately. Do not tweet that you made the show until we reveal it at the end of the show. And you don’t have to answer every tweet. If they ask personal questions, you may answer at your discretion, but we do have your profile pages going up tomorrow, so you can direct them to check that out tomorrow.”

“Alright, we have to excuse ourselves but our tech guru and his assistant is back to help you again,” Jesse added.

Jacob walked into the room, his eyes focused on Rachel. He waved tentatively. “Alright, everybody. We have 12 laptops, so we will have to disperse them to the girls first, because their footage is first. After your footage is over, you might want to pass it on. A few of the guys that tweeted from the crew and band are here once again to tweet to keep the audience in suspense until the last moment, so make sure that you don’t reveal anything about any of the current contestants until it has been announced if someone made the show or not. Regarding Noah Puckerman, he composed a tweet before he left, which Lauren will post for him. No one else is to tweet about his departure. Understood?” The contestants nodded, and the laptops were dispersed among the girls.

Dueling Duets- Rachel Berry:

Hello again. My performance is coming up, so I wanted to let you know that I was already here, ready to chat.

Dueling Duets- Rachel Berry:

I bet that you are curious about what I chose to sing.

-SantanaLopez reply @ Rachel Berry:

And I’ll take that bet that most people don’t care.

Pendleton reply @ Santana Lopez:

I don’t. I’m here for all of the hotties.

-GerberbabyHarmony reply @ Santana Lopez:

Yeah! Bring on the cutie with the triangle eyebrows and the cute bowties

-Skank Shelia reply @ Santana Lopez:

and the hottie with the auburn hair and blue, green, gray eyes.

--Skank Ronnie reply @ Skank Shelia:

Both gay! Remember!

--Skank Shelia reply @ Skank Ronnie:

Yeah, whatever! They are probably just saying that so that we won’t hassle them.

Dueling Duets- Rachel Berry:

Kurt was my roommate. Trust me. It’s not a put on. He’s perfect gold star gay.

-LittleSunShine reply@ Rachel Berry:

Well, shoot.

Dueling Duets- Tina Cohen Chang:

Sorry ladies. They both said they were gay to me. But I get it. I thought they were both attractive too.

--LittleSunshine reply @ Tina Cohen Chang:

I bet they’d make a cute couple. They are so adorable!

--GerberBabyHarmony reply @ LittleSunshine:

I’d ship them. Awwww!

--AdamsApple reply @ GerberBabyHarmony:

It is my recollection from last night’s tweets that contestants can’t date one another. Pity!

--LittleSunshine reply @ LittleSunshine:

Well, shoot! :-( Both such cuties.

--AdamsApple reply @ GerberBabyHarmony:

I’d have to disagree. Kurt is gorgeous! The other one looks a little too much like a pigmy for my taste.

Pendleton reply @ AdamsApple:

Gel-ous much! Get it, because of all of the gel. :-)

Dueling Duets- Rachel Berry:

Anyways, back to the performances. Though I have to say my performance of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” was unmatched.

Mercedes Jones reply @ Rachel Berry:

Oh, Hell to the No girl. Let the tweeters decided.

-- BeatricefutureDuetsStar@ Mercedes Jones:

Your performance on last night’s show was amazing. I can’t wait to see what song you do.

-- BeatricefutureDuetsStar@ Mercedes Jones:

I want to be on the show so bad. I practiced all summer long. I didn’t make it past the first round.

-- BeatricefutureDuetsStar@ Mercedes Jones:

Any advice?

Mercedes Jones reply @ BeatriceFutureDuetsStar:

Practice everyday. Join a glee club or choir and surround yourself with other passionate people.

--Rachel Berry reply @ BeatriceFutureDuetsStar:

I agree with Mercedes. Pick a few great songs, and practice, practice, practice.

Rachel Berry reply @ BeatriceFutureDuetsStar:

-- I used to post performances on Myspace and Youtube.

--Mercedes Jones reply @ Rachel Berry:

She wasn’t asking you.

Dueling Duets- Mercedes Jones:

However, Rachel isn’t wrong. It’s important to have some great songs in your wheelhouse.

Dueling Duets- Mercedes Jones:

-That’s why I picked Ain’t No Way by my idol, Aretha Franklin for this final performance.

-LittleSunShine reply@ Mercedes Jones:

You sound incredible. I bet you would sound great on Beyonce songs too.

Kurt sat quietly on the couch and watched some of the tweets shoot across the screen. He was so caught up in the show, that he didn’t even realize that someone had sat down right beside him. “Hey Kurt,” the dark haired boy said as he patted Kurt’s knee.

“Oh hey, Kurt squealed a little louder than he meant.

“I heard the exciting news. You’re back on the show. That’s great! I missed you so much!” Blaine smiled, engulfing Kurt in a hug.

“I missed you too. I’m excited,” Kurt squeaked. ”Although I am a little worried about the duet. Finn is great, but I’m no rock and roller.

“I beg to differ. You were quite the rock star the other night,” Elliott responded, walking over to Kurt.

“Hey Elliott,” Blaine smiled. “What’s this about Rockstar Kurt?”

“Oh, Kurt and I did a duet the other night. A song called Rockstar. And Kurt was fantastic.”

“But of course he was. Kurt is fabulous. Although, I’ve never heard him sing a rock song before. I’m kinda jealous,” Blaine pouted.

“Oh, I think everyone was jealous, after he swung around that pole like that,” Sugar blurted, pulling out her phone. “It was pretty hot!”

Blaine cocked his eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

“For real, Ladylips?” asked Santana, nearly dropping the Laptop., “You on a stripper pole? I didn’t know you had it in you. You just gave off this baby penguin vibe.”

“No baby penguin here, honey. Just look at this hotness!” Unique said, scrolling through each picture on Sugar’s phone. Apparently the idea of Kurt getting his stripper act on was more intriguing than the show, and Jacob had to tell the girls to focus.

“Oops, I gotta tweet, baby. There’s just a few more if you just want to hand Sugar her phone back when you are done.

“Damn, Kurt!” Blaine chuckled. “I thought you said you were uncomfortable with sexy. You certainly have me fooled,” Blaine chuckled nervously as he scrolled through the pictures of the sweet, innocent boy that he was crushing on so much. Although in those pictures, there was nothing angelic at all. They was absolutely sinful. Damn those photos. Blaine crossed his legs trying once again to conceal his lust for the now blushing boy beside him. He noted how Elliott was even more flirty toward him than usual. He tried to shrug it off. Elliott flirted with everyone, right?

That was, until he scrolled to the final picture. Without saying a word, Blaine sat the phone on the couch arm, stood up, and walked out of the room.

“I wonder what that was about? He seemed upset.” Elliott chuckled, until he lifted the phone and saw what had caused the reaction. “Um Kurt, did you look at the final photo?” Elliott asked nervously.

“No, why?” Kurt answered, but he didn’t need an answer. On the screen in front of him was a photo of he and Elliott, lips interlocked in a searing kiss. The phone slipped out of Kurt’s hand as a look of sheer panic spread across his face.

“Crap! Blaine!” Kurt called. “Blaine wait!” He yelled, running after him.

#klaine fanfiction #glee fanfiction

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