#lost a huge amount of respect for some of the drivers i actually liked before | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact.

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication.

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive.

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.”

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both."

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours.

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it.

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night.

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood.

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you.

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey.

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.”

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble.

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek.

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face.

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much.

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends."

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks.

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises.

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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lustbile-archive · 3 years

Text

Just Check It Out

JaehyunxReader

Word Count: 6.7k

Summary/Warnings: Smut. Oral (reader receiving), public-ish sex, flirty but also suspicious stranger!Jaehyun, sharp object and blood play/consumption, and honestly low key shitty friends.

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist

Can be read on its own or within the series.

Your face is screwed up and your nails dig harshly into the palms of your hands in anxiety as you stare at the hollow looking building in front of you. The only signs of life is the red light that pulses and radiates from underneath the entrance door, and the taunting laughter that rattles from behind you deep from the bellies of your two friends.

“What are you, a scaredy cat?” one of your friends asks as she reaches forward to pinch your arm, “just go in.”

“What are you, a twelve year old?” you rebut, your tone a lot more clipped and harsh than you wanted, but the fear crawling up your spine fogs your judgment.

“What happened to a warehouse?” you mutter, mostly to yourself, but the sounds of confusion from behind you tells you they had heard.

“What are you going on about a warehouse?” your other friend takes her turn questioning you, her tone slightly more concerned than the other.

“What do you mean going on about a warehouse?” your voice is shrill as you turn so quickly it made you slightly dizzy, your jaw dropping and your eyebrows furrowing immediately in shock and confusion, “you two heard what that weirdo taxi driver said. He dropped that person off and picked them up from a warehouse. A warehouse! Not some weird ass club.”

The story that the skeevy old man had told you and your friends ran through your mind still. Something about how he had picked up and dropped off the same person every few weekends during his shift, but one night, when he definitely remembered dropping them off, he never got the call to take them home.

“Oh come on so what,” your first friend speaks again, her voice louder than necessary as you started to pace back and forth in front of them, “like you just said, he was just some weirdo old taxi driver. The story probably isn’t even true and if it was he probably didn’t notice that it was a club cause he was too busy trying to figure out how to kidnap the person.”

“Yeah cause that makes me feel so much better,” your stepping slows slightly as you respond, your eyes rolling so hard they ache, “and why is it me that has to go in in the first place huh?”

“Because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.”

You can’t stop yourself when you petulantly stomp your foot, a wash of shame and nerves washing over you immediately after as you cross your arms over your chest. The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong. Whatever force in the universe that was looking down, or up, at you tonight had it out for you, and it only took about three rounds of the hand game before you lost to both of the girls in front of you.

“Listen,” the a lot more gentle friend of the two started, wrapping her arms gently around your stiff form, “just go in, take a look around, and then come back. We’ll be right here waiting, and if it’s cool we’ll all go in.”

‘Or you could just come with me,’ you think to yourself, but something clogs your throat, forcing the words to remain swirling in your chest.

“Fine,” you let yourself sink into her hold for a few seconds, before you start to wiggle free. She smiles softly at the way you pout, and an evil part of you anticipates guilt tripping both of them when you escape the creepy building, “but if you’re even an inch away from this exact spot when I get back you’re dead.”

Their grumbles of ‘yeahs’ and ‘okay whatever’s’ is lost behind you as you teeter on the edge of the sidewalk. You only allow yourself a moment to wonder how a night out with friends devolved into you entering a strange club, before your looking both ways and crossing the street.

You can only imagine how silly you look as you sprint across the road, a nervous skip in your step from the lack of a crosswalk beneath your feet, and when you land on the sidewalk again you’re slightly winded from the anxiety that pumps in you.

The door and the building is about a thousand times more intimidating now that you stand in front of it, the entrance grinning at you like a hungry monster. You can feel the stares of your friends eating at the skin of your back as you stand there curled into yourself, and a warmth spreads across your skin in embarrassment when you notice two men standing to the side, at a front row seat to you shaking like a leaf.

There’s a moment of relief when you see that they don’t seem to notice you, too busy scrolling through their respective phones while one nurses a cigarette. But this relief does nothing to truly calm you of the fact that you have to enter the building marked as “Club X” or face the taunting of your friends. And while you are an adult and the childishness of the jeers from your peers shouldn’t phase you, them questioning your confidence isn’t something you’d like to deal with.

With a deep breath, you stand straight. ‘It’s one drink and a look around’ you remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t be nervous it’s just a club and you’re an adult.’

From your own scolding you start to come to your senses that yes, there’s no reason to be scared, and without even thinking about it, you notice that your feet have already started carrying you through the threshold.

The red lighting is bright and darkens the writhing bodies that occupy the huge club. If it wasn’t for the thumping bass of music, you could have easily convinced yourself that you stand in the beginning of a horror house, and amongst all the normal club goers was a masked man holding a knife waiting for you to let your guard down for even a second.

‘A drink,’ the quiet voice in your head reminds you, and with a quick glance around to locate the bar, you're pushing through the masses of flesh and sweat to get just that.

You also remember that you're here to take a look around.

It’s a normal club from the looks of it. Too many bodies pressed too close together, a less than inviting restroom tucked in the back corner, the back of the large room littered with booths full of people drinking and yelling over the music. The music itself pumps from huge speakers that stand in front of a short elevated stage, a man standing behind a dj booth controls exactly what pours from the speakers as a group of rambunctious men drink and roughhouse behind him.

Right before you reach the bar, is when you notice something you didn’t fully expect. Towards the back, and high up on the wall, there was a balcony. There was a singular chair, large enough to hold a person and then some, and a large potted plant that branches out so far that it’s vines wrap and devour the railing beautifully, but other than that, nothing. There’s a heavy looking curtain hiding whatever room the balcony connects to, and directly below it is a hollow looking hallway with a thick rope blocking it from the general club goer.

You’re so distracted by the odd sight, you don’t realize how close to the bar you had gotten before you hip bumps harshly into one of its stools. You can’t stop the quiet yelp that leaves you from the quick shock of pain, but even worse is the hiss that escapes the teeth of the young man that stands behind the worn wood of the bar. Even in your regained embarrassment and warmed cheeks you’re able to form the thought that the guy who glances at you with gentle sympathy looks a little young for a bartender.

“Um, can I,” you stutter slightly as you take a seat in the offending stool, praying you can fake confidence enough to smother your embarrassment, “can I get a drink, please?”

“Oh um,” the boy matches your stuttering as he appears just as flustered as you at what happened, “I’m gonna be honest, um the actual bartender had to step away for a moment to uhhh… attend to something. So the best I can give you is like a beer.”

“That should be fine,” you sink slightly in relief and endearment as his own nervous state works to release you from your own.

He moves to step away from you, before you quickly interrupt, “oh don’t you need my id or something?”

“Oh yeah,” he blanks before you, staring off as if he suddenly remembers the existence of laws, “uh I’m gonna be honest, I don’t care. Just, if you see the real bartender at all tonight just don’t tell him okay?”

“I respect your honesty,” you speak to his retreating form as he grabs your drink, and when he returns with a cold amber bottle, you continue, “just between the two of us.”

“Just between us,” he places the bottle next to your hand before shooting you quick finger guns. A small grin still lives on your lips as you bring the opening up to your mouth as he walks away to try to nudge a passed out man that snoozes with his face pressed against the splintering wood awake.

Drink had, club looked at, and as far as you’re concerned, your mission is done. The club seems harmless enough, so with your bottle still gripped between your fingers, you stand to leave and report to your friends that the club is open for business if they’re interested.

Your sure you take the same path that you did to get to the bar, it would be hard not to after you’ve already established where the dj, bar, and weird balcony was placed. But when you’re standing in the exact place that you're sure was where the entrance stood, you’re faced with nothing but a solid empty wall.

Maybe you got turned around, with the amount of people rushing by and the lighting causing it to be a little difficult to see, it wouldn’t be completely out of the realm of possibility. But for the life of you, you could have sworn you turned around and took the exact same path.

You stand frozen in place for a moment, staring at the wall as people dodge and bump into you. You can't imagine how odd you look just staring at a blank wall, but a small part of you hopes that your vision is just compromised and if you look just a little harder, maybe the entrance is still there.

In a last ditch effort, you reach out. Your fingers gently brush the cold wall, before you huff and press your palm flat against it. No false wall, or optical illusion, so maybe you really did just get turned around.

All hopes of that being the truth is immediately crushed when you finally turn around. The balcony high and taunting exactly in the place you’d dreaded it would be, the corner of the bar peeking out from behind a mass of bodies almost as if it’s inviting you to return for just one more drink.

Your heart leaps to your throat when reality starts to set in, but alongside reality, is a rush of determination. There’s no way you’re just stuck here, you tell yourself. You have to get back to your friends and you’re sure that amongst the dozens of bodies that stand around you, there’s no way that they plan on staying here for good right?

There has to be another exit, at least a side door that leads to one of the alleys that stand around the perimeter of the building.

Your hand returns flat to the wall, and you begin to walk. You assume the fastest way to find an exit is to just walk the entire room, and hopefully with you grounding yourself with the wall, you won’t get sucked into the bodies that seem unaware that they’re being locked in.

You keep your shoulder pressed to the wall as well, staying close in hopes to avoid any bumping shoulders or sharp elbows. There are a few times that you have to dodge the rare groping couple that decides the flat surface of the wall is the best place to press against for a good public make out, but you’re quick to return when they’re behind you.

You trace the entirety of the right wall of the building with no luck, and as you turn the corner and pass the restroom you’ve started to huff in disappointment. Maybe the back wall, or the hollow hallway you saw earlier will bring more luck, and if not it probably won’t kill to return to the guy who’s watching the bar to demand he tells you how to escape.

Even though you’re determined to stay focused on finding a way out, you can’t help but to stare at the balcony as you get closer and closer. You can see now that the railing sparkles in the warm light, and you assume it’s made of a gold metal. The vines are even more beautiful as you get closer, and you now notice they’re accompanied by small dark red flowers that look vaguely familiar. But carnations don’t grow on vines do they?

You lose yourself so much in your thoughts that you don’t notice the body approaching you. It’s until you're about a foot away from the dark hallway that you’re pulled from your own universe by a large hand that lands on the wall directly in front of your face.

You jump about a foot in the air, a quiet yelp leaving your lungs as you follow the line the stranger's arm makes to reach his face. And while you know deep down that attractiveness doesn’t mean someone is automatically good, you can’t deny the man that stands in front of you is beautiful and his soft but mischievous eyes makes you slightly relax.

“Believe it or not, but I didn’t really intend to scare you,” he laughs softly as he leans closer, his hand not moving an inch from its spot next to your head, “but you’re looking very beautiful tonight.”

Your eyebrows furrow at how his tone sounds weirdly familiar, and how his words somewhat suggest he’s seen you before. But you know you’ve never met nor seen this man in your life, there’s no way you’d forget a face like that.

“That’s kind of bold of you,” you say with a soft smile that tells him you don’t really mind, and the task at hand starts to slowly slip from your mind as you lose yourself in his soft eyes.

“Easy to be bold when you’re telling the truth,” he leans closer as he speaks, and as he crowds your personal space, you start to feel a fuzzy static wrap around your body, “you look like you’re headed somewhere sweetheart. Can I ask where exactly that is?”

“Oh,” you pulled slightly back into reality at the question, and you even peer around his shoulder to try to see if the entrance has returned and become visible since your journey to the back of the club, “I’m trying to find the exit.”

“Hmm,” his hand not caging you against the wall lifts to scratch gently at his chin as he lets your words roll around in his mind, “well the back is kind of a weird place to be looking for that isn’t it? Why don’t you just go out the same way you came in?”

It’s impossible to ignore the slight twang of taunting in his tone, like he knows something you don’t, but you quietly choose to brush it off. Maybe it’s just your imagination.

“Oh well,” you start before you realize you may sound a little weird if you try to tell him about the disappearing entrance, “you know just… heading that way now.”

He only smiles at you as you laugh nervously as you start to fiddle with your fingers. He’s nice, his slightly drooping eyes making him seem harmless regardless of the way he presses you into the wall, but nevertheless his charming aura and the way his cologne has started to flood your nose and fog up your brain makes you start to get delirious.

“Do you think you could spare me a few seconds before you head out?” His head tilts slightly to the side as a cute and playful pout lands on his lips, and the way he stares you down tells you he knows you won't tell him no, “if only you want to of course.”

“Yeah sure,” you breathe out as you sink back against the wall, despite the little voice in your head that is desperately trying to remind you of your friends that remain outside.

“Good,” his hand finally moves from the wall, only to move a few inches to rub his thumb softly over your cheekbone, “now what is someone so pretty doing in a place like this.”

You can’t help but grin at how cliche he is, but it weirdly fits him and makes your heart flutter, “a place like this? Seems like just a normal grimy club to me, what do you know that I don’t?”

He huffs out a breath, his head softly shaking at the question, “I couldn’t even begin to tell you.”

“Ooo, well maybe if it’s that bad maybe I should go,” you tease, lifting up from the wall slightly, only for him to move his hand down to your shoulder to push you back.

“Well it’s not that bad,” he backtracks as his hand starts to test the waters and trails down your arm until he’s holding your wrist, “not if you stick with me.”

“You a regular here?”

“Hm, yeah,” he pulls on your wrist until it rests on his shoulder, and a pleased hum fills his chest when you take the liberty to stretch out your fingers to scratch at the base of his skull, “something like that.”

“Then maybe you wanna show me around, since it’s my first time here?” You pull him closer as you talk, until his chest starts to brush against you, “maybe show me to the entrance.”

“No, no. I think I’d like to keep you right here,” you were only teasing with the suggestion, but he seems stern when he speaks. This tone and the way he dips his face into the bend of your neck when he finishes makes your breath rush out of you.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks softly, only loud enough for you to hear over the thumping music, his lips brushing the now burning skin of your neck.

“Very okay,” you reassure, and as you thread your fingers fully into the thick hair at the back of his head, the idea of getting back to your friends completely slips your mind.

He only hums again in response before his mouth opens wide to lick at the skin stretched across your jugular, his lips slowly sucking a chunk of skin into his mouth and pulling blood to the surface to form a bruise.

You flinch and your other hand moves to join the other in tugging at his roots when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Your head tilts to the side as he starts to move his lips across your jaw and his hips push between your slowly opening legs. The loud music feels like its wrapping around you and feeding you to the wall behind you as his hands now move to squeeze at the flesh that protects the sides of your ribs.

“Who are you?” your words come out stuttered, breathless, and broken, the question slipping out almost by accident as he continues his work on your neck.

“Who do you think I am?” He returns rhetorically. Having another question thrown back at you makes you flicker off for a moment, and by the time you pull yourself from your own foggy brain, he has his teeth biting into your earlobe.

You can only let out a whimper as he licks at the shell of your ear and you try to collect your suddenly scattered thoughts. It doesn’t get any easier as he starts to knead harshly at the skin and flesh underneath his fingers and your knees start to lose their strength.

“How far will you let me go?” Another question to add to your swirling mind, but he doesn’t seem any form of impatient as you collect your thoughts together to respond.

He pulls away from where he’s tucked into your shoulder, his forehead coming to rest against yours, and with the sudden eye contact, it's like he pulls you back down to earth.

You feel very suddenly awake, and it seems like the club disappears behind him, the only remaining evidence of it being the way the music and voices still thump against your eardrums. The way he looks at you is softer than you imagined, but there’s still the inkling of arousal behind his eyes that you know what he’s asking.

“Don’t stop,” you finally answer with zero hesitation, using the hold you still have on his hair as leverage to pull him to your mouth.

He grins wide against your lips, a deep and pleased chuckle leaving him before his eager tongue is pushing its way into your mouth.

With his strong fingers still pushing bruises into your skin, he presses you against the cold wall, his hips and legs pushing against you until your shaking legs step apart enough for his liking, and his body is flush against yours.

Your lips follow his as much as they can, before you notice that he’s sinking down to your neck, his knees bending slightly as he goes. His hands begin to start to move as well when he’s returned to licking and biting bruises against your throat, and its seconds before his cold fingers are brushing against the skin of your stomach.

His blunt nails scrape at the skin of your sternum and the swell of your chest as his lips slide across your skin until he’s nipping at your collarbones. It’s not until one hand slips under the thin material of your bralette with his fingers gently tugging on your nipple, does he finally land on his knees in front of you.

Having him move out of your immediate field of vision throws you off for a moment. The still breathing bodies that fill the room in front of you dance around you, but no one comes closer than a few feet from where he kneels on the dirty floor.

Being reminded that its not just the two of you makes you freeze, the feeling of the hand that doesn’t grope at your chest moving to lift your skirt goes almost completely unnoticed until you feel his mouth take over the garment's job of covering you.

Your fingers flex and tug at his hair when you feel his lips brush against the band of your underwear, and a quiet gasp escapes you when he teeth tugs on the elastic.

“You said don’t stop,” he reminds, muffled just barely loud enough for you to hear, before he lets go of your skirt and the fabric falls over his head and blocks his next moves from your eyes.

You feel his newly freed hand move steadily up your thigh, his fingers brushing against and tickling the sensitive skin as he goes. Once he brushes the hem of the garment, his index finger pushes under and brushes against your buzzing skin as he loops the digit around the crotch of your under to pull it away from your body.

With a harsh pull, he starts to tug your underwear down your legs, his mouth immediately takes advantage of the exposed surface and latches onto a patch of skin on your hip that’s still slightly dimpled from the biting elastic of your underwear.

Once your underwear is pooled around your ankles, his hand retraces its movements back up your thigh, and this time your body shivers at the now familiar feeling. You still groan when his fingers harshly wrap around your thigh, his palm flexing as well as he tugs your leg up and over his shoulder.

His hand shifts until his grip holds you tightly against his face, and his other hand slips down from your chest to press slightly against your stomach. Even though you’re aware enough to know what’s about to happen between the two of you, that does nothing to stop the quick yelping noise that jumps from your chest when his tongue swipes warm and flat against your skin, the tip of the muscle curling at the last moment to flick against your clit and make your hips jump into his grinning face.

He doesn’t leave you a second to adjust to the feeling of his tongue licking into you before he’s going back in. This time when he returns to your skin, his tongue dips shallowly into you, greedily licking up the arousal that spills from your body as he tries to spread the taste of your over every last one of his taste buds.

Your knees tremble and you slip a few inches lower against the wall as your head tilts back. Your heart thumps harshly at the small amount of panic that fills you at the idea of falling into the floor, but the pleasure he pushes into you and your mind scrambling to remember the hold he has on you relaxes you.

He finally moves his tongue away from where you flutter around nothing, his pace slow and maddening as you let your body go lax in his hands and use the study support of his shoulder.

Your eyes shut tightly and your muscles flex for a moment when his lips take hold of your neglected clit, the quick intake of air you pull into your lungs, immediately escapes again in a soft moan.

He uses the way you rest against his shoulder and the wall as a reassurance as he moves his hand away from your thigh to replace the open space his tongue left with his fingers.

You feel two of his long digits press into you slowly, the sudden intrusion making you dizzy and a happy noise that resembles a purr rolls from your chest.

The man kneeled between your thighs finally responds to the small noises you make for him with his own, a proud and content hum crawls out of his lips and against your skin as his tongue repeatedly laps at your clit.

He’s eager, almost like he’s been waiting to show you what his mouth can do his whole life, and as your leg curls around his back and pulls him closer to your lower half, his fingers begin to steadily pump in and out of you.

He takes the moment that his tongue and lips wrap fully around your clit to suck harshly at the bundle of nerves, to curl the tips of his finger to press into the spot that makes stars burst from under your eyelids.

You scramble to find a way to warn him of the knot that forms directly under the hand that pushes against your lower belly, the lack of knowledge you have of his name almost making you want to huff in frustration. But when he starts to massage quick come hither motions against the spot that has you in spirals, you’re gone before you can conjure any cohesive thought.

Your hips stutter against his relentless mouth as you come with a desperate whine. One of your hands leaves his hair as it flies to push against the wall next to your head, your nails digging harshly into the painted brick as he doesn’t let up on licking your through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You’re once again thankful of the tight hold he has on you as you twitch in his hands, his wandering fingers moving back to gripping your hip so his tongue can replace them to devour you.

He moves so quickly to stand when he’s finished licking you clean that you swear you almost get whiplash, and you only get more flustered by his motions when he uses his grip on your sides to spin you around and push your chest into the wall.

“Do you know how pretty you are,” his soft cooing throws you for a loop, but only helps in the neediness you feel for him regardless of your still retreating orgasm. His lips return to press softly to the bone of your jaw and one of his hands slips back in between your thighs to roll the tip of his middle finger softly against your sensitive clit while the other moves away from your skin. The way the fabric of his pants brush against you when he unbuttons them tells you he uses the missing hand to pull himself from his underwear.

You’re proven right, when you feel the end of him nudge the back of your thigh, the precome that drips from his tip smears against your skin and makes you squirm.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts as he moves himself towards the inside of your thigh, until he pushes himself against your wetness, “how long I’ve waited for you?”

“Hmm?” You hum in confusion at his question, but when he begins to push inside you, you quickly chalk it up to him being in the moment and press your cheek against the wall.

You melt into the hard brick as he sinks into you, every inch of him stretching you and pushing against every nerve that makes hums of contentment warm your chest. He moves slowly and with his fingers still playing with you, you feel yourself get dizzy as your eyes flutter and roll.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he leans into you, his heated chest straightening out your spine that was curving in pleasure. His now freed hand reaches around, his fingers spreading far against your burning chest, and you feel yourself start to float away from your body when he rolls his hips at the same moment his hand wraps around your throat.

“So good for me aren’t you?” He asks quietly in your ear as he begins to move, his lips brushing your ear easily from the way you tilt your head back to lay on his shoulder. You can only gasp and whimper in response as his thumb harshly digs into your skin below the curved bone of your jaw, but the way your jaw hangs open lets him hear every noise without problem.

A deep groan rattles his chest against your back as he picks up his pace, how deep he pushes inside you with each thrust and the pressure he puts on the blood flow going to your head makes your vision fuzzy.

You can feel your body twitching, but there’s nothing you can do to relax the tensing of your muscles. Your hands start to flail slightly from the pleasure shooting up your spine, one desperately slipping up and down the wall as you try to keep balance, and the other finally finding comfort in holding onto the wrist of the hand that chokes you. You get just a moment of clarity to notice, and feel bad for the way your nails claw into his skin, but the guilt is quickly washed away by the twisting in your belly.

He shows little interest in easing up on you, even when he notices how you start to crumble against him. Almost no interest at all, when he celebrates hitting the spot inside you that finally pushes a loud moan from your lips by relentlessly quickening the pace of his fingers that moves across your clit.

Jumbled moans and slurred words squeeze through your gritting teeth, not even taking the time to be molded into full thoughts in your brain before they pour out. You say a silent thanks when you feel his hand tracing up your neck towards your mouth, assuming he’s going to cover your mouth, as you can only feel yourself start to truly lose the control you have over your volume.

You’re teetering on an edge, the promise of another orgasm dancing on the back of your tongue, and your hips form a mind of their own as they begin to jump and tilt back towards him in desperation. You can’t imagine anything pushing you any closer than what he’s already doing, until you feel his thumb start to push against your lower lip.

It’s almost as if he has you on puppet string with how quickly you move to bring the digit between your lips, your cheeks pulling in and hollowing as you start to gently suck on the intrusion. The pride you feel when he swears darkly in your ear at your action is indescribable, the idea of you causing this man to lose himself the way he is, even with yourself being in more of a submissive position, makes you grin around his thumb as it digs into the center of your tongue. And the feeling of your drool slowly dripping out of your mouth to slide down his wrist makes you feel like you’ve made some kind of claim on him.

Your arousal, and the beginning sparks of your orgasm, fogs your brain. Enough that it takes a moment for you to notice the small bites of pain that shoots across the skin of your tongue that presses against a thick ring he wears below the bend of his thumb.

You want to whimper out, maybe nip at oddly strong digit to ask him to lighten up, but you shamefully admit that the burn and the coppery taste that begins to flood your tastebuds makes you shiver and flutter around his length as it pushes you both closer and closer.

Once your blood is spilling out enough that it begins to slip down your throat, is when he pulls his thumb from your mouth, his hand moves to grip your jaw tightly. You feel your saliva that’s been tainted with your blood spill quickly down your chin and neck as he turns you to face him, and the delirious and rapid look in his eyes when they meet yours tells you he loves the mess he’s made of you.

“Come for me,” it’s said sternly. Demanding in the way that tells you there’s no room for arguments, or pleas to slow down, but you greet the command with pleasure. You’re also just as glad to accept his open mouth as it presses against yours.

Nothing about him slows down. His hips, fingers and lips devour you like he’s been starved for centuries, and you start to feel that maybe you’ve been waiting just as long.

You squeak and groan when he sucks your wounded tongue into his mouth, and when it hits you that he’s pulling and swallowing the blood that pours out of it, is when you're pushed over the edge.

You’re more than thankful for the way he presses against you, as you’re sure without it you would have crumbled in place. Your knees feel useless and you whine into his open mouth the best you can with your tongue trapped between his lips, and you feel your body curl back against him as he holds you close. The way you tremble only comparable to a body trapped and lost in a blinding cold, and your stomach flexes in pleasure.

You want your body to mesh into his as you come in his hold, his arms strong and pulled tightly against your bones as his hips stutter against you. And it’s only a moment of watching you melt into him before he’s following close behind.

The way the evidence of his orgasm spills into you is what finally pulls him away from your lips as he almost growls with his forehead pressed against your temple. His body taking control of his impulse as his brain is taken over with the way you’re wrapped around him, and almost like a reflex, his hand pulls away from your clit to swat harshly at the inside of your thigh. But the way his teeth bite into his lower lip and he’s eyes scrunch closed, you can only offer a dopey smile in response.

Your smile falls slightly as you cringe at the feeling of him slipping from your body, but his hands moving to rub up and down your sides momentarily makes you relax.

He’s quiet and quick as he bends to drag your underwear up until they’re back to resting on your hips, and you pray they do enough to keep his come from spilling out of you.

“You need to get back to your friends,” he breaks his quiet spell as he turns you to pull you into his chest, and you have a small moment of confusion at his words before it hits you what you were trying to do when you ran into him.

Your hands fly up to clench at his shirt, your curls fingers wrinkling the fabric of his shirt and the sudden puppy like look you give him makes him smile.

“I can't wait to see you again,” the sureness in his voice shakes your core a little, and you can only hope what he says is true, “I promise I won't be hard to find.”

“Can you at least tell me your name,” you say more petulantly than you intended, but you're greeted with his grinning sharp teeth as he starts to pull you away from his chest regardless.

“I’m Jaehyun,” he speaks slowly as he makes sure you’re completely steady on your feet before he starts to step away, “I promise you won’t forget. Now go, the entrance should be there just like normal.”

He nods as he finally disappears into the crowd, but you can’t help the biting voice at the back of your mind that, even though he only gave you a few short sentences, he always spoke like he knew something you didn’t.

But he was right. You took your chance with the entrance again after his confident tone, pushing through the crowd of pushy shoulders to get back to the front. The only disappointment that rests in your chest when you reach the now visible door, is you didn’t get a glance of the man amongst the crowd.

It’s almost like culture shock when you step outside. The men that lean against the wall by the door remain rooted in place, their thumbs still swiping aimlessly at their phone screens, and the shadowy outlines of your friends still stand on the other side of the street.

Even with a looseness to your muscles from what happened in the club, you still feel foolish as you sprint to where they stand, and the looks of surprise they wear makes an apologetic smile stitch onto your face.

“So how was it?” The more gentle of the two asks, a concerned glint in her eyes making you feel even more guilt on what you let distract you.

“It was pretty cool,” you hesitate telling them what had happened, you’re not sure why as you knew they would never judge you for the hookup but you can't conjure the words, “I’m sorry I was in there for so long though.”

“So long?” Your more fiery friend takes her turn to speak now, but your face only screws up in confusion at her questioning words, “dude you were only in there for like five minutes top. Were you even able to get to the bar to get a drink in that time?”

You can't collect your thoughts enough to force words, instead you fumble over syllables and rumbling noises of misunderstanding what she’s saying. You’re almost ready to ask her how something that felt like years to you only felt like five minutes to her when she interrupts again.

“Whatever. It could have been five seconds and I still would be bored so lets fucking go,” she turns to walk away, her hand reaching back and lacing her fingers through your own being the only thing that pulls you along behind them as the feeling of Jaehyun’s finger prints weighs you down, and tugs at the cord that connects you to the club behind you.

#nct smut #jaehyun smut #nct imagine #nct series #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 smut

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majorsoapfan · 3 years

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Umbrella Academy Season 3 Wish list

This is a long one so buckle up:

Let Klaus and Allison take centre-stage this season in leading the plot. Both are incredible characters and deserve the chance to shine. And I can think of several reasons why they deserve the chance to take centre-stage: out of the whole Academy their powers are some of the most fascinating and in Klaus’ case he has so many that haven’t been revealed yet. They’ve both suffered and lost a lot as well, particularly in season 2 and their hardships tend to get ignored by others. Their relationship together is already really interesting and supportive and they would be an awesome team up. There’s more but I’ll be here forever if I tried to list them.

No Apocalypse. The world ending in eight days was a great plot driver in season 1 and again in season 2 with the reveal that the end of the world actually followed the Umbrella’s back in time. But if the same thing gets repeated over and over then I’m worried that the show will lose it’s edge as a result. In order for the characters to develop new crisis's need to take its place.

Let Five have a rest. Even if it’s just for an episode or two so he can get a solid eight hours sleep if nothing else. For the last two seasons Five has been running around non-stop trying to stop the end of the world and save his family. Without that Five can grow as a person and get a literal break that he really hasn’t gotten in 45 years.

Oh course that doesn’t mean I want Five out of the drama entirely and I do expect to see Reginald and Five scenes in season 3. Five is the only one of his original children that the bastard seemed to tolerate and he did seem to have some form of twisted respect for Five as well. And I wouldn’t put it past the monocle monster to have some twisted plans in store for the eldest member of the Umbrella Academy. He’s had fifty years to plan for the Umbrella’s return after all.

The Sparrows. I just saw the line up of the Sparrows for season three and I am honestly so interested. I can’t wait to see what their powers are like and I already have some ideas. They have so much potential and hopefully they’ll be done well. And so far they seem to be written as the Umbrella’s foils. Marcus is a natural leader who loves his family, while Luther forces himself into the role and alienated his family as a result. Both Ben and Diego long to be the leader but while Diego is more emotional, Ben’s more strategic. Five is driven by his love and desire to protect his family, while Sloane feels held back by hers. Vanya was treated as an outcast and betrayed her siblings trust while Christopher, a literal Cube, is said to be loyal and is treated as a loved family member

That being said though, I don’t want the Sparrows to be the main focus this season or have the attention split between them and the Umbrella’s. Because while I do want to see the Sparrows and their family dynamic and how they interact with the Umbrella’s, I would prefer to see how the Umbrella Hargreeves’ cope with their existent and how this impacts them and how they move forward with this. Or a team up between Sparrows and Umbrella’s would be fine. Or multiple team ups, I’m not picky.

There is a really good fan theory out there about Klaus and Five being twins and while I know that in the comics it’s Luther and Five, the fan theory in season 3 would be so much better in my opinion. And in all honesty it makes so much more sense. Physically they are strikingly similar, especially as children. Their powers both concentrate in their hands and emit a blue glow when they use them. Their powers themselves are literally time and death, which are linked and they have additive personalities, which can be inherited between family members. And I can’t help but feel that this moment:

lends a new level to their relationship then what we see with them as adults. Look at how alike they are! And that fond smile that Five is giving Klaus? Making them twins opens up a wide range of possibilities for Klaus and Five both character and plot wise.

Give Luther a proper love interest. And I can’t believe that this even has to be said but his sister does not count! Literally all of siblings have have romantic interests, all of them so important in the Umbrella’s life in some way or another. It would be nice too to see Luther form a healthy romantic connection for the first time in his life.

While I’m on the subject of Luther and healthy relationships, it also brings me back to the Sparrows and how their number one Marcus seems to be Luther’s foil. And it would be interesting for the show to explore just how seeing the Sparrows and someone so similar to Luther might just affect him. He did spend thirty years of his life after all being Reginald’s little solider and believing that his position as Number One made him the family leader only to find out it was all for nothing. Only Marcus seems to be respected in his position as leader and loves his family dearly, while Luther was mocked and seems to have driven all of his siblings bar Allison away from him because of it. This has incredible potential for Luther’s character arc this season especially if it makes him acknowledge his behaviour to his siblings as they were growing up; particularly to Klaus and Vanya who probably got the worst of it. Allison after all was his closest companion, Diego was his rival (more or less), Ben seemingly got on with everyone and Five would have bitten Luther’s head off if he tried anything. But Reginald’s disappointments Klaus and Vanya? Luther, wanting to impress their dad and follow his orders probably didn’t treat them the best. And I want Luther to admit that and apologise and make the next step in becoming a better person and brother. He’s made incredible progress in season 2, but I don’t want his past treatment of his siblings to be swept under the rug. It needs to be acknowledged and Luther needs to admit it was wrong so he can grow.

Can we get Diego’s season one hair back too? I wondered just how it got that long considering that he was only in the sixties for around three months. Klaus makes sense as he was in the sixties for years. Plenty of time for him to grow it out, not really for Diego. But I really prefer his season one hair so can it make a comeback please?

What I want to see for Vanya this season is for her to realize that she doesn’t need powers to be special. I kinda noticed that she seems to have defined her worth on her powers and that’s not healthy. So a potential scenario: Reginald seems to have made the power-suppressing drug himself, so he may still have it in season 3. Imagine Vanya getting a dose of it that knocks her powers out for a good chunk of time and in the meantime some of her siblings are in danger (I’m picturing Luther and Diego here the himbos) and she ends up saving them. Not with her powers but because of her intelligence and other skills that she has and she realizes that she doesn’t need her powers to be special or to save the day. A logical step in character growth.

Getting some closure on season 2 character like Sissy, Ray, Grace, the Cult (which I really didn’t like) and the Swede and what happened to them once the Umbrella’s left the sixties. And maybe finding out what happened to season one’s characters since the Umbrella’s didn’t exist in this timeline: Agnes, Patch, Leonard, Pogo, Claire.

For Klaus and Umbrella Ben to talk about their issues and make up. I know that our Ben is now up there with the little girl in the sky but that has not stopped Klaus from visiting heaven before. And I think that if Klaus and Ben do not get at least one final conversation to talk through their issues next season then I will sue. They both did crappy things to each other in season two but they both love each other dearly and they deserve the chance to get the closure they both need. I think that Klaus will definitely need it in order to move on completely.

I know I said no Apocalypse but I’m still going to be expecting some major crisis to happen during the last few episodes. An alien invasion or Sparrows trying to kill the Umbrella's maybe? But no matter what the problem is, I really want Klaus to get his moment to shine by being the one to save the day. Reginald said himself that Klaus has untapped potential and we know thanks to the comics what other powers he has. And thanks to Ben’s antics at the family dinner the old bastard has probably written him off as useless and not a threat when making plans to deal with the Umbrella’s. Which means nobody is going to be looking at Klaus or considering him a potential threat to their plans, leaving Klaus relatively safe to start exploring and enhancing his powers. He was supposed to be the one to have done it in season one with the moon and his abilities were brushed to the side completely in season two or used for Ben’s benefit so I think he’s long overdue his moment to shine. And maybe then will the rest of his siblings stop seeing Klaus as a joke.

Lila. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her, her story felt unfinished and she does have a briefcase. She could pop at any moment in the story. She has so much potential and I did love her actress. Imagine her and Five forcing to team up or something? Or maybe her and Allison?

Another character I’d like to see return is Hazel. He’s someone who really grew on me. And there is a chance that he could return and maybe team up with the Umbrella’s this season. Potential scenarios: Five on the hunt for allies to help him restore the timeline hunts down Hazel who in this timeline is working with the Commission and because the Umbrellas don’t exist hasn’t met Agnes yet. Maybe something happened to her because of the Sparrows?

Finally Dave. I’m a huge Dave fan but I really don’t want him to show up in season three. Or if he does then for the smallest amount of time possible just to give Klaus some ‘closure’. Time travel is in the Umbrella Academy universe after all and it’s possible that by Klaus warning Dave about his faith and causing him to enlist earlier and in a different branch as a result he’s saved Dave and opened up the possibility of seeing Commission!Dave later. Which is the perfect storyline for season 4. Season three is only 10 episodes long and there’ll be a lot going on already so shoving Dave into what will already be a pretty packed season won’t give Dave the attention he deserves and will take away from the other focus. Not only that but Klaus’ motivation for the last two seasons is doing something for either Dave or Ben. I want to see Klaus train his powers either for himself or to help someone else. Also, Dave deserves the chance to grow as a character as well and making him a part of season 3 would take away from the main focus of the Umbrella’s and Sparrows. Making him a main focus in season four instead if we get one will give a great opportunity story-wise to develop both him and Klaus as individuals and as a couple.

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dreamlover31 · 3 years

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Broken Promises

Hello my dearies, thank you for all of your comments and support throughout this comeback of mine lol

And now here's the third and final installment of my mini drama...my apologies since this took me a while to post this

Tagging: @madpanda75 @dreila03 @laceybellerain @melsquared79 @southern-magnolia @glimmerglittergirl @xemopeachx @misssirenlove @tropes-and-tales @thatesqcrush @sweetsummertime99 @imjustreallynosy @amirightcounselor @rampantmuses @youreverycolor

Two pink lines...what should have been caused for great joy, instead has brought upon nothing but anguish and despair. After the incident at the apartment, you had packed up your belongings and moved into your sister’s place in Soho; leaving behind the man who had all but decimated your heart. Though the time was brief, being held hostage by your fiance’s mistress was a real wake up call, the wool that had been pulled over your eyes that day; and it revealed a very ugly truth, that Rafael Barba was nothing more than a vile creature who had taken your love for granted and threw it back in your face, however, when you revealed the pregnancy it was merely a ploy to get Sophie to drop her guard so that he could take the opportunity to take her out of the equation.

A few days after the incident, you had started feeling nauseous and had some weird cravings for pickles and garlic knots, and that was when the gears turned in your head; so one day when your sister was at work, you trekked down to the bodega down the street from her apartment where you had purchased 3 different types of pregnancy tests. Upon your return, you anxiously awaited the results as you sat on the edge of the tub, after a few minutes, you peered down at the stick and your heart dropped.

Later that day, your sister Rebecca returned home from work where she found you on the couch curled up in a blanket; eyes shrink wrapped in tears. She set her things on the coffee table and wrapped an arm around you, she rubbed your shoulder soothingly until your tears had subsided and that was when you revealed the reason for your distress.

Meanwhile, Rafael painstakingly went about his life, despite protests from Liv and the others, in his mind it made sense to keep himself busy, that way he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality that he had lost the love of his life...and her confession of becoming an expectant mother. After the Sophie fiasco, Rafael was desperately trying to contact Charlotte, he had lost track of the many phone calls and text messages he sent her; although he couldn’t blame her...he had violated her trust in an unforgivable manner and as much as he wanted to just make everything that happened disappear, there was no way that he could reclaim the life he once had.

Rafael was sitting in his office reviewing one of his case files when his phone beeped, his emerald irises widened when he saw the message… it was the last person he expected to hear from...Charlotte.

We need to talk...meet me at the coffee shop down the street from my OB’s office

Alright...I’m on my way

Charlotte scheduled an appointment with her doctor once she had time to collect her thoughts, as she was sitting on top of the examination table, her mind drifted back to the conversation she had with Rebecca the night before...as hard as it would be, if it turned out that she was indeed pregnant, she would have to notify Rafael. At that moment, her doctor entered the room with the test results in hand, with a soft smile, she confirmed what Charlotte already knew and now it was time to have an unpleasant conversation with the man who betrayed her; as she exited the building, Charlotte texted Rafael and began making her way to the coffee shop. The front door chimed as Rafael stepped inside the establishment, his eyes scanned the enclosure for Charlotte until he saw her in the back corner, slowly, he padded towards the table where she had a coffee already waiting for him. They barely looked at one another as the world around them continued to function in its normal capacity, the tension surrounding them was so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Charlotte lightly tapped her fingers on the container housing her chamomile tea as she thought of the best way to approach the subject...finally, it was Rafael who ultimately broke the awkward silence.

“I would ask how you are doing but…”

“Then don’t” Charlotte snapped all the while maintaining her composure without breaking down into tears again, she breathed through her nose and exhaled a deep breath then blurted out:

“It’s official...I’m pregnant and your the father”

Rafael blinked as he took a moment to process the huge bombshell that was just dropped on him, although he had his suspicions, receiving actual confirmation made everything all the more real. While his first instincts were to reach out and hold Charlotte’s hand and comfort her, he knew that she would rebuff his advances, with a heavy sigh, he continued:

“Charlotte...I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make up for everything that has happened, but I just want you to know that whatever you decide...I will respect your wishes”

Charlotte replied, "Well look at you...the great Rafael Barba playing the martyr"

The venom in her voice caused Rafael to inwardly cringe while on the outside his face took on a wounded appearance.

Charlotte sighed, "I'm sorry Rafael...that was unfair of me"

"It was well deserved believe me"

She looked out the window for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts while Rafael looked on, carefully gauging her mood. Finally, she spoke:

“Look...I don’t know where we go from here...all I know is that I do want you to be a part of our child’s life and we’ll figure it out as we go along with regards to visitation and support”

Her words were like a dagger to Rafael’s heart, granted that she was willing to let him see their child, a part of him hoped that she would consider the possibility of raising their little bundle of joy together; and yet the more realistic side of him understood that once a trust has been breached, it could take a long time to rebuild or worst case scenario, one can never regain that trust. He frowned but nodded his head in agreement, upon exiting the coffee shop, they both decided that Charlotte would update Rafael on the baby’s development and went their separate ways.

6 months later…

Charlotte stares idly at the monitor as the doctor ran the ultrasound wand along her abdomen, waiting to catch a glimpse of the tiny life growing inside her, today was the day that she would find out the gender of her baby. The doctor adjusted the image on the screen to where a little grey jelly bean came into view, as she pointed out how the baby was developing on schedule, Charlotte became overwhelmed with emotion; tears began to prick in her eyes as she sniffled.

“Charlotte..are you ready to know what you are having”

“Yes, please”

The doctor clicked a few more buttons and a more clearer picture came into focus

“Congratulations Charlotte...you’re having a healthy baby girl”

The floodgates opened as tears streamed down her face, the amount of joy and love that she felt for the tiny human being inside her was astounding; at that point the doctor excused herself so she could print out the ultrasound pictures. During this moment of solitude, Charlotte’s happiness was quickly foreshadowed by the fact that this beautiful child was created out of the love that she once shared with Rafael, the man that she was set to wed before it was revealed that he had been unfaithful to her but as much as she wanted to hate him for the rest of her life...there was a part of her that still loved him and missed him very much. She quickly wiped her eyes as the doctor re-entered the room, she was handed the ultrasound pictures before gathering her belongings and leaving the examination room. She was then escorted down the hall to the reception desk, as she was finishing up with the receptionist, a familiar figure was sitting patiently in the waiting room. Upon entering, Charlotte was greeted with a smiling tall, sandy haired gentleman.

“You ready to go Charlotte”

“Ready when you are Sonny”

Sonny smiled as the two of them made their way out of the building, he helped her into his car that was parked along the sidewalk and as soon as he was in the driver’s seat; he started the ignition and drove off. A few months prior, Sonny had ran into you while grocery shopping at the local market, the two of you exchanged pleasantries and even agreed to meet up for lunch later on that week and ever since then, Sonny was like a Godsend. Whenever you were feeling overwhelmed or you just needed someone to talk to, he would always be there. He even invited you over to his place a couple of times where he would share with you the many culinary delights from mama Carisi and cuddle up on the couch and binge watched on various movies involving tragic romances. Sonny meandered down the streets of downtown Manhattan while Charlotte looked out the passenger window watching the buildings pass by, her mind a jumbled mess with everything that has happened, she finds herself in one hell of a moral dilemma. It was almost as if Sonny could read her mind because when they came to traffic light, he looked over to her and asked:

“Is everything ok?”

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte replied, “I don’t know Sonny...how can you miss someone who dismantled everything you once knew to be true...who you gave your heart and soul to, only to have it torn apart…”

He frowned as he put the car in gear and continued driving towards her apartment, “I know what Barba did was inexcusable…but I’ve seen him in the office and he puts up a good front but deep down I know he misses you terribly and would give his soul to be with you again”

Charlotte smiled softly, knowing that Rafael still cared for her brought some comfort, but the underlying question was that if she reunited with Rafael...how does she know that she can trust him again. The car came to a stop outside her apartment building, and they began their ascent up the elevator then as they reached her floor, they strolled down the hall towards her door; Charlotte settled down on the couch while Carisi prepared dinner. The aroma of cooked pasta and oregano filled the room, after chowing down on their exquisite feast, Charlotte and Carisi planted themselves on the couch and browsed through Netflix until they decided on a romantic comedy with Jude Law and Julia Roberts.

They were well into the movie when there was a knock at the door, Sonny got up and looked through the peephole and then opened the door a crack where in his line of sight he was welcomed by his colleague in a three piece suit; the well rounded and sassy ADA known as Rafael Barba. The two men nodded at one another upon entry, Charlotte carefully sat up and stood in the middle of the living room, there was a moment of awkward silence before Sonny spoke:

“Well I’m going to run down to the store real quick, we ran out of milk”

And with that, Sonny grabbed his coat and left, Rafael and Charlotte looked at each other with weariness in each other’s eyes, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Rafael broke the ice:

“How are you feeling?”

“For the most part, I feel tired and gross”

Rafael snorted, “If you don’t mind me saying...I think you are still the most beautiful woman to ever walk this Earth”

Charlotte blushed at his words, she forgot that he could be pretty charming when he wanted to be, she fiddled with her fingers as she sat back down on the couch. Rafael soon joined her but kept his distance.

“Listen...the reason I came over was to tell you that I’m happy for you and Carisi”

Charlotte furrowed her brows, “Excuse me”

“He’s a good man...and I know that he’ll take care of you the way you deserve to be...and I think we can make this whole co-parenting situation work as long as there is an open communication with one another”

Charlotte grinned and began giggling, at the same time, Rafael looked on with puzzlement.

“Did I miss something?”

Once she sobered up, she replied, “Rafael...I’m not dating Sonny, we’re just friends”

“But everyone at the precinct has been saying how close you both have gotten and that it was only a matter of time before…”

“Look Rafael...these last six months have been hard and as much as I want to hate you with every fiber of my being, I’ve come to realize that I still love you and I miss you so much”

Rafael gazed upon Charlotte’s face, slowly he brought up his hand and cradled her face, his thumb caressed her cheek as she leaned into his touch. He pulled himself closer to her until their faces were inches apart, he gave her a hesitant kiss on her lips but from there it gained momentum. All those months apart, the longing and need spilled out into the fiery, passionate kisses but then they reluctantly broke the kiss in need for air; their eyes connected for a brief moment until Rafael spoke again:

“I love you Charlotte...and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you...if you’ll have me”

Charlotte desperately wanted to believe him, and while she was unsure as to what the future held for them, all she knew was that she couldn't imagine a life without Rafael in it.

“We have some work to do, but I am willing to give us another try”

#rafael barba x reader #reconciliation #I'm so sorry this took forever for me to get posted #hopefully you all enjoy

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sastrugie · 4 years

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john entwistle biography review

ok so first: I didnt really like the biography because I thought it would focus on totally different aspects. John was a musical virtuoso and that hardly ever gets mentioned in the book. But we get exact axccounts on how much money he spent on what day and in which pub he bought which champagne. like wow thanks. The other personal stuff is basic who knowledge you can read in any other Who biography. His autobiographical bits were joy and fun! Maybe the only reason to buy the book in my opinion. He writes totally different than the author...

ANYWAYS: here my fav facts from the book that you probably didnt know before

this is the face of a man who -when his father gave him driving lessons for his 21st birthday as a present- decided driving wasnt really his thing and he spent the money on clothes and parties instead. He never had a drivers license ever and also never desired to have one

the hospital he was born in, was bombarded and destructed one day after his birth

as a child he was really weak and thin and had basically every disease that existed

his family was poor af

his father left the family early and held contact with his son, but soon disappeared with a new family

his stepdad, Gordon, disliked John alot and would ignore him, hated everything John did or said and he let his bad moods out on Johns mother, which caused John to be very silent and observative around the house so that there wouldnt be any trouble

he did everything to please Queenie (his mom) so that there was no fighting, according to Alison

loved drawing and playing but usually alone since he had no friends apart from their dog

he heard a trumpet solo once from a trad jazz band when he was 6 or so and decided he wanted to learn the trumpet

my fav line of the book probably: “despite his own expectations, he passed the exams to go to grammar school” like same

at school he was bullied from the older boys but soon left alone by them because he would fight back with badass comments

he applied for the school band for the trumpet but the tallest guy in the year was chosen (he was the 2nd tallest) which made John mad, but he discovered the french horn

soon he found a friend, mickey brown, at last and he gave him the nickname “ent”

he was so terrible in P.E that he was dismissed with other pupils to play somehwere else, they were called “the hockey misfits” and guess who was among them: Pete Townshend.

yeah as you might know they became besties because they loved music and black humour.

he found himself a gf (alison) and Pete & a school gang (like 4 ppl) and his life seemed to finally get where it should.

his worst subjects were geography and german like wow (im a german geography student lmao)

once they played in a pub and johns stepdad was there and was super angry and gave john a list with his fav pubs and told him “these are the places I never want to hear your fucking music playing”.

after walking home pete decided to switch the guitar and john wanted to become a musician more than ever

Roger found him and John kind of convinced him (it took months apparently) to get Pete into the band and then it all started

he judged the beatles because John Lennons harmonica was “out of tune” in love me do, wow ok you nerd

john started smoking with 20 and was the last one to quit his job for the band and he was against drugs at first (bc he had a “civilized” job) but then decided to give a shit, dyed his hair black, bought cigarettes, smoked dope with pete and did speed too

he wanted to step out of himself and feel good about himself and he was always a fashionnerd so he started buying and trading and selling clothes (he once was dismissed from school bc he wore the school uniform incorrectly)

with 18 or so he was still living at home, had a toy soldier collection and a pet budgie

pete and his college friends made fun of john bc he wasnt a student and still lived at home, although john could have gone to college too and he wanted to, but his stepdad again said no and he had no choice.

he was very awkward and introverted but could open up with his music

he was really into pop art (esp pop art clothes)

was a pseudo mod bc he only liked the fancy clothes and motown music

with the who he found a purpose in his life and finally could be different than ordinary ppl

hated when people touched his hair, he literally hated it

would fuss much about his hair in general

once after a concert they were starving and the room service was alreday home so they had to look on used plates and food wagons and John found a shrimp and said: “who wants to dine with me tonight?” (idk that really made me laugh)

keith moon was john entwistles soulmate and they were the cutest, most iconic and funniest duo ever end of discussion

his amps would soon be called little manhatten bc he had so many bc he wanted to be loud

he actually went to sing at church once when he was like 24 and the band made fun of him then he stopped

in the late 60s he bought a house with alison in a normal neighbourhood and went walking the dogs on sundays and stuff

but he was a party animal and always the last to go

he was really sensitive and cried often according to Alison but only in front of certain people

he would totally step out of his way to please people

when they played at the monterey pop festival they didnt bring their own amps along and john was furious bc he said the american amps are shit and kit was like “no” and john didnt talk to him for the whole festival until their perfomance was over and they had sounded like shit to tell kit “I TOLD YOU SO” thats how extra he was

when he got money he would spend it bc he was so used to being poor that he thought it wouldnt last long and he had to enjoy it NOW

he was always calm and everyone respected him and kit told a story where he entered the room and roger was at keiths throat and and pete was screaming something and john was sitting in the corner cleaning his nails. thats who energy

liked to dance at parties

his fav drink was rémy cognac with 40% and he would drink like 1 bottle alone everyday in his later years...wow dude

he was also gentlemanTM and once paid taxis for girls from london to brighton after a party

once at a wedding the free drinks were out and John just gave the barkeeper his creditcard and said he will pay for all the drinks of the night for everyone (it wasnt his wedding)

Roger once said: “John made smartass comments that deserved a punch in the face” sounds like him yes

he didnt really care about money and always wanted to pay and never told anyone how much things had cost and brought gifts for everyone

soon that ended in a shopping addiction tho and he bought ridiculous things for ridiculous amounts of money

when the who was inactive he sank into depression :(

held the band together during who by numbers & who are you

wrote and played all the quadrophenia horn parts himself

never lost his passion for art and always drawed alot, said Alison

cried when Christopher was born aww

once he saw their manager in an art museum and how he wanted to buy a painting but couldnt afford it, so John bought it secretly and shipped it to said managers home as a gift

We all know John was a huge collector. His most treasured collection was .. wait for it: teapots.

he tried to save Keith from being arrested once and ended up being arrested too lol

wanted to write a scifi concept album but desorted the idea and gave some songs to the who (905) or Pete

was a good cook apparently

When he gave a hug HE was the one who decided when to let go sdfghjk

hated confrontation and would hire other people to tell someone bad news

he spent so much money on dumb shit like wtf

but didnt really care either

probably the master in picking up and seducing girls

he let his stepdad live in the quarwood mansion when he wasnt there but Gordon was still an asshole wtf

the contact to his real dad was really sporadic

when the who ended, it hit him really hard and he didnt know what to do besides partying and buying stuff/hording stuff

was very insecure and selfconscious in the 80s according to Maxene :(

he actually took pete breaking up the who really personal and was sad 24/7

was that kind of guy that said bad stuff about the who but when you said bad stuff he would try to kill you on spot

with cocaine he felt really confident and still like the 60s/70s rockstar he once was but he didnt understand that these times were over and he needed to move on

sometimes went into random pubs with friends and made jam sessions for the guests

he still was generous and loving until he died and tried to play with other bands but it was not the same

he really liked Kenney and hung out with him more than with his wife at some point lmao

was a total giver and people who worked at quarwood would steal money from him but when someone pointed that out he got angry with that person for even suggesting that

was a real softieee (and a huge nerd)

all his friends said that he was shy at first but once you got to know him he would come totally out of himself, was very funny, loved to tell stories, was very very loyal and would try evertyhing to make you laugh aww

all in all a glorious story with a sad ending and he did destroy himself completely, but lets remember that Pete Townshend described old John still as "wonderful, mature and elegant” so lets cling on to that :)

#the who #John Entwistle #band #literature #the ox #mine #pete and rog didnt participate in the bio maybe thats why its hit #*shit #not hit #also you can see: no info about his musical inspiration or werdegang #can not recommend #althought this post might look fun these are the filtered cool stories from like 330 pages #classic rock

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endon-project · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: Preview

A visitor from outer space

It had been a good ten minutes. Oskar was still sitting on the cold forest floor and staring at the creature in front of him. His mind, especially in its tired state, still couldn’t make sense of it all. The thing looked so human, but the skin or whatever it was just made no sense. And it was no paint, he had checked before. A moment ago, he had poked its cheek with his finger just for a second and got even more shocked and scared when he felt it was indeed skin and not paint. Somehow the option of this thing in front of him being an alien didn’t cross his mind until now. He was just desperately trying to find a logical explanation for this. But he couldn’t.

Finally, he got up on his feet again, since his butt was getting cold. As were his hands and toes. It was well below freezing temperatures and he didn’t bring any gloves. Idiot, he thought to himself. But that wasn’t important right now. He still stared at the unconscious… alien.

What was he going to do now? Should he leave it here?

While thinking of what to do next he bit his bottom lip and walked a few paces to get some feeling back into his feet and legs. Suddenly he heard an engine coming closer and through the trees he could see the lights of a pair of headlamps. Conveniently enough the crash site was close to the forest road, wide enough for a vehicle to drive on. Oskar couldn’t recognize the car, since it was too dark, but he already knew who it was. It was too late for anyone else to venture into the forest. Plus he had called his brother, Theo, before he went out. It had to be him.

Theo was one of the local foresters and Oskar figured it would’ve been a good idea to alert him that something had just crash-landed in his woods. Besides, it was a good idea to be with two people in case there were actually people in need – as he thought earlier when he decided to call him. He had of course no idea that he would encounter what looked liked an alien instead. He did feel a bit bad for calling his brother so late at night, but it did seem like an emergency. At least he didn’t drag him out here for nothing, as he first thought.

The car stopped and the engine turned off. Oskar heard the front door open and then slam shut again. Then he saw the driver activate the light of his torch and was moving towards his position. Oskar decided to walk towards the silhouette of his brother to greet him. Thankfully it actually was him and not another strange person…

“Good evening.” Theo said in a rather confused tone.

“Evening.” Oskar nodded, less confused but still a little distressed. The tiredness from before was gone and he was filled with adrenaline about what he had just discovered. “Thanks for showing up at this hour. But uhm… The situation is…eh, complicated.” In the faint light he could see Theo raising a brow.

“What’s wrong?” Now Oskar could hear concern in his voice.

“It’s…. Well, how do I explain this?” He tried to find words but shook his head. No words could describe what he witnessed. So instead he decided to show him. “Come with me.” He said and started walking back towards the unconscious alien, making a gesture for Theo to follow him. His brother was still confused but eventually started to follow the taller man.

“I thought you said a plane or something crashed. Where is it? Or did you make everything up to prank me again.” Theo remarked, looking around and not seeing anything. It certainly had happened before that Oskar would prank his younger brother. But that was when they had been teens. This was serious. As Theo was following his brother, he paused. “This clearing certainly wasn’t here before…”

“I know.” Oskar replied without looking at him. “Just… come look at this.” He replied when he stood next to the body on the ground and gestured at it. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Huh…” Theo stared at Oskar. “Well, if you say that, then it must be really strange.” He replied, knowing full well how rational and intelligent his older brother was. He always had some sort of explanation or theory for anything that happened. When they were younger, Theo looked up to his elder brother a lot – despite the teasing and pranks. And to this day they stayed very close and Theo always had some sort of respect and awe for Oskar.

Finally Theo turned to the body on the floor and noticed by its shape that it was huge! He also saw the flashing lights of the space suit or whatever it was. Then he shone his light on it and almost gasped and took a step back when he saw the face. “What is that?!” He exclaimed, almost panicked. “Is it… dead?” He immediately asked afterwards, not even processing the first information.

“I don’t think so.” Oskar replied calmly and kneeled next to the creature to take a better look. Now that he was actually used to it, he wasn’t so scared anymore. Somehow the alien didn’t seem like it was going to harm any of them. It was just confused. And Oskar was curious as to why it crash-landed here and where it came from. Now that he was thinking more about it, he had so many questions. And determined as his nature was, he wanted answers.

“I think it’s injured.” He eventually said as he was inspecting the face a little closer. He saw blood running over its cheek. It was fascinating. He recognized many more details than the first time. Some parts of the facial structure were white and solid; the other parts were black and soft, feeling a lot like rubber. The black part ran along the cheekbones to the jaw line and over the chin and presumably to the neck, but Oskar couldn’t see, since the suit obstructed his view. The tip of the nose was also black as were its lips. And from what he could see the eyelids were black as well. He made the quick conclusion that all parts of the face that could move were black and the white was a sort of protective shell. Running along the border of the black and white along the cheekbones was a thin stripe of blue pulsating lights. A helmet covered the rest of the head.

“Don’t get too close! Maybe it’s going to wake up soon and kill you or something!” He heard Theo speculate in the background. Judging by the tone of his voice his little brother was scared, terrified even, but he couldn’t blame him. He too, was terrified at first and had almost run away. Not like he was going to mention that to Theo; his entire image of a protective older brother would probably shatter into a million pieces.

Eventually Oskar stood back up. “If it wanted to kill me, it could’ve already done so. I’m pretty sure it saw me cowering on the floor over there.” He gestured at the general area where he was kneeling earlier with Isabell. “It just looked confused and… scared? I mean, if it really is an alien, it should be no surprise. It just landed on a different planet and barely survived.”

“Yeah but… still! It could be dangerous.” Theo protested, keeping his distance.

“You watch too many movies.” Oskar shook his head. Which was ironic, since Oskar had also thought about classical horror movie scenarios just a few minutes ago. He did feel a bit silly about that.

“Who’s to say there’s not some truth behind those movies?” The younger man folded his arms in front of his chest. Oskar just scoffed, followed by a little chuckle. But he remained quiet. He didn’t know how to calm his brother down without lying. After all, he didn’t know what the intentions of the alien were either, nor if it actually was dangerous or not. He had only seen it move for a very short amount of time. It was far too early to conclude anything. But even so, Oskar just had this strong feeling this visitor from outer space was not hostile – against everything modern movies propagated.

For a moment there was silence between the two brothers, since Oskar had no response. Both of them just looked the alien and watched the little lights on its face pulsate. It reminded Oskar of the bioluminescence abilities some animals also possessed; either to attract bait or to give warning signs. Maybe it was used for a similar purpose? Would it have full control of it or was it random? Either way, it was rather mesmerizing to look at.

“How did you find it?” Theo eventually asked to break the silence as he stepped next to his brother. Oskar looked at him and then back at the creature, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I saw that thing in the sky coming down. I haven’t quite figured out yet where the heck it went, but it must be somewhere. It’s got to be the space ship or aircraft it arrived in. I thought it was a plane, so I decided to head out and call you to meet up. But when I arrived here, there was nothing, except damaged trees and a few small fires I put out. Then I saw this figure moving over there.” He gestured at the tree line where he had first seen the alien move. “I couldn’t see it clearly, I kind of just… uh, wanted to leave.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “As I was getting Isabell, I heard it walking towards me and I saw it standing here,” he pointed at the spot they were standing, “before it collapsed in front of me. But it didn’t look like it was going to hurt me. It really just looked confused and lost. And then you arrived.”

Theo listened to his brother intently while looking at the alien and trying to process the image that was very clearly in front of him. Still it made no sense. Was this really an alien or was it something else? But if not an alien, what on Earth could this be?

“So, what are you going to do now?” He eventually asked, looking up at Oskar.

“We can’t leave it here. It needs help.” He stated. Theo just stared at him.

“Are you out of your mind? We can’t just bring an alien into our house!”

“Why not? It’s my house.” Oskar gave him a stern look. “Even if it is alien, it needs help and I’m not going to leave behind an injured creature. It’s still a life.” Having studied biology for part of his education he was very attached to life in general. This was also the reason he treated Isabell so well. He loved that dog with all his heart. And in his line of work he was also determined to help people as much as he could. It gave him great satisfaction. So the thought of leaving an injured life form, alien or not, behind, just sat wrong with him. His moral compass would forbid him to do so. And maybe once he could somehow communicate to the alien that he helped it, it would spare them? He really hoped so at least. Sure it was a big risk, but it was the right thing to do.

Theo sighed and didn’t know what to say. He tried to stand his ground against Oskar’s stare, but as usual lost in the end. He averted his gaze and his eye fell on Isabell, who now also inspected the alien body and sniffed at it. Oskar noticed what Theo was looking at and turned to watch the dog’s behaviour, too. Isabell took a few good sniffs at the strange creature and eventually licked its cheek. Then she started to wag her tail and looked at Oskar, who smiled.

“See? Isabell also thinks it’s not dangerous.” He replied with a smug smile on his face. Theo sighed defeated.

“Fine… I just hope you know what you’re doing.” But Theo had to admit that leaving it out here, injured and unconscious was a bad idea. They wouldn’t do it to a human either. What if someone else found it and had bad intentions? The alien could find itself lucky that Oskar was the one who stumbled across it and not some mad scientist. Maybe he did watch too many movies. “But it’s staying at your house.” He quickly added and pointed at his brother.

“Obviously.” Oskar replied. “Alright, you grab the legs, I’ll grab the torso.” He instructed while he was trying to move the body onto its back. But that was easier said than done. Oskar had placed one hand on the alien’s shoulder and the other on its hips and was pulling with all his strength, trying to roll it over. But it barely moved. It was really heavy! Oskar struggled and grunted in exhaustion. “Give me a hand here!” He asked his little brother, who had just been amusingly watching the entire scene. Theo stepped on the other side of the body and pushed it towards Oskar. Finally, together they managed to roll the alien on its back.

“Goodness, how heavy is this alien?” Theo complained while panting.

Your E-mail address will not be violated or otherwise used in any way!!

#writeblr #science fiction #original story #endon project #aliens #writing

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hwayoungscorpioshin · 4 years

Text

Filthy Rich, Spoilt Rotten | ten

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Summary: Seungwoo covers up corruption and you are an activist in your spare time.

Also known as Seungwoo’s life as your employer.

One would think that the respectable, then Congressman, Lee Dongwook does not have it in him to father an illegitimate child. That’s why in 1994, when he is photographed with a newborn in a stroller, leisurely walking next to a nanny and two bodyguards by Han River, the people are aghast. His opponents lost no time using the scandal to make a smear campaign against his reputation. Too bad for them, Lee Dongwook’s PR Team, together with his own good looks and charisma, have managed to overturn the tide to their favor. Despite having tabloids ravenously making up rumors about Seungwoo’s mother, she has remained anonymous, along with Seungyoun’s and Hyeongjun’s a few years later. Only Hangyul and Eunsang’s mother is publicly introduced and is even present in some of the social gatherings Lee Dongwook has attended until shortly before their divorce in 2006. All mothers are very much involved in each of their children’s lives, however, and Lee Dongwook has made sure his sons do not miss out on any kind of parental need that they have.

The people outside their family cannot understand the dynamics of having that kind of family but it works for them and at the end of the day, that is all that matters.

Seungwoo’s father does not believe in the notions of legitimacy or illegitimacy of his children. In his eyes, they are all his sons and he loves them all equally. Which is why whenever there are big decisions to be made in the family, he has made it a point to involve all of them. Still, meeting clients and talking about the terms and conditions of their business is a different thing, though, and usually for business that require discreetness, it is Seungwoo who takes care of it.

The Table, where the Lee Family usually conducts its other businesses, is not actually a table but more of a hidden room with a long table inside along with shelves of books and several huge antique vases. Each of their public houses have the same room except for the house his father actually lives in. Seungwoo knows all of the rooms like the back of his hand. Every turn, every switch, every shadow. This is exactly why, when he is about to turn and step into the hall leading to The Table, he determines that somebody is following him. Slim shadows from the lights outside dance on the walls but one peculiar shadow gives up the tell-tale sign of a human body. So, before he fully discloses the location of The Table to a possible spy, he steps back and turns toward a different hall. True enough, the owner of the shadow follows him and he’s sure, if he listens a little more closely, he can hear the light footsteps following him.

He opens the door to the study and steps inside, leaving the door somewhat slightly ajar. Inside, the room is illuminated by nothing but the moonlight shining down from the window wall. The party continues on the other side of the mansion and there is nothing else to hear but the muted sound of Hyeongjun — no doubt — playing the piano. Seungwoo walks over to the fireplace, takes the fire poker from the stand and slings it over his shoulder. It is in this position that his pursuer stumbles upon him, literally.

It all happens so fast. The door swings open as the person leans against it. Light floods into the room from the hall. Glass shatters on the floor. A girl screams.

“YN!”

Seungwoo tosses the fire poker away and kneels next to the girl on the floor. She has tripped on her heels and fell on the broken glass she has previously dropped. There are tears streaming down her cheeks as she sits back to get away from the glass. He immediately takes her arm and pulls her into the study to sit her on a chair.

“Stay here,” Seungwoo says. He walks over to a switch and flips it on.

Now that the room is much brighter, he can finally see the injures on the girl. A small shard is poking out of the fleshy part of her left palm. Blood is continuously trickling down on the floor, creating a rather ghastly scene. The girl has scrapes on her knees and arm from where she fell earlier but the injury which most needs immediate medical attention is the one on her palm. Seungwoo grabs a bottle of bourbon from a cabinet and pours it over the wound. The girl inhales sharply and bites her lip. He thrusts the bottle to her.

“Drink this,” he tells her.

She reluctantly takes the bottle. After a beat, she takes two long gulps from it.

Seungwoo grabs another chair and sits on it. He gently pulls her hand to him. It’s bleeding less now but he still needs to take out the glass. He sees the girl sway a little on her seat. Whether is it from the pain or from the bourbon, nobody really knows.

“You might want to look away, YN,” Seungwoo warns.

The second she turns her head to the side, Seungwoo immediately gets to work. He pulls the shard out of her palm gently. The girl’s other hand makes a fist that she clutches to her chest. The glass is longer than what Seungwoo has initially thought but he is able to take it out eventually. He pours more of the bourbon on her palm which has started to bleed again. Then, he wraps a handkerchief around it.

The girl is now leaning her head against the wall behind her, eyes drooping and out of focus. “Seungwoo, I feel lightheaded...”

He lightly taps on her cheek and keep her awake. “Stay with me, YN. I need to get you to a doctor.”

Seungwoo takes his phone out to make a call. As the phone rings, he takes a glance over to the doorway and sees a pool of blood. It is only then that he realizes how much she has lost in a short amount of time. The smell of her blood permeates the air and a sick, nervous feeling overcomes him.

“Hyung, what’s up?” Eunsang’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.

He wastes no time. “I need to bring YN to the hospital. She’s been hurt.”

“What? Hurt how?”

“I’ll explain later. Can you have someone drive us there? Do we have drivers present?”

Eunsang grunts in affirmation. “Yeah, I’ll tell them to wait for you at the back gate.”

“Thanks, Eunsang,” Seungwoo responds, “One more thing, have somebody clean up the study.”

His brother makes a surprised chuckle. “I heard ‘body’ instead of ‘study’ but yeah, consider it done, hyung.”

Seungwoo thanks his younger brother again then hangs up.

A/N: Papa Lee is on to you, YN!

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#x1 #x1 au #han seungwoo #cho seungyoun #kim wooseok #kim yohan #lee hangyul #cha junho #kang minhee #son dongpyo #lee eunsang #song hyeongjun #nam dohyon #seungwoo au #seungwoo fanfic #seungwoo imagine #seungwoo reaction #victon seungwoo

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years

Text

Title: Love, Maybe? {3}

Chris Evans X Reader Vixen Giovanni

Series Warning: Plot, Cursing, Mild Sexual References

Word Count: 3K

Note: Another day, another idea. Italic writing signifies an inside thought.

**Slightly Proofread/edited**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Parting Gift

-Vixen-

As you sat on the bed in your hotel room, you had several magazines spread open on your bed and your laptop open to an article about divorce. You leaned back against the headboard and stared at a picture of Chris Evans. He was walking across a parking lot with a huge smile on his face. You couldn’t deny it he was good looking, and he looked like he dressed nicely. You wondered if it was a natural talent or if he had a stylist like other celebrities. You still weren’t able to remember what happened in Vegas beyond the few flashes of memories, and you were very frustrated with it.

You looked in another magazine at the picture of Chris from some photoshoot, he was shirtless showing off his chiseled chest and defined abs, he was beyond good looking. Every woman in America probably lusted after him. Every woman probably threw themselves at him when they met him, yet here you were married to him.

“I’m married to Chris Evans. I’m Mrs. Evans.”

The sound of it out loud made you bust out laughing, a laugh that didn’t subside for several long minutes. Once you’d settled down, your eyes fell to the article on your laptop. You were about to go through with a divorce. The message from Chris was clear.

MSG Chris: 19027 Pasadena way, off of Rodeo Drive, five o’clock.

The time was drawing near, and you were getting nervous. You were married less than seventy-two hours ago to a complete celebrity stranger, and you were now seeking a divorce again in less than seventy-two hours. Your head was spinning. You knew if your parents ever found out about this, they’d be disappointed. For your entire life, they’d drilled into you the importance of marriage and how much it signified and warned you about entering into it lightly. You knew how much it meant and you believed in the sanctity of marriage, but here you were about to throw it away. You’d have to keep this secret for the rest of your life, hell if you ever got married again you couldn’t even tell him. how did you tell someone you married Chris Evans in a drunken night? You didn’t; you kept your mouth shut.

Before long, you got lost in your daydreams and thoughts and the time crept up for you to meet Chris. You dressed and gathered your things and went on your way. The few times you’d been to LA, you found it overwhelming. Everyone was here to pursue a dream, and this town was an unforgiving one, one that was filled with plenty of vain and shallow souls that only cared about looks, money, and sex. You never wanted to live in LA no matter how many times you got offered slots in culinary programs. You didn’t want to be surrounded by the jadedness; you were jaded enough. Though jaded you couldn’t deny the beauty of LA. The sun was always shining, it was warm, and the bodies were hot. You enjoyed the view through the taxi window for the twenty-minute ride.

Once you pulled up to the address, you paid the driver and walked into the building and saw Chris waiting. When he saw you, he smiled a smile that looked genuine. You smiled back and approached him.

“Glad you could make it,” Chris said.

He leaned in as if to kiss your cheek but stopped as you moved in to reciprocate, but you stopped when he did. Then he held out his hand for a handshake before he pulled it back and then you stood awkwardly in front of each other. How exactly did you greet your husband that was a stranger but was soon to be your ex-husband? Before either of you could make a bigger fool of yourselves, the office door opened and out walked an older man with salt, pepper and blonde hair, dressed in a navy-blue suit and a purple tie.

“Chris. Good to see you, buddy.”

Chris shook his hand and gave him a quick hug.

“You to Sherman.”

“So you’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a pickle huh,” Sherman spoke. Chris nodded sheepishly.

“Yes. This is Vixen,” Chris introduced. Sherman smiled warmly at you.

“Nice to meet you Vixen, or should I say, Mrs. Evans?”

Chris laughed nervously along with Sherman, and you tried to as well but couldn’t although you’d just laughed your ass off over it. Seeing your blank face, both men stopped laughing and cleared their throats.

“My name is Sherman Alexander. Don’t worry we’ll get this cleared up for you. follow me.”

You both followed him into his office that was filled with mahogany furniture and smelled like cigars and whiskey. You approached one of the plush mahogany colored leather chairs and sat down.

“Okay, so from Chris’s voicemail it sounds as if you two got married on the fly in Vegas and didn’t qualify for an annulment which brings me in the mix for a discreet divorce,” Sherman cliff noted.

“Yes. Right?” Chris questioned, looking at you for back up. You nodded.

“Yes.”

“All right then let’s get down to business. I know everything about you, Chris. Vixen let’s get some information about you.”

“Like what?”

“Where do you live?”

“San Francisco.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Uh, I’m a bartender.”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Chris piped up.

“Yeah, fair to say there is quite a bit you don’t know about me,” you responded. He nodded.

“Okay. Since this was a quickie marriage, there was no prenup, right?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want anything from him—from you,” you rushed out.

“Really? Not even a little monetary compensation for this whole ordeal? Maybe fifty thousand dollars?” Sherman asked with his eyebrow quirked up.

“What ordeal? We met, got married, and had sex. It’s not like he locked me up and forced himself on me. I don’t remember what happened, but I’m sure it wasn't forced. So no, not even fifty thousand dollars. Your money, houses, cars, and whatever else is safe. I don’t want it.”

Chris studied you and looked impressed. You tried hard not to take offense. It was LA after all he’d probably met a lot of women who wanted quite a bit more from him than his dick.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind paying you some money,” Chris expressed.

“I’m sure. We will exit this union the same way we came in it, with our own possessions. It’s cool,” you finished.

“Was the sex protected?”

Silence. You and Chris looked at each other and paused. You didn’t remember. Did you use protection?

“You don’t remember,” Sherman filled in.

“Unfortunately, no, but I am religious about protection,” you emphasized.

“Me too!” Chris interjected.

“Any chance you’re pregnant?”

“Not a chance, I’m on birth control. Safe there.”

“Okay. So it’s all pretty simple then. I’ve drawn up the paperwork and also dawn up paperwork for an NDA.”

“NDA?”

“Ms. Giovanni I’m sure you understand Chris is a celebrity and any mention of this could ruin his image. My job is to protect him, his image, and his interests. This NDA is just a precaution to ensure that this all really does go away. You understand,” Sherman cautiously explained.

You could tell he’d done this before. He was an expert at making an accusation about your character a soft jab. You gritted your teeth and tried to contain the bitch inside.

“Got it. Let’s get this done.”

He pushed a stack of papers to you and Chris, and you read through them. Most of the legalese tripped you up, but from what you gathered, it was a straightforward desolation of marriage contract. It stated neither party was seeking anything; there would be no exchange of money, each party would move on with their respective lives and not discuss this with anyone. You took up the pen and hesitated over the line for your name but continued and signed your signature and pushed the paper to Chris. He followed suit and signed.

“Excellent. So, this all goes on smoothly. I’ll file these, and then once I get the final paperwork, I will notify you, Chris, since you live so far away,” Sherman added.

“How long will this take?”

“With annulments, they go through within weeks, but actual divorces take some time. The least amount of time is a month the most is four. Just be sure that once you both get the final copies you sign and post it back to me. Until I receive them nothing is desolated.”

You nodded as did Chris, and then you rose up and shook his hand and walked out of the office. When you stepped out into the cool LA night air, you took a deep breath. You thought you’d have felt like a weight had been lifted off of you, but you didn’t you still felt the same. Chris walked next to you and cleared his throat.

“So what’re your plans?”

“Uh not sure, get back to my hotel and catch a flight out of here.”

“Whatdaya say we grab some dinner before you go. Sort of like one last meal as husband and wife?”

You looked at him and the soft smile on his face and nodded.

“Okay, only because I’m starving.”

“Thank god for that.”

You smiled and followed his outstretched hand that was pointing to the parked car in front of the building. As you approached the car Chris walked around to the passenger side and opened your door. You smiled your gratitude and slipped inside the beautiful azure blue car into the sleek black and white leather interior. You looked around the car and whistled, it was beautiful. Once Chris slipped into the driver’s side, you looked at him.

“Doing well for yourself, huh Captain America?”

He smiled, and you were instantly hypnotized by his white teeth and distracting smile. He shrugged and put the car into gear and sped off down the street. You watched the city lights zip by as the silence filled the car.

“Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“Uh—how about tacos? I love tacos,” you responded.

“Coincidence, I love tacos too, so tacos it is.”

When he turned right, you looked to the steering wheel at his hand. His hands were holding the wheel in a relaxed way, but they weren’t at ten and two, instead one hand was at twelve and the other rested on the side of the door. You loved this stance. You smiled to yourself and bit your bottom lip. Your eyes dropped down to his thighs; they were spread a good length apart and touched the steering wheel. He was tall. You got lost admiring the shape of his legs when a memory overcame you. You were sitting on his lap, and he was sitting on the bed. Your hips moved in a circular motion. Chris dropped his head back with his mouth agape. You heard a low guttural moan escape his lips and you flicked your hips back and forth quicker than before. Chris gripped your hips tighter before he began moving you on him more forcefully. You moaned loudly and arched back to brace yourself on his thighs. The memory faded, and when you came back to reality, Chris was looking at you. You looked away from him and took a few deep breaths.

“You okay?”

“Yep, all good. Never better,” you lied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How are they?”

You looked up with a mouthful of tacos with sauces smeared across your lips and taco juice trailing down your fingers. You nodded and held up your thumb to him. Chris smiled and then laughed continued to watch you as you tried to clean up the mess you’d made of yourself.

“Wow. This is a first,” he said.

After you swallowed, wiped your hangs and took a hearty gulp of your tequila sunrise drink, you looked at him. “What’s a first?”

“Oh, you know, a woman eating like you on a date,” he filled in.

You smiled and took another sip of your drink.

“Date?”

Chris stopped smiling, looked away from you, and took several gulps of his beer before he cleared his throat loudly.

“What I meant was—well, you know.”

You snorted and took another bite of your taco.

“I’m not like other women you’ve known. Nothing and no one will stop me from enjoying my favorite food,” you informed with your mouth full not caring the impression you were making.

“I can see that. It’s refreshing. I’m used to women ordering salads and water and then taking small dainty bites even more gingerly sips of water. It always boggled my mind.”

For emphasis, you took another fulfilling bite of your taco and rolled your eyes in the back of your head. He laughed again, you smiled.

“Well, I appreciate you being yourself,” Chris expressed.

“Nothing else for me to be but myself.”

He smiled again and took another bite of his taco. The two of you ate slowly and quietly for a few minutes.

“So you’re a bartender?”

You nodded.

“For how long?”

“Uh—three years,” you responded.

“Wow, you must like it.”

“It pays the bills and pays them well. Plus I’m good at it,” you explained.

“What’s the best drink you make? The one you can make with your eyes closed, knowing where all ingredients are.”

“Uh—I make a mean Mai Tai.”

“Oh, I like Mai Tais.”

“Good to know.”

“So are you bartending to put yourself through school or something?”

“Uh, not really, kind of.”

At his confused expression, you sighed out. “I’m in culinary school and a culinary program.”

Chris’ eyes lit up, and he smiled.

“Really? Wow, that’s impressive. So, you want to be a chef?”

“To begin.”

“Wow. That’s great Vixen. I wish you luck.”

You smiled and stared at him, gaining a new fondness for his sweetness. It was so easy to think you knew celebrities from all the tabloid magazines and rumors that flew around and even their movies, but you really didn’t know them at all. Here you were sitting across from a celebrity and actually getting to know him. You took another sip of your drink.

“Did you always want to be an actor?”

“Yes, and no, in the beginning, I did want to act,” he began.

“And now?”

“Now--,” he trailed off and looked out to the distance before he looked in his plate and took another bite of his taco.

“Now I’m good either way.”

You got the feeling he was going to say something but decided against it. You studied him for a long while.

“Did our situation mess up a relationship for you?”

“Are you asking in a weird way if I’m single?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Guess I am,” he confirmed.

“No, I’m not single. I’m currently married to you,” you joked. He smiled and nodded.

“Other than this, no, there is no one. What about you?”

Chris sighed and shook his head.

“No one serious,” he answered.

“So the rumors are right then.”

“What rumors are those?”

“Oh you know, the ones that say you are enjoying your bachelor status to its full extent,” you gently teased. Chris laughed heartily making you smile.

For the next three hours, you at and drink and kept the conversation going. You joked and laughed without missing a beat as if you’d been old friends. He told you stories from the set of a few of his movies, stories about his childhood, stories about himself, and his experiences in Hollywood, and they were all hilarious. His sense of humor was perfect; he really was funny. The more he made you laugh, the more attracted you felt to him. The more attracted you were to him, the more you wanted to rip his shirt off and sit on his face. The entire time there you found yourself looking over small details of his body, his lips, the muscle in his jaw, his biceps that peeked out from underneath his fitted white t-shirt, and even his big hands. You knew for a fact that big hands did equate to other big things and you wanted to feel it again.

By the time you left the restaurant, it was almost one in the morning, and the two of you were way past tipsy. You laughed loudly as you stepped into the refreshing night air.

“That’s a crazy story,” you said through bouts of laughter.

It took a while for you to be able to calm down, but when you did, you noticed he was staring at you. Your laughter stilled, and all that remained was a small smile painted across your lips as you stared at him too. Neither of you spoke or moved, and it was as if the entire world melted around you only leaving you two as the only people alive. Your heart began to pound more forcefully at a pace that made you take short, shallow breaths. Chris took a step to you and then another until he stood mere feet in front of you. You gulped trying to fight through the lightheadedness.

“I’m having a great time,” Chris said in a small voice. It wasn’t a whisper, but it was close to one.

“Me too.”

“I don’t want it to end,” he added.

You stared deeply into his cornflower blue eyes and felt as if you were free falling.

“Neither do I,” you admitted.

“Would you like to go back to my place?”

You thought about the offer and the possibilities. You weren’t innocent, and you weren’t stupid. You knew what would happen if you went back to his place. You knew exactly what would happen. You had to decide if that was what you wanted. Was he what you wanted tonight?

“It’ll most likely be your last chance, and this time you’ll be conscious enough to remember it.”

You bit your bottom lip, and Chris’ eyes dropped to them, and you saw the desire radiating from them. He wanted you as much as you wanted him. That realization shook you enough to push you to take what you wanted.

“Yes,” you answered. Neither of you moved again, the two of you simply stood there taking in the moment, taking in what was about to happen, what both of you were admitting to wanting — each other.

To Be Continued...

TagList:

@sarahboseman @heyauntieeee @airis-paris14 @thiccdaddy-mbaku @wakandas-vibranium @wakanda-inspired @theunsweetenedtruth @ashanti-notthesinger @reignsxjackson @halfrican-heat @ambthegamer @simplyyamberr @muse-of-mbaku @sisterwifeudaku @mejustme06 @ilcb7 @leahnicole1219 @destinio1 @maliadestiny @drsunshine97 @blowmymbackout @purplehairgawdess @thehuntoyobun @wakandamama @wakandawinning @profilia @zxddy-panther @h-challa @babygirlofwakanda @misswakanda2018 @challaxkillmonger @ororowrites @hutchj @myfavemarvelfanfics @lavitabella87 @afraiddreamingandloving @autumn242 @purple-apricots @skysynclair19 @hersheyskissesss-blog @blue-ishx @blublubleu @90sinspiredgirl @tchallaswife @tchallamakesmeh0lla @turn-thy-paige @blackchickfics @blackpantherismyish @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @naturally-bri @flawlesslybeautiful14 @qweentbh @lunaerly @theoutereffect @twilight-sapphire-lover @pupyluv247 @stark-red19 @cockyboysandsugarism @maverickabull @madbadsiren @aykanna @myaw731 @ruruly20 @mixedmelanin @brittyevans @bezzywazhere @laketaj24 @taint3dvirgin @soulsparker @theresnomoregoodones @syreanne @loveandcigarillos @heybriheyyy @wakanda-bcth @uhlxis @yaachtynoboat711 @geeksareunique @bultalongthewayside @ajspencer1892 @captiansaveasmut @imaginewhoever @terrablaze514 @starsshines-blog @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @darkandlovely94 @sithlordslut @wavyyc @naturalistamisslyn @nigarachi15 @madamslayyy @blackandfair @kreolemami @mylastnameisthe-fish @kaykay0829 @chaneajoyyy @tequilajay27 @blacklotus-of-the-black-kingdom @slimmiyagi @im5ftbutmythroat66 @jaeee-http @madhatterhelsing @sunflowerpsalms @wakanda-shit-is-that @deliciousstreetkidcroissant @jecourt @vebner37 @disneysdarlingdiva @melaninmarvel @alanastormborn @dolphinpink310 @wonderbell @ohleucothea @queentearra @bitchbetterhavemydinner @fentybabyy @kaykay4454fan @priya212 @kitkit1690 @chrismarcs @beautycomesindifferentformsworld @blackpantherimagines @ovohanna24 @sweetpeachjones @kslo000 @nubian-queen18 @omgsuperstarg @prettyprincessushio @treeondrea @ursapharoh05 @blackpinup22 @kaytauru @big3gocandykahn @kissingpineapples @wildaboutchrisevans @fitfineandstayingalive @misspooh @michele-onel @gorjiss @muva-milaje @limbo-limbo-limbo @awkwardlyabstract @blxck-brxndie @meeky-imagines @inlovewith3 @metalarmlover @mellowjellow6 @sweettea-and-honeybutter @thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @marvelheaux @romanceoftheeveryday-blog @mufasathatniggatho @cltex84 @sweetbearcolorgarden @msincognito67 @mosagram @mar-ta-3 @ljstraightnochaser @lewatigress @akimi-youngblood @bekahdean87 @teechallas-blog @jasmindaughteroftheworld @cocooned-butterfly @emoniclark22 @chereedrop619 @theblulife @niggarachi15 @great-neckpectations @avenger-marvel-fan @arieljamiyla @vibranium-soul @apileofmiscsomethings @niecey4cocaine @missumuch1918 @chillavesss @heynessss @shamelessqueenobservation @cetouna @cosmicmelaninflower @tntnv @dopegalkk @babyblowomg @somansystars-and-westillstarve @determinednot2fall @zoezoe34 @chasingsunlight @somanystars-and-westillstarve @diamyyyyy @kumkaniudaku @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls@shyblackgirl @your-resident-evil @stillevansbae @sheisexcellent @oceanscorazon @hautehoneyfitness @bistoolada @sunigyrl @igotmadskills @adifferentme @bugngiz @mellowcyclepuppy @wellthirsted @caramara3 @pananegra @amethyst09 @champagnesugamama @marvelfansworld @kemkem101 @periodtevans @fullonfrenzy @domdollass @deansbbysblog @captainsamwlsn @westindianshorty @chillavesss @90sinspiredgirl @cutewylie

#Love Maybe Fic #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x ofc #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #angst fanfic #angst fic #slow burn fic #black fanfiction

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sobi-fans · 4 years

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Thoughts on TROS

So I’ve received a few asks asking about my thoughts on The Rise of Skywalker, and I haven’t replied because I have many thoughts and I’m still processing stuff. But yesterday @riselioness messaged me to ask the same, so I thought it was time to try and organise them on a page.Yes, I am very, very late to this party.

Obviously spoilers, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’ve only seen the movie once, and that was back in December, so my memory might be a little hazy. I probably need to see it again.

For the sake of context, I have no OTP for the sequel trilogy, but I have been known to read Reylo and Damerey on occasion. (And randomly Gingerflower – aka Hux/Rose – purely because of that TLJ deleted scene where she bites him!) Let me tell you, being on the outside of the shipping wars has been very interesting, and it seems abundantly clear to me that your enjoyment of TROS depends greatly on who you ship, or whether you ship at all. I would have been happy if Finnrose endured or Stormpilot became a thing, but ah well. Onwards!

I’ll try and keep this somewhat cohesive, but I feel like it’s going to be all over the place. Apologies.

Let’s start simple. Stuff I liked that doesn’t have a ‘but’ attached:

- Lando (where’s he been all this time?)

- Wedge (where’s he been all this time?)

- Finn being able to show his individuality with clothing and hair that’s his choice

- Purely for shallow reasons, Poe’s outfit

- Poe and Rey channelling Han and Leia with their bickering at the start

- The Force bond stuff was visually stunning with the dual locations

- Luke’s expression after he raises the X-wing, like ‘Yeah, finally nailed it!’

- Ben Solo channelling his father – also Adam Driver in general for making Ben so very different from Kylo with just body language and facial expressions alone. He literally moved like a huge weight had been lifted from him, and it was pretty amazing to watch

- The fact that Rey’s mother is Villanelle from Killing Eve

- Kaydel looking like Endor Leia at the end

- LGBTQ representation!

- Seeing young Luke and Leia

The stuff with Leia was very poignant and emotional, but I can’t exactly say it was good. It’s tricky. I don’t feel like I’ve separated Leia from Carrie in my mind, so it’s really hard to look at it objectively. I do know that when Chewie howled after Leia’s death, I teared up pretty much immediately!

I have mixed feelings about the trio interaction. Don’t get me wrong, it was nice to see them together, and I love their banter, BUT it felt incredibly forced. Shoving them together for the sake of them being together does a disservice to all three characters. This was the last movie. They should all have been developing their individual stories at that point. Rey with her Jedi stuff, (which she does get to go off and do, but not without Finn traipsing after her like a lost puppy), Poe finding his feet as a leader of the Resistance, and Finn doing literally anything else other than running after Rey yelling her name all the time.

There was a lot of stuff that I wanted to like, but mostly it came across as missed opportunities. Such as:

- Jannah and the other former stormtroopers – this would have been such an interesting idea to develop, and would have given Finn a cool storyline of his own that didn’t involve Rey. I would have liked to see Finn reaching out to current stormtroopers, persuading them that they had other options. That would have been cool. A stormtrooper revolution turning the tide of the final battle!

- Finn’s Force sensitivity – where did this come from? Okay, so maybe it was hinted at in TFA, but it wasn’t carried over to TLJ, and JJ should have respected that in the interest of cohesive storytelling. And as interesting as it could have been to see, it doesn’t take any strength away from Finn to have him not be Force sensitive.

- Hux being the spy – this is such an interesting idea, and it’s hilarious to me that he would go to such lengths to be petty towards Kylo, but it was executed in a rush, much like a lot of other stuff in this movie. They could have made Rose his handler, which would have been a nice change in their dynamic after TLJ.

Stuff I did not like: (warning, rants ahead)

- Completely unnecessary new characters – elaborated below

- Pryde – what was the point of him? Hux could have easily fulfilled that role if they didn’t want to develop his spy storyline.

- Zorri – could have been cool, but seemed shoehorned in to remind us that Poe Dameron is straight, thank you very much!

- Poe being a former spice runner – just why? Poe already had a perfectly good back story.

- Palpatine being back – I know opinions vary on this, but I’m not a fan. Doesn’t it just cheapen Anakin’s entire story arc? (This is not to take anything away from Ian McDiarmid’s performance, which was amazing as always.) Also the complete lack of a reasonable explanation for how he returned. In fact, doesn’t someone even use the word ‘somehow’ at some point?

- Rey Palpatine – again, I know opinions vary, but I hated this so much. I’ve been team Rey No One since the beginning! This is our first female protagonist, and in my opinion the thought that she came from completely humble beginnings was fascinating. To link her to a powerful name – a powerful male name, at that – and for it to be literally stated that her power comes from him was just kind of deflating, to be honest. Also, it makes no sense. Are we expected to believe that Luke there-is-good-in-Vader Skywalker writes off his own nephew because of his potential darkness but is A-OK being a mentor to Rey Palpatine?

- Leia knowing that Rey is a Palpatine – this makes no sense either to me. Leia accepts and nurtures Rey despite her bloodline, sensing that there is good in her, yet thinks that her own son is irredeemable? The sense of ‘we had a bad child, but we found a better one’ is just…ugh. And this happens throughout the ST, even with all the Jedi standing behind Rey having abandoned Ben for years. Even if you believe that Rey is more deserving of that attention, the callousness just doesn’t seem very Jedi-like to me.

- Leia’s reasons for giving up her Jedi training made no sense.

- The sidelining of Rose – it seems painfully clear that JJ had no idea what to do with her character, so she’s just kind of…there. I refuse to believe that they couldn’t have come up with something, even if it was just her accompanying Finn or Poe on their storylines. That wouldn’t have given her a whole lot of agency, but it would have been something.

- Rey ending up alone on a desert planet, exactly where she started. Yes, I know she’s likely not going to live there, but visually the movie is showing us that nothing has really changed. We know Rey wants a family, and the hug with Finn and Poe was lovely to see, but to have the last image of her be her alone on a desert planet is actually kind of depressing.

- Rey calling herself a Skywalker – like the Palpatine thing, it’s linking her to someone else’s legacy. I think it would have been more powerful for her to declare herself ‘Just Rey’. No one’s on at Finn to declare his surname, are they?

Now on to the big one. Bendemption and Reylo.

I have been hoping for Bendemption from the beginning, because redemption, compassion and forgiveness were key themes of the OT for me. But I had a feeling that if Kylo did get redeemed, he’d be doomed to die, because as we know, JJ likes to follow the exact same patterns that we’ve already seen before. I have issues with Vader’s ‘redemption’ on the grounds of it being a ridiculously quick turnaround, (quicker than Kylo’s, even), plus he gets an easy way out just returning to the Light and then dying straight after. Lo and behold, the exact same thing happens here. What would have been really interesting to see, in my opinion, is Ben living to atone for what he’s done. That would have been true redemption, and I think the same is true for Anakin too.

Now, as we know, Kylo is much worse than Vader, even though Vader spent literally half his life on the Dark Side, murdered thousands of people, including children, chopped off his son’s hand, tortured his daughter and her future husband. We know this because Kylo killed Han Solo, the fanboys’ favourite. Therefore, he is much worse, despite only having been on the Dark Side for about six years after being mentally manipulated from birth by the most evil man in existence. Don’t get me wrong, I am not apologising for Kylo. I’m aware he did terrible things, hence why Ben should have lived to atone, but I do believe that he gets an unfair level of hatred, largely stemming from killing Han.

As mentioned above, I have occasionally delved into Reylo fics to see what was out there. I’ve always been a supporter of watching their story play out, because enemies to lovers was something new for a Star Wars movie, and it’s a cool idea to explore. We’d previously seen it with Luke and Mara in Legends. (Mara, incidentally, being someone who was redeemed and lived to make up for her bad deeds.) I loved Ben Solo for the short amount of time we got to see him. The interactions between him and Rey over the bond were so cool to watch. Ultimately, though, I don’t feel like their story was particularly well handled in this movie. I buy it because Adam and Daisy were so brilliant, but I can’t help but feel that Ben’s death was a giant cop-out.

I have mixed feelings about Rey facing Palpatine alone. I can see that there’s some kind of strength to her battling alone there. (Except she wasn’t, because she had every Jedi standing metaphorically behind her.) That said, to have Ben out of the fight felt…weird. Since TFA certain people have said that Rey and Ben/Kylo were two halves of one protagonist, which makes me think that he should have been present there instead of tossed into a pit. Also, after the mental mind games that Palpatine has been playing for his entire life, he pretty much deserved to be. But I don’t know. I think I need to watch it again and see how I feel.

This ended up being super long and ranty, sorry. I’ve probably missed a lot. Maybe I’ll change my mind on a few things when I see it again. I thought writing this out might help to organise my thoughts, but I’m not sure it has!

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 64

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle go to Luke's New Years party, and though there are very few paying too much attention to the pairing, those who are are less than pleasant.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

I own none of the photos used for this.

I am going on the law of averages here for Danielle, according to the averages, the most common Irish female is blue-eyed, brunette, 5 foot 5 inches (160cm), UK size 10 (US size 6) and a 36C bra, so off that, here you all go, this is a general idea of her appearance.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Luke had sent a town car to pick hem up, which in itself made Danielle groan, but Tom stated it was how Luke did things, as so many declare they were not drinking at events only to have to be forced to get a taxi home, or worse, take convincing to do so after first declaring they would drive.

“Besides, you always say you won’t drive my car.” “I could drive mine?”

“Elle, get in the car, it’s safer and you know it.” She finally conceded. The streets went by swiftly enough and Danielle was forced to admit after a time that it had its perks. Tom had her hand in his and was looking at her, smiling the whole time. “Darling, I know I have said it already, but you look ravishing.” He smiled.

Danielle rolled her eyes, “Yes, you have, in fact, I think that is the seventh time you’ve said it.” “Do you believe it yet?” “No.” “Then I will just have to continue saying it.” He leant over and kissed her, chastely at first before becoming slightly more amorous. “Tom!” she whispered looking towards the driver for a moment, “No.” “He is not paying any attention to us darling, besides, I can guarantee there has been far worse than some kissing and slight...petting in here before.” “Why, are you well acquainted with this particular vehicle?” She queried with a raised brow.

“If you keep giving me such glances, I may very much get acquainted with it,” Tom smirked. “But in all honesty, you look incredible.” “I feel like I am setting a standard here I cannot maintain.” Tom brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. “Elle, at home, I want you to be comfortable and yourself, and I know that means normal clothes and tying your hair back in a manner that I can only call organised chaos, but I would be lying if I did not admit that this is, without doubt, the most incredible sight I have ever seen.” He looked her up and down again.

“Will Luke approve?” Tom frowned. “Is that why you did this? So my publicist would be happy?”

“No,” Danielle played with her hands. “I don’t want to embarrass you.” Tom said nothing for a moment before taking off his seatbelt and leaning forward. “Could you pull in please?” he asked the driver, who immediately did as requested.

“Tom?” Danielle looked at him in worry. “Did I say something wrong?” Tom swallowed and a pained look came to his face, turning to face Danielle properly, he took her hands in his once more. “Elle, are you doing all of this, just for me? Are you making yourself unhappy for me?” “But I’m not unhappy?”

“Why did you want to come tonight?” “Because I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with you.” she answered as though it was obvious.

“Which would you have preferred, the party or at home?”

“Probably to stay at home,” She admitted, “But I want to do this.” He said nothing but looked at her sceptically. “Like when we had the dinner in the house, this is a controlled environment, there are far more people, and I am not stupid, I know I won’t gel with them all, but no cameras, no screaming fans, just an environment that Luke is controlling, and he will ensure it is safe, I trust that, so I want to get myself able for this, I want to be as good as I can at this, see how far I am actually comfortable with.” “And if this is as far as you can do; private events?” “Is that enough for you?” Danielle asked fearfully.

“Elle, if you said to me after this that this was too much, I would respect that, I know that you do not want to be in this world, and the fact you are working so hard to be alright with it and work on it is not lost on me,” He kissed her hand again. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to change yourself for me.” “I had this dress for two years, it’s not like you bought it and expected me to wear it,” she pointed out.

“What made it appeal to you?” Tom asked curiously.

“It was really pretty, and on sale.” Tom laughed. “Yeah, so I thought, maybe someday, I might find somewhere to wear it to.” “Like today?” “Yeah.” She smiled. “I know I don’t dress like this, I am not glamorous, but I am a normal person, I do want to look nice; I just don’t know how most of the time.” “Well Nacelle is going to help you, and if she does fashion like she does makeup, you will figure it out. She strikes me as one that would take into account individuality, she is very…” “Unique?” “No, that makes her sound odd, I was going to say true to herself, though her fiance…”

“Poor Becky had been in fancy clothes but changed when she got home to comfy, she is a solicitor so she probably felt slobbish in her trackies. That was my first time meeting her, she is not as eccentric as Nach, but she is really nice.” “I am so glad you have friends in London.” “I have Sophie and Emma too.” “Yes, I know, it’s great you have a few, but you need to have people you can get away from me with too, being in a situation where the only people you know are related to or know through me is not ideal.” Tom pointed out before his face turned somewhat upset. “Not that I am saying I do not wish for us to…” Danielle laughed, “I know what you mean, I need to have people that are my friends, that are mine and you are the interloper for a change.” “I am actually looking forward to having them for dinner.” “You just love meeting people, you’re like a Springer Spaniel or something.” Danielle laughed. “But yes, it will be fun introducing you to my friends and me having stories with them that you have to be filled on.” She smiled. “So, now that we are all up to speed on why we are doing this, can we head on now, I don’t want us to be late.”

“You will never embarrass me, Elle,” Tom stated factually. “Never.” “Intentionally.” Danielle pointed out. “I am human, I do fuck up.” “Everyone is human Elle, I am terrified of the day where people on the internet actually realise that I am too.” “I won’t have to fight off all the crazy fangirls and boys with sticks then.” Danielle’s tone was upbeat causing Tom to chuckle. “I’ll still be here, I already know you’re a flawed ass.” “I thought you liked my ass.” “Tom, I said you are a flawed ass, not that you have one, damn big difference there!” Danielle laughed. “Now tell the poor man to keep driving, he surely has something better to be doing than staring at the road ahead bored out of his tree.”

* Luke stared as they walked into the room, Tom immediately walked over and gave his friend/publicist a hug. “Well?” He grinned knowingly.

“I swear if you two go messing while you’re here,” Luke warned.

“I promise I will behave myself,” Tom swore. “I don’t believe you.” Luke scoffed before turning to Danielle, who could not hear what was being said and was looking at Luke anxiously. “That is what I was talking about, perfect.” He smiled before giving her a hug. Even he could sense the sheer relief that Danielle felt at his approval, her whole body slumping slightly as though a huge weight had been taking from her. “Elegant, just the right amount of sexy, who chose this?” “I did, I’ve had it awhile, or did Tom technically choose it, he asked me to wear it, but I had it all along.” Danielle smiled.

Luke looked at the clothes again. “You own this?” She nodded. “This is going to be far easier than I thought, you have very good taste.” Danielle smiled even more at that. “So, enjoy yourselves and no doubt we will be talking again through the evening.” With that, Tom placed his hand on Danielle’s back and edged her away as Luke dealt with more guests.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked curiously.

“Yes, I know you would never want me to look bad, but I just was so worried he’d get angry that I was too, I don’t know.”

“Well, if you are comfortable, then let everyone else be damned, let’s go say hello to some people and get ourselves a drink.” Tom smiled as he guided her through the busy room to the bar, “What are you having?” “7-up.” Tom frowned, “I am not starting any alcohol this early and that looks like I am having a gin and tonic or a vodka and white.” She explained.

“That is a very smart idea.” Tom commended, he ordered them both a drink and waited. When he turned again, he gave her her drink. “It’s a Sprite, they don’t have 7-up.” “This is supposed to be the fanciest place in these parts and no 7-up? Disgraceful.” Danielle took the drink, “Next thing, they have only got Pepsi!”

“You are a woman of fine tastes.” Tom jested, earning him a wink from his girlfriend before he turned and looked around. “Who’s here?” “You know these people better than I do.” Danielle laughed.

They spoke to a few people Tom knew through being clients of Luke’s, others were there as prospective clients Luke was trying to lure as well as those trying to convince him to be their publicist. Since starting Prosper PR and bringing Tom and Emma with him, Luke had become the most coveted publicist the East side of the Atlantic Ocean. Most people seemed utterly indifferent to Danielle while fawning over Tom, which she had expected, though the looks of disgust in some women’s eyes amused her slightly. While Tom was polite and looked at them while he spoke, his arm remained around Danielle, making sure she was by his side for the entirety of the evening, something he had promised her he would do.

After two hours and four soft drinks later, Danielle had to use the bathroom, as Tom spoke with some, had he said he was a model, she wasn’t sure, there had been so many faces, they had all merged into one, she simply pointed toward the restrooms before turning and leaving Tom to speak with him.

Assessing herself in the bathroom, Danielle could not control her smile, Nacelle and Becky had done a perfect job with only a vague description of her dress, which she found herself elated that Tom had chosen. While she was in the cubicle, she heard someone enter the bathroom, and heading to the next stall and soon after, another. Feeling self-conscious, she remained in her cubicle.

“Seriously, Tanya, he is perfect, exactly what I need, you can see why she used him for the PR, well spoken, charming, I mean, he has a receding hairline, but let’s face it, he’s pushing on.” The woman yabbered. “He’s wearing a tight fitting suit so you can see what she saw in him.” Danielle went from suspecting to knowing exactly who this woman was referencing and waited. “Yeah, I know, I sent Jenny over, she’s some set-hand, obviously just after his money or you know the deal, struggling actress trying to get her name out or his PR guy wants to make him look good.” the tone the girl used was ridiculous and dramatic before she laughed. “She is so ordinary, short, plain, could lose twenty pounds. I am going to go over and show him what he could have, seriously, she is so plain I bet she’s never even done anything as ‘wild’ as a blowjob. One of those ones, I bet his mother would adore her, so prissy. Okay, love you. No, I won’t have to tell you because I will make sure it is all over the tabloids tomorrow, bye.” She hung up the phone and Danielle waited, after a few seconds she found herself shaking her head as she heard the telltale signs of someone snorting something. She didn’t have to be a paramedic in a city to know that sound.

A moment later, Danielle came out of her cubicle and went to wash her hands. She shook her head before turning to check herself in the mirror again, she was shaking slightly but otherwise unfazed, it was then the other stall door opened.

“Are you not upset?” The other woman asked as she went to wash her hands. “Angry, sickened, enraged, pissed off, yes, those I am, but upset?” She shook her head. “No.”

“Her name is Annabelle Collins, she’s a model.” Emma Watson informed her. “A model of everything that is wrong with our gender I fear,” Danielle stated, checking her face again.

“Don’t let it get to you.” “I have no intentions.” Danielle scoffed. “How are you? Excited for the movie, I see it is getting great buzz already.”

“Good, I mean, it is weird, it is completely the same but totally different to the animated film.” “Hence the buzz, I can’t wait to see it, I am already planning to steal Tom’s niece so I have an excuse to see it a second time.” “Second Time?” “Well, once by myself, no one will notice me, more than once looks sort of weird.” Danielle joked for a moment before her face fell again.

Emma laughed before getting serious. “She’s just jealous you know, I heard her earlier, she thought she had a chance until he came in looking at only you, I never realised when we worked together you knew him, much less were dating him. By the way, where did you get that dress, I want it.” “I got it a few years ago, Tom pleaded with me to finally let it see the light of day.” Danielle smiled. “I wish I could pull off suits like you can, I always look frumpy.” “You are too hard on yourself, you could, of course, pull it off.” She dismissed as they walked to the door. As they walked back outside, Danielle’s gaze fell to Tom, who was still speaking with the man from earlier.

Danielle smiled, “Have you said hello to Tom yet tonight?”

“No, not yet.” “Care to join me?” Emma gave Danielle one small glance before nodding. “I might actually.” “Wonderful.” Danielle immediate began to head over to where her boyfriend was standing, the man walking away as they made their way over. “Hey.”

“I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me, Emma, how are you?” Tom moved forward and kissed Emma’s cheek before the pair launched into a discussion on their work, after a while, Emma said her farewells and Tom turned to Danielle. “I am not ignoring you, am I?” “No, you are including me, I just haven’t got much to add to these conversations.” She stated.

“Hey, are you alright?” Tom noticed something in her eyes.

“Yeah, fine. Do you want a drink?” She smiled.

Unsure if he should believe her or not, Tom decided he had to trust her to say if she was uncomfortable. “Yes, I may have a Jameson.” “Neat?” “With ice.” “Sure thing.”

“I will go to the bathroom, I will be back in two.” He kissed her temple before walking off.

Walking to the bar, Danielle looked around, wondering which bratty cow was the Annabelle that had been so horrible about her and Tom, no woman had introduced herself as such in the time that she and Tom had been talking. Sighing, she sat on a stool for a minute to alleviate her pained feet. “Can I ask you something?”Danielle looked to her side to see a man standing there, so nodded, tired from everything. “How did you do it?” “Do what?” “Convince Tom Hiddleston to bring you, I mean, I knew he was not as innocent as he acts, but this is ballsie.” “I don’t think I get your meaning.” “Well, bringing an escort…” Danielle’s nostrils flared as she raised her hand. “I will take the fact I apparently look good enough to be able to sell my company as arm candy for events as a compliment, but I am not an escort.” She stated.

“You’re not?” The man seemed somewhat surprised. “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you here?” “Solely to baffle you.” She smiled before looking to the barman. “Jameson with ice and a malibu with orange; no ice, please.” She asked politely. Sensing her urgency, the bartender got her drinks and she made to leave.

“So you were not paid to come here tonight?” Danielle inhaled deeply and turned to look at the man. “No, I was not, but the more I talk to you, the more I wish I was because dealing with you for free is highly taxing,” She stated before turning to leave. “Luke.” She smiled seeing the publicist behind her.

“You may actually survive this.” “What?” “Turning up looking like you could actually go in public in your clothes as opposed to so many here who probably wear more in the shower, not drinking excessively and dealing with people being viciously cruel with poise and elegance, you are actually everything I said you were, ideal.” “I don’t…” “Emma told me about Annabelle Collins.” “Oh.”

“How much did you want to confront her?” “More than I want to be out of these shoes.”

Luke looked down and her clearly sore feet. “But you held it in, and that man, you remained composed, even if you did get some bit cheeky, it was not inappropriate.” “Some of your clients leave a lot to be desired.” “Annabelle is not my client, yet.” Luke pointed out. “And now, I doubt she will be if she is willing to risk another one of my clients. How are you doing?” “I rather not be around egotistical asses, but if that was the case, I wouldn’t have a job.” She smiled as she joked.

“I know that feeling.” Luke chuckled. “Are you settling in at Tom’s?” “Yes, I am somehow getting busier in my time off than I was working.” “Just make sure Tom looks after himself, he can get neglectful.” “I had noticed.” She nodded.

“Good,” Luke smiled. “That you noticed, not that he is neglecting himself.” “I gathered.” She winked as Tom came back over and took his drink.

“Is everything alright?” Tom asked as he looked between the pair.

“Yes, you?” He nodded but did not answer, telling her that no, he was not.

“Tom?” Luke asked his friend in concern, Tom had already taken the whiskey from Danielle and downed the amber coloured liqueur in one go. “What is going on?”

“Nothing, why?” Tom looked at Luke, his eyes darting side to side.

“There appears to be lipstick on your ear.” Danielle pointed out. Immediately, Tom’s hand made its way to his ear, rubbing it before seeing that a red stain was on his fingers. “Tom?” “Elle, she…” “Who?” Danielle had an inkling.

“I have no idea what her name was, she just came up, shook my hand, said she liked my work and leant in and did it, I pulled back immediately and walked away, I was going to tell you when you got away from the bar, I swear.”

Danielle said and did nothing for a few moments, processing what Tom said before inhaling deeply and nodded. “Alright.” Luke and Tom both looked at her in disbelief. “Wait, that’s it? Another woman supposedly gets lipstick on your boyfriend’s ear and you are saying nothing?” “No, I trust him,” Danielle stated, looking at Tom, who seemed shocked she had seen his honesty. “Is she still here?” Tom looked around for a moment before finding his assailant. “The blonde over there.” Luke and Danielle looked over. “Annabelle Collins,” Luke stated. “Just as Emma said.” Tom looked at his friend. “Emma?” Luke between the couple, silently questioning Danielle as to why she had not told Tom about her eavesdropping in the bathroom. “I’ll explain in a moment,” Danielle stated. “Your new friend is on her way over.”

Tom realised that indeed, Annabelle was on her way to them, smiling excitedly as she did so, so he stood with his arm around Danielle and kissed her temple again. “I am so sorry.” “Don’t, we’ll talk in a minute.” She whispered for a moment. “Luke, I’m not going to lie, I cannot promise to be nice.”

“I know.” Luke sighed, not knowing what she was going to come out with. “Try to keep it in line.” “No promises.”

The blonde’s smile remained as she came to Luke and her arms extended, “Lukie.” Smiling politely, Luke put out his own arms, not to embrace her, but because she was at risk of falling over. “I have not heard back from you yet, don’t you want me?” It took everything in Danielle for her to not say something regarding how she would wager most everyone would not want the other woman but kept herself reined in. She watched as the drunk girl’s focus fell on Tom. “Ooh, Mr Hiddleston, we meet again.” She half sang, a sly look on her face, before making her way over to Tom to embrace him, who remained next to Danielle, his discomfort obvious in his stance. “Ms Collins.” he nodded curtly, extending his hand to ensure she could only go for a handshake.

“There is no need for such formalities between us Tom.” She swatted him playfully on the arm with her hand, “I hope for us we get to spend a lot of time together in the future.”

“This is Danielle, Danielle, Ms Collins is a...I apologise, what was it again?” Though there was irritation in her eyes, Annabelle gave a shrill laugh, “Oh you joker,” she stated, swatting his arm again. “You heard me well enough before, I am a model,” she looked Danielle up and down, “You’re the set-monkey, right?” “Danielle is a Safety Officer, she is in charge of giving sets the okay to be worked on, she is an integral part of the crew,” Tom stated, his tone one of annoyance. “If she says no, no shoot.”

Annabelle’s eyes glanced over Danielle again. “Charming.” “Indeed.” Danielle retorted, her own tone matching Annabelle’s.

“I would have thought after ‘The’ Taylor Swift, you would continue going for more famous women,” Annabelle commented before laughing. “Sorry, I apologise, I may have drunk too much.”

“Out of curiosity Ms Collins, may I ask you something?” Annabelle stared at Danielle, who took her silence as a means to continue. “Why are you acting drunk when your actions are clearly, and may I add, poorly, put on. Your speech is not slurred, you walked over here with any form of issue, you’re exaggerating your movements, all signs you have not actually drank much, which makes little sense really. Also if you are trying to convince Luke to take you as a client, you should probably not have snorted any more than whatever it was you did not earlier in the bathrooms while bitching myself and ridiculing Tom on the phone.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The other woman shrieked as she feigned shock. “I’m sure you don’t,” Danielle stated in a deadpan tone, “but I feel I should tell you, my not being as tall as you means I can see what other’s can’t see and because you are taller, I can tell you that you’ve left powder on your nostril.” she gave a little indication to Annabelle’s nose. “It sort of gives the game away.” Holding her nose, Annabelle stared at Luke, whose face was one of disgust, then to Tom whose own mirrored his publicists and then fled the trio. “How did you…?” Tom asked curiously. “Emma Watson and I heard her in the bathrooms earlier. She was planning on dining off your name, but I also heard her snort something, and her eyes are all bloodshot and her hands are shaking slightly, indicating cocaine use, yet as I said, no indicators of alcohol consumption, probably afraid to blow her buzz. It’s scary, she weighs about the same as my lower body and her pulse rate on her neck suggests her heart rate is incredibly high, she’s at risk of cardiac issues in the next hour, much less getting to the faithful tragic twenty-seven.” She explained. “Is a lot of this world like this?” “Sadly.” Tom nodded.

“You’ve never…” Tom’s eyes widened. “Fuck no, I mean, in college every messes around with different things, but hard drugs, definitely not, no.” Danielle looked to Luke, “I did my best.” She shrugged.

“Better than I was expecting.” He admitted in return. “Yeah, well.” Danielle downed her drink, before turning to Tom. “More?” Tom nodded, “Definitely.”

The ten-second clock began not long after, Tom immediately putting his arm around Danielle. “I know it’s cheesy and cliche, but they say what you do at midnight is how you start your year.”

“EIGHT, SEVEN.”

“It is what they say.” Danielle smiled.

“FIVE, FOUR.”

Then, Ms Hughes, may I kiss you?”

“TWO.”

“Yes,” she leant up towards him.

“ONE.”

As the cheers erupted and Auld Lang Syne began to play, Tom kissed her. “I love you, Elle.”

“And I love you, Tom,” She giggled as she leant up and kissed him again.

“So what now?” “I want to dance.” Tom raised a brow. “With you.” “Elle, I…” “Dance like an idiot, I know, I’ve seen and I love.” She laughed. “Let’s go.”

Chuckling as the dance music came back on and Tom took her hand and brought her onto the dance floor, where others in different states of drunkenness were already dancing. “Are you sure?” “Frightened you can’t handle me Hiddles?”

“Oh, now that is fighting talk.” Tom chuckled, taking her hand and allowing himself to enjoy the music.

#I Hate you I Love You #chapter 64 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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hoopdiddies · 5 years

Text

I'm Not Over You //Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 9)

A/N: All the fact checking had me reeling to be honest and this is one long-ass chapter, longer than the one where I said 'it's the longest I've written' but actually this wins the competition. I've used some lyrics from the song Photograph cos I felt like it would go nicely with the flow plus I am weak with hospital scenes because of the distresses that occur within it but I tried ya know ¯_(ツ)_/¯ It's a little messy and dramatic on a side note because I had to deal with some outside disturbances as well and my mind was on other things 😔 But again, thank you guys for supporting this series! Your feedbacks mean a lot ♥ Tag list is always open!! (seriously, I need more people to tag xd)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you the two of you met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: That angst from 8? Yeah, it just upgraded, fluff if you, like, use a microscope, explicit description of blood and injuries, swearing but I kept it to a minimum, mentions of death but there's actually no death. Melodrama, ig? Sorry, I had a hard time writing consistently this week ^^'

WC: 6.5k (Someone got carried away.)

Tags: @haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

@loveandbeloved29

@hardzzellos

Parts: 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

"Someone please help! Help us! "

"Bloody bastard just drove off without even stopping! "

"Are you fu- you left your phone?! He's barely clinging on to life!! Ask a random person to dial 911!"

"Oh god, what- what do we do- his head, his freaking head! There is so much blood right now!"

"D-don't move his neck! He's critical!"

"Rosy. Rosy. Calm down...he has to be fine..he should be... "

"An ambulance is on its way!"

"His head is fucking bloody! Do you even want- fuck! Someone help here! Someone, please help! "

"Is he even breathing?! "

"Oh god, Y/N! He's not- he's not! "

"You better not be joking around!"

"Joe! He is bloody dying and you think I'm fucking joking?!"

"He has no pulse as well..."

"I got to- I have to make an attempt to resuscitate him. "

"Are you sure?"

"We're not waiting for that goddamn vehicle! If I don't do it, he's going to die!"

"Wake up, Ben! Please, wake up..."

Blur. That's what everything was. A huge, uncoordinated, focal blur. A sea of people had crowded the scene like a flock of sheep ready to graze on the pasture, except the only green they had for their eyes was the sight of six, dreadful friends taking it in their hands to keep the seventh one grounded while they wait for professional help.

The ones with flashing cameras hoisted up high to document the scene disgusted you down to the pits of your stomach and you had wished for them to scatter away. You all, especially you had to bear the agony of seeing him motionless on the asphalt ground– without breath, skin drained of color while the only color highlighted in the spectrum was the copious but graphic amount of blood that had tainted the spot he was lying in– his hair coated in the sticky, sanguinary puddle, creating a traumatizing mix of blond and deep red that you now couldn't forget. The tears pricking from your eyes when you had given him mouth to mouth mingling with his bleeding forehead.

He had lost all consciousness at a maximum.

You had ached to cradle his body right there and then but had you acted on impulse; it would've worsened the situation.

Medics had filled in the scene seconds after you had given Ben a well-thought out CPR undeterred by your raging adrenaline. He was then brought into the ambulance with Rosy tagging along to be there when they rush him into the ER. You had gone after with the others in Gwilym's car, your shaking hands coated with drying blood -his drying blood- as you made your way to the hospital in a blistering cruise.

You're still in your dress, only topped with Joe's designer blazer to shield you from the cold and a warm, half-empty cup of brew situated between your palms partially substituting the natural heat of your skin, waiting quietly in the lounging room. They had transferred Ben to a private room after performing an operation on his head and scanning him afterwards. One of the emergency doctors remarked that if it weren't for your initiative to follow first aid protocol and give him immediate resuscitation before help had arrived– he would have gone ten minutes early.

You've been waiting an hour and a half for the doctor to step out of the room and deliver the news about his condition. And while you do that, Joe and Lucy have gone off to collect a fresh pair of clothing from the hotel for you to change into. Rosy is stood at the entrance making some calls, Gwilym and Rami have gone back to their respective hotels to change clothes and come back for the news.

You felt light hearing that comment but it's nothing compared to the aftermath of the accident. It was a hit-and-run and the driver didn't even step on his breaks or bother to stop to take responsibility.

Rami's blazer that had been used to delay Ben's bleeding has been given back to him for dry cleaning. To complicate the situation, you're supposed to be boarded on a plane back to England eight hours from now yet that's something you have to cross out from the bucket list, entirely. You're not going anywhere unless Ben heaves out a single sigh of life.

Not a single step out the fucking institution unless he opens those eyes.

Unless he parts his lips.

Unless he says your name.

You owe it to him for saving your life, nearly costing his.

And it's just 2 in the morning.

You put down the cup on the space next to you, bringing your hands up to your lowered head, underneath your eyes watering from all of that's happened tonight.

"We're back." Two figures stand before you minutes after your eyelids have fluttered shut in despair. You lift your head to be met with Joe and Lucy in their casual clothes, smiling sadly at you with paperbags in hand.

You return that smile with a much weaker one. They settle the bags down and Joe sinks down on one knee in front of you, taking your face in his hands gently while he peeks up at you. "I see the news isn't out yet. You can change, we'll take care of it."

"You sure?" You mumble quietly. He nods and you prolong a sigh as you sit up, getting tenderly lulled into a hug by Lucy. "He's gonna be okay." She expresses definitely as she rubs your back. You thank her for the reassurance before taking one of the bags that contains your clothes.

Pulling the hem of your sweatshirt in place, you couldn't wait to escape the lavatory. It smells of newly applied bleach and the pungent odor is plain nauseating. You close the door with the bag in hand on your way out but freeze in your spot as a certain, exclusive news breaks out in the TV screen above you.

"Just 10pm tonight, Bohemian Rhapsody and EastEnders star, Ben Hardy, has reportedly been gravely involved and injured in a hit-and-run just outside of Wallis Annenberg Center during the ongoing Vanity Fair after party. Sources said that he had dashed headlong down the traffic-jammed streets to what they said was an attempt to save co-star's, Joe Mazzello, date from an incoming vehicle– which he had succeeded in as he failed to save himself–" The rest of the news anchor's words go unprocessed in your head as you hurriedly trace your way back to the lounging area, unwilling to hear recurring reports at yours or anyone's expense.

It already hurts enough that you think it's partly your fault for acting so careless.

By now, the attending physician should be out and conveying the news to Lucy and Joe and as you arrive– he is, hands in his lab coat pockets, informing them in the most serious of tones.

They see you approaching and you ask immediately, words stumbling out of your mouth like perceivable beats. "Doc, how is he? How's Ben?"

With Lucy and Joe already informed about it, the doctor decides to tell you himself to save them the hassle. "He should be fine soon. However I must be frank with you, miss," your heart loses a beat for a fraction of a second at the suspense rising, "he flat lined twice in the ER. It took three sets of defibs to get his heart beating again." Hearing him break to you that Ben was a simple step away from death as they tried to treat him drains the warm color palette in your face, even with the affirmation that he's going to be alright; knowing there were two moments in which he had slipped in and out of life at the same time just upsets your stomach.

The doctor continues with his report, telling you that he's suffered from a mild to severe head trauma caused by the blunt force when he had his scalp dragged along the asphalt. Apparently he fissured the the near front of his skull and underwent neurosurgery for it. You quickly get the idea, having studied a series of medical topics of course, but it doesn't invalidate the fact that it still sounds like a bad thing.

The doctor sighs and adds. "Although he bled internally at a minimum, he's lucky to have bled externally for the most part."

Forming a steeple of your fingers and stealing a quick glimpse of Lucy and Joe, you gulp hard. "How long 'til he wakes up?"

"I'd say in about 48 hours. His scan results after the surgery showed promise for a stable recovery though he might wake up a little dazed at first due to the moderate concussion," at least you're getting the assurance that he's waking up, "your friend has a thick skull. He'll recover in time, but with short-term effects."

48 hours. Not enough time for you to stay or leave.

"Can we see him? Right now?" Setting your expectations to the highest, you ask with a glimmer of hope and the doctor approves, minding you to turn down the lights in the room as Ben would likely be sensitive to it by the time he wakes. "A nurse will come by and check on him every once in a while as well."

You nod weakly, thanking him professionally as you gradually hang your head in disappointment. He wishes Ben a speedy recovery before turning on his heels, leaving you to it.

Lucy brings her short hair up in a pigtail, asking as she lifts up her share of the paper bags. "Are we going in now? I mean, the doc said we're able to." She vaguely points at the door of the room and you and Joe swap looks before deciding on it. You collect your items from the seats and draw in breaths as you follow suit, stepping into the room and being welcomed by the almost odorless whiff of paint and medicine; along with the light to moderate blow of the air conditioner.

As the door clicks close, you stand motionless yet internally trembling at the heartbreaking sight of Ben lying unresponsive, surrounded by various machines working to keep him alive. Flanking his bed are the heart monitor -fully functional- and a medical ventilator from which he is breathing from. He's hooked up to an IV bag with a breathing tube put into his mouth, his left arm is propped upon his abdomen but protected around a plaster and supported within a blue arm sling and lastly, his head is wrapped in a layer of roller bandage– the giveaway of his major injury.

"Y/N..." Joe cooing breaks you off from your vacant gaze but you hand him a forlorn eye as bring yourself to Ben's side, glancing over his limp body. He's taken quite a hit to have fractured his arm like this. His complexion didn't appear as livid as it is now and marking his bottom lip -which has lost that luscious red tint as well- is a small bruise, parted from his upper lip as he involuntarily breathes through the tube in his mouth. You don't hear his slow exhales but the normal rise and fall of his chest consoles a small part of you; the stable beeping of the heart monitor being the only occuring noise in the room. Concerned with how awfully quiet you've gone, Lucy and Joe give each other fitting looks as they share the same thought on the situation. As one of them begins to step close to ensure you're taking it well, you pipe up before them, your once honey-laced voice diminished to a monotone. "It's...not my fault."

"Of course, it's not," Lucy, being the one who has taken that step close, tenderly agrees but you add.

"It's not but it feels like it is."

Now Joe steps up next but stop as you add once more.

"And I told him I wanted to forget him and for him to do the same." Now some tears are inevitable.

"Y/N-"

"As impractical as it is to think about it now, but what if he does?" your hand has now hovered over him, the nerves of the pads of your fingers itching to skim themselves over his free hand, "I don't want to go. But I have to and he's still not gonna wake up by the time I leave."

His condition just yearns for your touch but you don't want to lay a hand on him just yet, out of the fear that you might hurt a small part of him.

Joe sighs softly as he puts his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them with ease. "Why don't you just email the institution about it? Tell them you're gonna have to delay because of an urgent matter."

"I can do that, but only a day after. I can't take long."

"Rami and Gwilym are on their way," Lucy reminds as she gets off her phone from messaging them, "with some food and water."

"None of us are burning the midnight oil then," Joe stretches his limbs and returns to the couch to take a moment to relax, eyes snapping wide as he remembers something. "By the way, Y/N. If you spilled your heart out to him earlier, did you include the bit where our relationship was all but pretend?"

Surely the stare you and Lucy are sharing towards him could render the atmosphere painful but you answer regardless of the topic, shaking your head as you turn your attention to Ben once more. "No. But he's bound to question it. That is if he remembers what happened."

Lucy rests her hand on her hip as she glances at the heart monitor, the waves tempting her eyes to follow them. "Doctor never implied anything about amnesia."

The three of you fall silent again with you locking your gaze at the man who didn't want to let you go. Who chased you down a busy highway knowing he'd bite the dust if he did and ended up saving you at the expense of his own well-being.

And life.

And his own soul.

He'll recover in a short period, yes. But when you had gently grazed your trembling hand over his bloodied head in the middle of the street, it was as if he was bound to never wake up. A visual you want to shake off for the sake of composure.

Joe and Lucy take notice of your stilled silence again, their expressions low-spirited. Taking small steps towards you, Lucy wraps her arms around your shoulders from behind and pulls out a certain object from her back pocket, slipping it to you. "Found this in the inner pocket of Ben's tainted blazer when the doctors gave his clothes to us."

You cast your gaze to what she's holding and hear your heart shatter at what it is. You slowly take it from her and sweep your thumb over it.

Ben's share of your Homecoming picture.

And behind it, the same date and continuation of what was written on your half.

You piece it in your mind and feel your eyes cloud with tears, a droplet making a small patter as it lands on the polaroid.

He kept it. In his blazer. He brought it along with him.

_I'm not going... anywhere at all. _

"But I am." You mutter as opposed to the words in your head. For as long as you love him and he doesn't in the way you do, distancing yourself is something that needs to be done to make sure you finally let go. You'd stick around but it would further fragment your soul.

Just in time to tear you from reaching your breakfing point, the door creaks open to two men and a red-haired woman, two of whom are grasping paper bags containing some food and water and one with an overwrought look, respectively.

Lucy leaves your side and walks over to Rami's, kissing his cheek and helping them unload their items on the coffee table. Gwilym gives the three of you, and Rosy who had followed in behind them, an individual hug– asking you about Ben's condition as he lays eyes on him.

You assure him of a smooth recovery and it unknots the lump of worry he's under.

"Oh, Ben, baby... " Breaks down Rosy, who whizzes past you to tear up over her injured fiance. She gazes down painfully at the man before her and delicately fondles his blanch cheek, eyes narrowed to the point where her face has contorted to a scowl which she throws directly at you. "This is all your fault. "

Your brows crease at her in absolute confusion. "What are you talking about?" Sensing that an altercation is about to take place, the rest stumble quiet in preparation for the worst. Joe readies himself to butt in in case it escalates further.

"What did you say to him?" She asks you in a form of a hiss.

"Nothing! I-"

"He chased you down! You must have said something that set him off!" Her demanding voice echoes off the walls, overlaying the beeping and whizzing of both the heart monitor and ventilator. You begin swearing to her that you didn't say anything of the sort but trail off as you realize that what you had actually said, was something that indeed hurt him.

You draw your lips between your teeth and clench your fist, unable to respond with the truth, fearing it might just fuel the fire.

"That's- that's not important now." You shake your head dismissively and turn around.

"It is. You led Ben out into the street, agitated."

"Rosy, please. Can we not talk about this now? We're squabbling in front of an unconscious man-"

"Okay girls. Our boy is out cold but that doesn't mean he can't hear, right?" Eager to quench the growing conflict, Gwilym slides in between the dangerous proximity you've put yourselves in and you huff an apology.

On the other hand, Rosy does the complete opposite. "No, Gwilym. He has been acting strange for weeks and to think tomorrow's supposed to be our wedding! And this is all because of her."

Gwilym turns to her firmly and tries calming - or rather shutting her up for the sake of the peace Ben needs to heal- her down. "We're not throwing fingers here. I know tomorrow's the day and you don't want to put him under pressure, right? I don't think he's going to succumb to waking up if this goes on."

Rami, Lucy and Joe have remained unbelievably quiet but are as keen as Gwilym to prevent something unnecessary as this. It's barely 3 am in the morning for the love of God and you're all in a hospital room. Sleeping patients could bang their fists on the walls from the other side any time.

You, on the other hand, have already made four steps towards the door, ready to leave the room to be alone with your thoughts for the night but you're unable to twist the knob as Rosy snaps once more with the hint, distressing with a clenched jaw.

She's unrelenting.

"Please Y/N, you're overstepping and frankly it's getting in the way of my relationship with Ben."

"You have no idea what I'm trying to do," You mumble in the most bitter of intonations for Rosy to get the message, your fingers clenching around the knob and producing a faint chink. "But he's my best friend. Let me be the person I've always been to him, " you whip your head at her -a stare you're certain could equal to a pelted javelin- and draw your brows together, pleading on account of choosing to be present in a crisis such as this, " he's all yours anyway."

With a strong swing of the door, you march angrily out of the room, making your way outside the building to blow off steam – the smooth rub of the polaroid between your fingers surrendering you to tears.

You give yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back to England to board your flight for Spain.

10 hours

Ben's accident was a clean hit-and-run. Apparently some bystanders had snapped a shot of the license plate the moment the car slowed down and accelerated afterwards. It was then delivered to the police to be given further investigation. His parents have flown in from England to visit him and you badly wish you could greet them but some things are just too heavy to do right now. Back at the hospital, Ben's been given hourly checks and assessments, with each desired result constant. He's not responsive to any physical contact but the doctor is certain that he can perceive sound and sound only. His body is asleep but his mind isn't.

The rest will be visiting him at dusk while you're going in late with Joe.

After sending an email to the university about your 24-hour delay, you spend the entire day just waiting to go down there and be by his side. Regarding your solitude in the hotel room, Rami had Lucy stay in with him for the meantime and being initially worried about leaving you, she had asked for your permission to which you said yes to.

Sometimes in the day, you can't hold back a few tears at the flashing memory.

17 hours

Loving can hurt

Standing in front of the private room, you clutch the collar of your shirt anxiously, hearing incoherent but distinct murmurs on the other side of the door. Joe looks down at you and squeezes your hand lightly to relieve you of pressure. He knows how much this is affecting you, and though not visually shown, he's taking it hard too.

Loving can hurt sometimes

The door opens to a couple you've familiarized yourself with for so long. Ben's parents.

"Y-Y/N?" Says his mum, unable to believe that it's you standing before her. Your breath hitches as you grin sadly, being pulled into her embrace. "It's been so long."

"It has, Mrs. Jones."

Joe shakes hands with his father as he introduces himself politely. Mr. Jones greets you in with a light hug as well and you can't help but spill a few tears.

But it's the only thing that I know

They give you full access to the room

as they themselves have to leave for a while, thereby trusting their son to his closest circle. Knowing how tight you and Ben are, they give you much of their trust on this one and you'd want nothing more than to make sure he'll wake up without any further complications. They obviously know about Rosy but witnessing how long you and Ben have grown on one another, they trust you the most.

They bid you and Joe goodbye, leaving access to the room exclusive.

When it gets hard

As you begin closing the door behind Joe, he insists that you have some alone time with him. Though it may feel weird but he feels as if you need this the most with time going against you now. Touched by his thoughtfulness, you give him a quick embrace before he leaves you to it.

You know it can get hard sometimes

The sight before you hasn't changed that much.

The same monitors and the same person.

Same feeling.

However you'd rather take everything

in a different light and situation.

You fiddle with your fingers as you accumulate the strength to swallow the lump in your throat, drawing yourself to his side. The mild, incessant whirring of both the air conditioner and ventilator occupies the silent atmosphere along with the steady beeps of the heart monitor, blocking the huge gulp you've taken.

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

Slowly taking a seat on the stool positioned beside the guard rails of the bed, you let out a quavery sigh– the byproduct of all the tearing up you've done today. You take his free hand in yours and stroke his pale knuckles with your thumb, leaning in to plant a kiss on it.

We keep this love in a photograph

"Ben? It's me. Can you hear me?"

One-sided conversations are helpful according to experts and this is the perfect opportunity to tell him everything without having to bear the flits in his expression.

But you beg to differ.

We made these memories for ourselves. Where our eyes are never closing.

You continue, allowing every crack and quiver to manifest in your voice no matter how relatively pathetic it will make you sound.

"Ben, please, you gotta wake up. You're leaving us in a hot mess here, bud. Hell, you gave your parents the scare of their lives. I know I'm starting off rough with this, but it's all cause you had to leap in like that. But then again, it was- it was not your fault. This- all of this is not your doing. I should've been more careful on that road. Would've been better if I had cut back on the melodrama, huh? Haha..."

You lick your lips and resume, owning the patters your tears have soiled on the tiled floor.

Hearts are never broken

"I'm sorry if I had to hide it all from you, " you build it up slowly, tears tenacious to leave your eyes, "it's just that I was afraid you'd soon forget me once you've married and I wouldn't be part of your life anymore. To make matters worse, I have always loved you, Ben. On every level and aspect, I still do. Sticking around to see you spend the rest of your life with someone else when that feeling is still present is just toxic. And to think you're supposed to be wedded tomorrow, "you sniffle, taking a few seconds to form your following words, "that's why it would be easier if we- if we...oh god, I'm actually much more of an actor than you are..." You want to chuckle for it, but nothing resembling a chuckle mopes out of your mouth. Just...short breaths.

Time is forever frozen-

"But I truly am happy for you. I really am. But I can't be happy myself when you've taken a huge portion of my heart and I'm just...I just want to make sure nothing will ever ruin your happiness," You close the distance between you and the bed, your hot tears dripping on his arm sling, the cloth absorbing it. You're really taking advantage of his inability to respond.

"I'm s-sorry, Ben. I don't know how long I can stay by your side like this. Literally like this. But as long as I am able, " you lower your head onto his chest, now shamelessly sobbing like you haven't broken down in centuries, squeezing his free but chilly hand like it's the only thing that'll give you warmth tonight, "I'm sorry if I'm going somewhere."

And still

Despite promising to give you a moment alone with him, Joe -having recurring, inquisitive tendencies- has acted as opposed to his promise and eavesdropped on your unrequited talk due to having to wait too long, not realizing that after hearing all your words exit in sobs, you've fallen asleep with your head on Ben's chest.

Joe glances around the hall before budging the door open, careful not to disturb you as he sees you out cold next to him. He presses his lips into a hard line and chuckles quietly, amused as he grabs an available sheet from the couch and drapes it over you. The moment he notices a tear droplet stuck in the corner of your eye, he wipes it away with his thumb, sighing profoundly.

"Rosy's gonna flip when she gets back and sees this. So, " Joe, mumbling on his own, tumbles back down onto the couch and kicks back, "I'll be here just in case."

20 hours

So you can keep me

A nurse opens the door with a tray and clipboard in hand to conduct an hourly assessment of his condition, not minding your head placement on his chest. He's still unresponsive to anything external.

I**nside the pocket of your ripped jeans **

As the test ends and the nurse closes the door on her way out, his finger twitches.

30 hours

Holding me closer til our eyes meet

Joe wakes you up softly with a bowl of soup in hand– something he bought from the cafeteria upstairs. You lift your heavy head from its recent spot and blink your bleary eyes at him, giving away a wry smile and telling him you'll eat later on.

You won't ever be alone

"By they way, this slipped from your pocket." He slips something off the table and hands it to you with a knowing look, that something being the dual polaroids you've taped together the other night. You take it from him deliberately and turn your head to Ben, before staring down at the joint pictures, nostalgia ever so sudden like a whiplash.

Wait for me to come home

35 hours

Loving can heal

Rami and Lucy have stopped by to visit and take your 'shifts' considering Rosy is still absent and you and Joe had to return to the hotel to change. The attending physician and a nurse come in to replace his breathing tube with a nasal cannula, since the assessment done hours prior has shown that he's already capable of breathing on his own.

39 hours

Loving can mend your soul

"Funny how today is supposed to be his wedding but we're getting a funeral instead. " Morbidly comments one of Ben's visitors and closest friends. Every single person in the room who has come by to visit Ben shoots a death glare at him for making that joke within a two feet radius of Ben who is sure to give him a bop on the head the minute he gets up.

41 hours

And it's the only thing that I know

Meanwhile Rosy had spent the entire day rescheduling the wedding and the once volatile reactions she's had do a 360 and is brought down to one, constant look as she bumps into you on your way to Ben's room.

42 hours

I swear it will get easier, remember that with every piece of you

You both don't say a word until you've settled down on the couch as she strays to Ben's side and wipes the glistening speckle of sweat on his cheek with her thumb, the silence coming to a close as you pry the words out of your mouth.

"Rosy, believe me. I have never harboured the thought of coming between you both. I'm only ever there for him as a friend."

And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

Giving you an impassive eye, she ignores your words entirely and turns her attention back to her fiance.

45 hours

We keep this love in a photograph

You don't leave the room with the hours progressing to the moment he's timed to wake up. A lot of people have paid him a visit, cracking jokes and talking to him notwithstanding the fact that he's utterly unresponsive. They've done all they can to lighten the mood in the room, hoping all their antics and bliss would lure Ben out of his induced insensibility. But he's nowhere near the edge.

We made these memories for ourselves

47 hours

With Rosy snuggled up against his side, Ben retains immobility and it's a sight you're not used to since he's one of the most fidgety arseholes who's ever graced your life. You know you'd be bombed by her if you do this with her close by, but you had given yourself exactly 48 hours to stay before heading back.

Where our eyes are never closing, hearts are never broken

And so you wander to the opposite side of the bed and peer at down your wristwatch for the time.

Time's forever frozen and still.

48 hours

"Ben?" You whimper close to his ear. He's not responding. You know he wouldn't wake up that quickly at the strike of the exact hour but you're impatient to say goodbye to him with his forest, green eyes on full display and wandering around your (Y/E/C) ones to bolster you up.

"Hey." You coax into his ear again, still no response. The racing beat of your heart has matched the beeps of the heart monitor. His heart beats. The similarity is sketchy but nearly symbolic. You're leaving in the morning and he's not up and lively for you to fervently crush in a parting embrace.

"Bud, please. I can't force you to wake up but I'm leaving tomorrow. You have to help me...here." At this point, though how eager you are to, you can't let some tears stream down from your eyes since the possibility of Rosy waking up to you catching sobs is feasible, but Ben's involuntary stillness is not helping you with that ordeal. Losing all hope for a night, you straighten up and collect your things from the couch, deciding to come back one last time tomorrow prior to your departure.

You quickly open the door to the attending physician who's about to step in to take physical tests but you whisk past him without taking a second look.

Easy to say you didn't have a good night sleep with all the stresses weighing down on you that night. Either you hyperventilated in your slumber or remained asleep but with tears seeping from your half-closed eyes.

You've sent Lucy a text in the early hours of the morning notifying her about your departure today. She hasn't responded yet.

"Just a 24-hour delay? Are they that heartless?" Leaning on the door frame of your hotel room with a bitten donut in his hand, Joe questions as he watches you prop your luggage against the open door. "I had to reschedule the flight thrice last month, this one being the latest. It's only reasonable," You huff as a matter of fact, fixing the scarf that has dangled loose around your neck and staring into oblivion barely a second after going tight-lipped.

Finishing his donut, Joe pokes you out of your momentary trance. "You alright?"

You shake your head.

"I don't even know if he's awake now. It's past 48 hours and what if he-"

"There's only one way to find out," appeasing your elevating worry, he grabs you by the shoulders and looks you square in the eye, silently guaranteeing you of his recovery.

Since he'll be driving you to the airport, your things are neatly stored in the confines of the backseat but of course, you have to see Ben one last time, setting aside all the excruciating anticipation.

You scurry into the entrance with Joe by your side, out of breaths by the time you arrive at the door of Ben's room. Taking precautionary measures, you knock firmly on the surface expecting someone or Rosy to answer. But nada. You swap some looks with Joe and twist the knob gently, finding the room free of visitors and medical staff. Perhaps they've assessed him an hour prior.

"No one's around."

As you begin slipping a foot through the ajar door, Joe puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step.

"Lucy's on her way."

His update on her reply makes you smile and you continue into the room, seeing the curtains that had blocked the sunlight for two days cast aside, spilling some sunlight into the room.

You take small, wobbly steps along the floor, unable to accept that until now he hasn't fluttered open those orbs you loved staring into so much. You suddenly fear that a complication has risen and is causing his extended unconsciousness but that must be the least of your worries.

So you can keep me, inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

He has to hear you. He has to. He has to.

He's gone really pasty. Dark circles under his eyes despite being asleep for two days. He has grown a scruff and looks painfully unruly, but still a face of an angel. You crouch and take his free hand in yours– careful not to disconnect the IV tube from his wrist, caressing it and drawing in a sharp inhale to free yourself of any doubt to speak up. "Ben. It's Y/N. You're scaring us, you know. The doctor said you'd wake up earlier but why? Why haven't you? What are you doing in there?"

This being the end of the long haul for you, you're not forcing anything at bay anymore– not your tears, not your peeves and certainly not your feelings. You interlace your fingers around his and kiss the back of his hand, your cheeks growing scarlet and wet with tears.

Holding me closer til our eyes meet, you won't ever be alone.

You get up from crouching and throw your arm around him in defiance of the possibility of applying a lot of pressure on his chest. It feels so different holding him that way. For the time you have left, an overly emotional, one-sided conversation should make up for the lost times that would've been great for those.

And if you hurt me, that's okay baby only words bleed

"You really kept that Homecoming picture, didn't you? Coincidentally I did too, just forgot it was there as well. But I pieced it back, by the way. Ironic that we both made a promise on those polaroids the night before graduation. I-I have it with me here, just so you know. Just thought I'd bring it out since...I'll be going soon." You pull the pictures out from the pocket of your coat with trembling hands, eager to wave them in front of him. Once out, you place it on the bedside table for him to keep once more but with your share of the picture.

Inside these pages you just hold me, and I won't ever let you go

You lay your forehead on his, your tears dripping onto his closed lids as you sob his name to get him to wake, at the same time feeling his soft exhales brush against your chin. " I told you I'd be strong and I'm trying to be. I know it sounds like a selfish thing to do but you have to trust me on this one. I want to move on, Ben. You're bound to be wedded soon and have a family of your own. I want to be there for that. I want to be that aunt who'll spoil your kids and make them fight you for the craziest demands. Those things I'd gladly do...if I wasn't this hopeless for you," Little by little, your voice comes out as broken whisper– losing your strength to add any more things to say in the process. On the other side of the door, Joe is finally joined by Lucy who has arrived not a minute late and they can't help but tear up a little at how uncontrolled your crying is slowly turning out, it's become audible enough to be heard from outside.

"Ben, buddy. Come on." He huffs against the hardwood as he and Lucy are tempted to barge in.

Burying your face into the exposed column of his neck with your arm slackening from being draped across his chest, you utter a voiceless but heartfelt statement.

Wait for me to come home

"I love you, Benjamin Jones. Be happy for me."

Your words hang thinly in the fragile air as you pull away from that proximity and leave a long kiss on his forehead, walking back sadly to the door with your hand outstretched ready to grab ahold of the knob.

"H-how could I be..."

The words released sound like a mere memory resonating in your head but you are proved wrong once you turn around.

#borhap #queen #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap imagine #ben hardy fanfic #imagine #fanfic

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czarbok · 4 years

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rant with a huge tw// ed

i never thought that i would be the one to develop an eating disorder, especially at the current age i’m at. when i was 8, i kinda suffered from an anxiety-induced food aversion which would make me not eat in fear of choking/throwing up. because of this, i was underweight for a good chunk of time. from about third grade until 8th grade, i was very scrawny; my friends mom would constantly say i had toothpick legs and my grandma would call me a skinny minnie lmao.

i had a huge appetite and a metabolism that was even faster through these years. i had shaken off my food aversion by fifth grade but never managed to gain an excess amount of weight. i didn’t hit 100 pounds until seventh grade and it was partially because i was going through puberty and growing. i still got my period on time because i was eating frequently. i ate a lot of junk food and huge servings of meals but never seemed to gain weight. people envied me.

by ninth grade, i was still really skinny. a-cups for my bra, toothpick legs, ankles that i could almost wrap my fingers around, the whole bit. i was getting into more muscle-building sports at this time. in jr. high, i ran track and cross-country but i gave both of them up for softball and soccer respectively. as much as i liked to think i was gaining muscle, i still looked like a stick. i looked awkward and stringy in all of my uniforms. the best way to describe how i looked is a praying mantis.

in ninth grade, i had also gotten my first boyfriend. he was a year older than me and he was more experienced than me. he was on the wrestling team so he frequently had to cut weight and cutting weight meant skipping meals and binging and purging. dinners at his house were awkward because i would be eating a huge plate of food and he would eat nothing. because he was lactose intolerant, he would eat large portions of ice cream and dairy products just to shit out the weight. he wasn’t that much heavier than me which i felt like it bothered him because that’s just the type of person he was. i never weighed myself at this time because the scale was always kept in my parents’ room and it was never right. i only got weighed at my yearly physicals.

the following summer, my boyfriend had broken up with me and i was devastated. i would lock myself in my room and only come out for basketball or soccer. i also ate less because my forming depression made it hard for me to get an appetite. i don’t know if i lost any weight, because again, i wasn’t weighing myself. i tried to get more involved with soccer, constantly practicing and honing my skills as a goalkeeper. i was also honing my skills in basketball summer league because i wanted to be on varsity in the coming year.

i had petty feuds with my first ex-boyfriend that whole summer and into my sophomore year of high schools but by the time school came back in, we seemed to become “friends”. at this time, i had also met my second boyfriend through mutual loves of music and soccer. he was overweight but i didn’t care. i really liked who he was as a person. he made me laugh and made me feel better about my breakup. he acted like a therapist and a best friend to me. but we didn’t start officially dating until february of our sophomore year.

before that, we were really close friends. we made fun of a boy i dated for a month and my first ex-boyfriend. we hung out a lot at his house and he made me feel like my world was getting put back together. i had won second team all-conference in soccer as sophomore, one of the first to do so, and i was excelling in basketball making a promising effort to be on varsity.

then i went to the doctor for on-going foot pains. my doctor told me that my foot had been broken for three years because of a basketball injury. the bone and joint had decayed and rotted and i needed to do something about it if i wanted to continue to play sports. i obliged because i wanted the attention that my foot injury would bring me, especially for my ex-boyfriend. so november 2015, i had surgery on my foot. i had an artificial joint put in my foot at the age of 15 and my doctor promised that i wouldn’t have to worry about it for 15 years if i followed through with physical therapy.

i got out of the hospital the same night and went home with all sorts of drugs including vicodin, antibiotics, and anti-imflamatories. drew, my friend and second boyfriend, was always a text away to keep my spirits up. i was out of basketball for a month and a half and lost my varsity jersey because there was no point in me having it. that wrecked me and it wrecked me even more that i couldn’t play with my best friends. i sunk into a depression that made me question if i even wanted to return from sports.

my weight wasn’t a concern to me because i never worried about it. i went through countless hours of pt in the early mornings before school so that i could get back on the court quicker. it was painful and constantly made me tired because my endurance and energy had diminished since i was put out. but i still didn’t notice my weight.

i returned to basketball in late december, winded and hesitant. i galloped when i ran in fear of destroying my new joint but i looked more fluid and confident than i ever had before. drew and i were increasingly becoming closer but i was increasingly becoming more and more suicidal.

january 1, 2016, my dad’s best friends and a very close friend to my family suddenly died in his sleep. we had actually been at his house for new years that night and now he was dead. it shook my family to the core. it brought out a side of my father that i had never seen before. he came into my room crying and hugged me, saying that he didn’t know what he was going to do without him. i was heartbroken and sunk into an even deeper depression. we spent a lot of time at his house, helping his now widowed wife and sons— two were adults, one was a senior in high school, the other in 8th grade and best friends with my sister. the calling hours rocked me as some of his favorite music blasted through his alma mater. one of them had been rose tattoo by the dropkick murphys, one of my favorite songs at the time. i still can’t listen to it. another song was the devil in i by slipknot which played frequently on my family’s favorite radio station; if it came on, the station would immediately be switched.

again, drew helped me cope and we were getting more intimate. we still joked about our exes and had fun but we were becoming closer than friends. by late january, i contracted mono for the first time and lost my appetite for over a week. i probably lost a lot of weight, but again, it wasn’t a concern.

i had also been trying to get my drivers license through february, taking the required classes and trying to schedule in-cars. ohio is a bitch state to get your license in. by february, drew and i were official and he urged me to get my license so i could take him places. i frequently broke down because i was so overwhelmed with recovering from an injury, recovering from mono, now softball, and school. drew urged me to see a therapist because i had frequent suicidal thoughts that worried him.

it wasn’t until may of 2016 that i received my diagnosis of depression. i was put on a low dose of serafem and put on suicide watch for that week because my mental health was so bad. my relationship was drew was getting rocky; i was starting to distrust him and he seemed to want to do everything without me. i finally finished the in-class session of my drivers test and passed but i still had to do in-cars before i could take my test.

that same month, my mom forced me to go to the obgyn to get on birth control because she thought i was sexually active with drew. (technically we weren’t). i had heard rumors that birth control caused weight gain but i wasn’t concerned, i got on it anyways. i was very strict with the time that i took it for about a year before not caring. i still take it every night, just not at the same time lmao. i didn’t realize it, but i started gaining weight.

drew broke up with me in mid-july of 2016 and i wanted to kill myself. and i tried. taking the vicodin i had from my foot surgery, i tried to od but only woke up from it in the middle of the night, devastated that i was still alive. but then i thought, who would take care of kojack, my cat, if i died? he would most certainly be kicked out of my house for his poor use of the litterbox. so i held off trying again. i finally got my drivers license and it stated that my weight was 125 lbs.

i went to my psychiatrist once a month where i rarely received an up in my antidepressants. i was only on 20 mgs of prozac for two years and i struggled heavily. my psych constantly treated me like a child and never really helped me with anything. so i stopped going but my prescriptions continued.

it was probably a mix between the prozac and birth control that made me gain weight. i ballooned to 135 my junior year of high school but i was still active in sports yearround. in november of my junior year, i started dating a close friend who was also a wrestler. we were also sexually exclusive. this boyfriend didn’t have to cut weight nearly as much as my first boyfriend but he didn’t eat. i began to gain muscle and was making a name for myself in athletics, winning all conference recognition in all three sports.

my paternal grandmother ended up passing away from what i think is medical malpractice in november of 2016. i was very close to her. she was my sisters and i’s babysitter growing up and she was always at our sporting events. we had been in buffalo, new york with my mom’s family when we heard the news that she was dying. early in the morning, my mom rushed us back home to ohio, worried that she would die before we got there. we had gotten there in two hours, a record if i had ever seen and she died shortly after we got there. i never went into the room. i saw my mom hold her hand as she took her last breath and my grandpa pacing and crying as she departed. i was shaken. but then i wasn’t. she didn’t die, i was sure of it. i never accepted that she had died becuase she was so prominent in my life. i made jokes about her passing but it never seemed like she died.

the boyfriend ended up breaking up with me after a wrestling meet after ignoring me all day. i was heartbroken but got over myself quicker than the other breakups. there was nothing between us but sex. at this time, i was starting to realize that my first boyfriend raped me, but i don’t want to get into that.

the summer of 2017 was a whirlwind. i was going around, trying to find someone to fill my sexual needs by disguising it and saying i wanted a boyfriend. i was in the best shape of my life. i was healthy and muscular. i ended up fucking one of my best friends and ruining our friendship right before my senior year started but i wasn’t too bothered by it.

in early september of 2017, i began talking to someone. i had actually met this guy at a cage the elephant concert with drew when he was dating someone else. i honestly thought he was weird and looked way older than he was. he also frequently told me that he loved me despite not really knowing me. either way i was freaked out but decided to give this guy a chance because of mutual interests. we started dating in late september of 2017 and i had never been happier. we’re still dating to this day and we’re currently living together.

donovan and i ate out frequently our first year of dating. i was taking my antideppressants on and off. i went from 130 lbs to 135 that year because we ate greasy foods, ate out a lot, ate a lot of junk food, and drank a lot of pop. i was ignorant to my weight gain but noticed it a bit once my last season of softball rolled around. i had committed to my college for soccer but wanted to play softball still because i loved it and was good at it. my uniform pants felt tighter.

it didn’t look like i had gained weight under clothes. i still fit in jeans i wore through freshman year but my stomach had definitely gained mass. i noticed this when we took a trip to the beach in late may and donovan took pictures of me. but i wasn’t bothered.

over the summer of 2018, i managed to take that mass off my stomach with soccer workouts to prep me for my upcoming collegiate soccer season. i also got my first job as a hostess which left me hungry because i couldn’t eat on the job. however, this led to binging after work and workouts but i still looked trim.

august came and i moved into college. i was destraught moving away from my friends and family despite being only 20 mins from my hometown. the girls on the soccer team were less than welcoming to me and preseason was hell. i was placed on the reserves because my coach told me freshman year would be a developmental year to get me out of bad habits. i accepted. afterall, he did have an all-conference goalie starting. i worked hard despite not wanting to be there. i lost interest in soccer and started eating more again. my teammates constantly talked about me behind my back and i didn’t feel safe. i also contracted mono for a third time which sat me out of soccer for nearly two weeks. i came back winded and exhausted. even though i was sick, i still went to every home game and practice to support. i played in one last game before my foot joint gave out on me again. i was put in a boot and lost the rest of the season.

i had been in a boot before because of my foot joint since the surgery but something about this was different. anyways, i went up to my coach after the season had ended and announced that i would not be continuing on the soccer team for various reasons including my mental health. he tried to convince me otherwise but i quit. i ended up meeting with the lacrosse coach and joining that team instead. lacrosse seemed fun and it would be a challenge for me to pick up a sport i never played.

but i was gaining weight. the scale never showed but again, my stomach became prominent and chubbier because i was eating. in december, i went to a different nurse practicioner to get on meds again. the np would end up changing my meds every month and i would be put on four different antidepressants before my sophmore year of college.

between soccer and lacrosse, i began lifting more and running less. i wasn’t concerned with my endurance because it always seemed to be with me despite sickness and injuries. i put on muscle in my legs and arms and my stomach managed to slim down again before lacrosse started. by the time my freshman season of lacrosse started, i could cradle and pass decently for someone who had never played before but i couldn’t catch so my coach put me on defense to avoid me having to catch a pass.

once lacrosse ended in late april, i didn’t want to put on any weight so i began running. i started running a mile everyday through the summer which turned into a mile and a half everyday to two miles. i ran two miles almost everyday over the summer to keep in shape. i was also switching and adding meds and going to therapy as well. by the time my sophomore year of college rolled around, i was on klonopin, abilify, cymbalta, and strattera/vyvanse.

i maintained 135 lbs throughout these couple of years despite med changes and birth control. my sophomore year of lacrosse was going to be my breakout year because i had spent so much time improving my skills. sophomore year started out great. fallball was fantastic. i had taken leaps and bounds in improvement since april. i love lacrosse and wanted to be better than i was the day before.

in late october, i went to sleep with a stomachache that i dismissed as gas pains. i woke up frequently in pain and just thought i had to poop. going to the bathroom did not alleviate the pain. the pain had also shifted to the right side of my stomach. so i did some googling and saw that my symptoms mirrored a burst appendix. so i woke up donovan and we drove to the hospital at 3 am. through testing and scans, the doctors told me my appendix was imflamed and would need to be taken out before it burst. so later that afternoon, i received my second surgery.

after the surgery, i was extremely bloated from the air they had to pump into my stomach for the procedure. i was sure it was going to go away with walking and other techniques to get it out. it never did. i started lifting with the lacrosse team a week and a half later and followed up with my surgeon two weeks after the surgery. he weighed me and i weighed a whopping 140 lbs. i was shocked but brushed it off as i had all my clothes on and a jacket.

then i got home and weighed myself. 140. it couldn’t be. i had never weighed that much in my entire life. how did one surgery cause me to gain five pounds? i became obsessive over my weight going into november. i started working out five days a week instead of three but my weight never changed. going into december i started eating less but my weight fluctuated between 140 and 137 frequently. i ran more disntance and put more effort into lifting. i was constantly breaking down into tears because i just wanted to be skinny again. donovan tried to assure me that i was still skinny and looked great but i knew i didn’t. i looked gross and pudgy.

i started wearing baggier clothes and set up times where i would stop eating. 9 pm seemed like a realistic time to cut off eating so i did that. around christmastime, i contracted mono again and lost my appetite. because of this, i lost five pounds. i was estatic. finally, after two months of fretting about being 140, i was back at 135lbs. but then i was at 133lbs, then 132lbs before i realized that i hadn’t been this low in weight since high school.

so i started schedule eating once this semester rolled around. tiktok was giving me ideas to restrict calories and to fast and other borderline eating disorder ideas. i complied. i eat at noon, again at dinnertime which has to be later than 6pm, and then a snack before 9pm. by january, i was under 130lbs, which i hadn’t seen since sophomore year of high school. i was so happy and proud of myself. with running everyday and restricting the times that i ate, i had lost ten pounds in two months,

lacrosse came in late january and we weren’t doing as much conditioning as we had the previous year. i was worried that this would make me gain weight so i ran before practices some days and after practices on others. my weight dropped again to 125lbs, my goal, the weight my drivers license stated.

i was so happy i hit my goal but then i realized, what if i kept going? if it’s this easy, why stop here? i didn’t want to gain the weight back that i lost. plus everyone was saying how great i looked because i lost weight. tiktok videos came up encouraging me to lose weight. i weighed myself twice a day to see progress. my new psychiatrist and therapist weren’t keen on this and warned me to ditch the scale before this escalated into a fullblown eating disorder. i ignored them. i want to be skinnier, i want to look and feel great. i don’t want to be the weight that i used to be.

recently i downloaded myfitnesspal to track calories and calories that i burn with workouts. it says i should consume 1,390 calories a day if i want to lose a pound a week. with the workouts that i do, it wants me to eat more. i’ve been sticking around and eating no more than 1,000 calories a day with its frequent warnings of unhealthy weightloss. and maybe i’ve been lying to it because my weight sometimes fluctuates which i hate. i almost cried the other night because my weight was 124 lbs. my lowest so far has been 120lbs. donovan and my therapist are the only ones who know about my struggles with eating. my relationship with food has become dangerous. i hate eating and dread when the scheduled time to eat comes around. i hate the person i’ve become and at the same time, i don’t want to stop this habit.

#rants /#long post #tw// eating disorder #tw//ed #tw ed #do not reblog #dn reblog

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thetravellingvagrant · 5 years

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Day(s) 5/6 - Iquitos-San Rafael- Iquitos again - In Which I Live Out My Genuine Nightmares

This is going to be a very special (and very long) double entry, because a) the following two days were largely spent doing the same thing b) I am so far behind with this blog that cramming two entries into one seems like perhaps the only way I will ever be able to catch up and c) I didn't really sleep enough to properly separate the two days, anyway, so functionally, they really do count as one for me.

I remember being in no more than primary six or seven, when a man came to speak to our class about the Amazon rainforest. I don't remember who he was or why having a guest speaker tell us about the jungle was particularly necessary, but I do remember in vivid detail the things he told me. More specifically, I remember the things he told me about all the things that could - and most likely would - kill, maim or otherwise damage me, should I ever be fool enough go. Poison tree frogs that can kill you with a single touch, spiders as big as dinner plates that'll snatch your toes right off you, jaguars, scorpions, snakes, wasps, venomous ants, millipedes and even trees; the list went on seemingly forever and I distinctly remember, even at that young age thinking, very firmly to myself “fuuuuuck that.” - except probably a bit higher pitched. More recently, I remember being in Budapest zoo (an excursion featured in this very blog) and there being a very big sign at the entrance to their Amazonia exhibit, describing the area as simply “the green hell”, for much the same reasons. Both of these things have stuck with me for more than twenty and more than five years respectively and, to be honest, did combine mentally to rather put me off ever going to such a horrible, godless locale. It seemed almost unreal, almost like a fever dream, then (Not least of all, because I actually was running a fever, still being fucked into a paste as I was, by my jungle flu.), as I loaded my bags into the back of a tiny little tuktuk motor-taxi, to be whisked away to this nightmarish place, which I swore I would never visit, for actuals and reals.

Before that though, I had a tuktuk to ride. These little things are basically the only way to get around Iquitos, other than a truly abysmal bus service, or just owning a bike; cars are essentially a non-entity here, being very difficult to actually transport over from other citites as they are, as Iquitos is entirely inaccessible by road. They're also quite fun – the tuktuk taxis, that is- I have to be honest, however not-in-keeping with the tone of this blog that statement is. Riding one is sort of like being the terrified non-player-character passenger in a Grand Theft Auto taxi driving side-mission, as your driver weaves carelessly through a sea of other motorcabs, paying no heed whatsoever to the rules of the road or the safety of pedestrians, hoping against hope that they don't lose interest in the task at hand and drive you off the edge of a cliff, or into a deserted field at night, to shoot you in the head with an AR-15 and take all your money.

All too soon though, we were ejected from our mental little death-wagon and ushered into a sort of garage, that appeared to be serving as the headquarters of Maniti Expeditions; the company that was due to take us jungle-side.

We took a seat and waited while the other members of our tour filed in. As it turned out, we were rather a small group. We were joined by a family of Pakistani-Americans from New Jersey, a Portuguese man, who I think was called Pedro, who was nice, though verging dangerously on the pretentious, and, of course – because apparently there is a God, but unfortunately he's just a bastard – the Indian couple from the night before. Of course they were there. Of course they were. Also, it turned out they were actually American, so that made my accidental racism one degree worse than it had even been before. Whizzer.

After a brief interlude wherein a man, whom I did not realise had just wandered in off the street, handed me a torch - which I assumed was just an extra they gave you as part of the tour, but after some time and a lot of him refusing to let me hand it back to him, realised he was trying to sell me, for a frankly ludicrous price, resulting in me having to physically force the thing back into his hands while shouting “no gracias” as politely, yet firmly as I could - we were loaded on to a shitty, rickety old bus and sent towards Bellavista Naney port with our new guide. His name was Alfredo.

Alfredo was, as you might expect a jungle tour guide to be, an interesting chap. He was a short, sturdy, sixty-five year old man, sporting a Peruvian national football shirt, a pair of quite small shorts with sailboats printed on them, a camouflage backpack with a Cannibal Corpse patch poorly sewed onto it and one hell of a coke-nail. He told us, also, not long after we had met that he had been doing Ayahuasca, that traditional Peruvian mind-fuck broth for the last fifty years or so of his life. This was our expert. This was the only barrier between ourselves and definitely dying at the hands of a cruel and dangerous jungle. A junkie death-metal-head. Great. (though, to be totally fair to Alfredo, he was only about 20% as fucking weird and unreliable as this description makes him out to be. In reality, he was very knowledgeable, friendly and really, clearly cared a lot about making sure we were all safe and happy. He was both a top lad and a ruddy good bloke)

We were rushed through Bellavista port by Alfredo, stopping only briefly to marvel at the culinary delights the small port had to offer

Like these buckets full of fucking grubs, for some reason. Apparently they taste just like butter

and before we knew it, we were boarding a small, rickety boat bound for jungletown in the least official looking dock I had ever been to.

Pictured: Not a dock

Just as I was going to take my seat, something pale darted across the corner of my eye. I quickly spun to face the movement and there it was, sitting, bold as brass, right next to where I was about to park my – frankly 10/10 – arse was a massive, white spider, about the size of the palm of my hand, staring up at me, human blood dripping from its fangs, hissing threats in some esoteric spider-language. Fortunately, I was too fucked with the flu to have any energy left to make a fool of myself by panicking and so, instead, quietly just moved down the boat, screaming myself hoarse inside. Alfredo, then noticing the spider himself, then scooped the horrible thing into his hands and very softly deposited it off the side of the boat as if it was nothing, thereby tacitly making a total bitch of me for being so scared of it. Thanks Alfredo. Prick. Fortunately, though that seemed to be the only spider that had snuck on board, as I remained unbothered by any of its kin for the duration of our (very long) boat-ride up the Amazon river.

The boat ride was, despite my malady and my intrinsic fear of ever being submerged in the Amazon river, for any amount of time and for any purpose, fairly incredible. The river is bizarrely fascinating to be on, even when nothing of any interest is happening, and once I had gotten over my terrible, terrible fear of the boat capsizing, or a piranha flying out of the water and biting my face, I settled in to really quite enjoying myself. Alfredo's talk about the river, much like the thing itself, remained interesting, even at points when he was pretty much just babbling a load of shit about nothing, and a conversation with the father of the Pakistani-American family (who was every inch the spitting image of a brown Todd, from The Last Man On Earth) revealed that he, too, was something of an absolute delight. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, after all.

We eventually pulled in to San Rafael, the little community adjacent to our lodge and, after veeeeery fucking carefully removing myself from the boat, we walked for about ten minutes through very nearly actual proper jungle

Aaaaaah!

seeing some wild tamarins on the way and everything (which are apparently very rare to spot in the wild, so that was neat). By this point though, the heat was almost unbearable and lugging around my heavy backpack with a swirling vortex of fluey malaise sucking me ever deeper into its terrible maw was really starting to wipe me out. Before long, though, we arrived at the lodge, which was really quite nice, though perhaps a little too similar to the Others' village in Lost, for me to be totally comfortable in.

Delightful, yet sinister, like if Ted Bundy could make balloon animals

I quickly scooted off to dump my bag in our... fairly modest room

Hey, cool, I’m definitely going to die here.

before, with little to no chance for me to rest, being dragged straight back out for a short taster walk, into the actual and for reals jungle.

The walk was definitely an interesting, if very tiring excursion, especially for a gross, snotty flu-man, which I very much was. I think, though that it was largely the novelty of being in a new biome that really did the bulk of holding my attention, as, presumably due to the lovely, but very loud and panicky American family's constant hoots of fear, we didn't see a huge amount in the way of wildlife. Especially not anything that might bite, poison or constrict you. Still, though, it was quietly quite comforting to not be the most scared person there. Grow up, Americans. God.

Around half an hour later and fifteen pounds heavier in mud caked to the bottom of my shoe and trousers, we returned to the lodge for a surprisingly nice lunch of mashed potato and beef. I couldn't really enjoy it, however, as my sinuses were full beyond bursting and the room was spinning horribly around me, as I ate. We were given, mercifully, around an hour to relax before the next part of our tour, which I spent soundly asleep, not even caring that spiders could and probably would be crawling over my exhausted, broken body as I did.

The nap turned out to be a good choice. I awoke feeling slightly more human, albeit by the scantiest margin possible. It wouldn't have mattered if I was literally dying though- I'd still have gone on the next bit of the tour; was I fuck missing a trip to Monkey Island, under any circumstances.

We boarded the boat once more; one tour member lighter - in the form of Pedro who had decided to go off with another, different guide to camp in the jungle for a night, though with the new addition of Karl, another American man and weird lookalike of his namesake Karl Pilkington, arriving late - and were away to Monkey Island. Fuck yes we were away to Monkey Island.

Monkey Island, as its name suggests is a rehabilitation centre for monkeys who were rescued from the black market's pet trade, and that's all brilliant and everything, but jesus christ, it was just a little patch of jungle with all friendly woolly monkeys running around and, jumping through trees and tumbling around and playing and coming up to you to hold your hand or climb onto your shoulders and it was everything I have ever wanted and I don't expect I will feel joy like I did while being there, ever again. Or any sort of joy at all, to be honest.

L O O K A T T H E M

It was so good that for around the hour and a half we were there, I basically forgot I had the flu. That's how good it was; it was good enough to override my body slowly shutting down through fatigue and illness, like a lemsip for the soul. It was genuinely fantastic; the only thing that marred the experience, even slightly was the American family being a bit too loud and overbearing, pushing to the front of every experience, and so taking all of the monkeys' precious attentions for themselves, for the vast majority of the time. I suppose it can be forgiven of people for being a little over-excited about a god damned island full of monkeys though, so for once, I will bare no grudge against them. But let it me known, if anyone physically comes between me and a monkey, ever again, I will cut a bitch.

Way, way too fucking soon, though, we were pulled away from Monkey Island, in much the way its inhabitants were pulled away from the still-warm corpses of their mothers by poachers (...too dark?) and loaded back onto the boat.

We returned to San Rafael and, by this point, a combination of the heat, the flu and not being allowed to spend literally forever on Monkey Island in a perpetual state of utter bliss had ruined me. I badly needed a nap, again, for fear that if I did not take one, I might actually die, but alas, I was not to be afforded such a simple pleasure. Alfredo informed us, once we were back on land, that we'd be heading out into the jungle again, for an hour long night-walk to look for spiders and shit. I couldn't think of a more terrifying sentence for him to say, to be honest, but I decided that was probably actually quite unlikely that I was actually going to die and it would be quite an experience to miss out on if I just spent the time asleep in the relative comfort of my room, and so, like the solider I am, I nutted up and just did it.

I've genuinely had nightmares about being stuck in the jungle at night. If you'd have asked me a week ago to describe my top most terrifying real-world scenarios I'd never want to be in, that probably would have ranked in the top three. Actually experiencing it, however, really wasn't all that bad. I don't know if my mind and body were just too mangled to process exactly what was happening to me (I do remember spending a lot of the time, almost asleep on my feet, not fully knowing where I was, but being quite convinced that I was in a forest in Scotland), or if the lovely, but loud American family had just spooked all the dangerous animals in a fifty mile radius away with their unforgivably loud hollers and yelps, but I didn't find myself feeling at all anxious, or frightened, or...anything, really. It was just something that was happening to me before I could sleep.

youtube

Although in retrospect, it looks fucking terrifying

The walk progressed slowly, with little of interest being spotted, other than a couple of (admittedly pretty sick) stick insects and apparently an opossum (although I didn't see it, myself) and seemed to be winding down without incident. Then, ten minutes or so from camp, Sam's left leg stated burning. Panicking, she told Alfredo what was happening, who traipsed back to her, lifted her trouser-leg and saw, to Sam's horror, but his own light amusement that a not insignificant amount of fire-ants were swarming around her calf. Apparently she had stomped her little stompy feet through their nest and was now paying the price for her murderous hubris. Alfredo swatted the ants away as best he could and we continued walking (or in Sam's case, badly limping) back to the camp.

Once back, we ducked back into our bungalow to make sure neither of us had any more of the nasty little fuckers on us, which thankfully, we did not, and everything was great,forever. The End.

Nah, just kidding; we had an entire fucking colony milling around our socks and lower trousers. We very quickly and with very very little dignity, stripped our khakis off in a bit more of a girlish panic than I'd honestly like to admit, shook the ants free from the trousers, outside and just straight up binned the socks like the unwearable garbage they now were. When we were absolutely sure that we now ant-free (which took so much more time and energy than my body could realistically spare), we headed to dinner; another fairly nice affair full of chicken legs and mashed potato, so I'm told, at least. Genuinely, I don't know, I was so far beyond physically okay that the entire thing really was a bit of a blur for me. I do remember being given a pill by the Indian couple, which they claimed was a combination of painkillers and muscle relaxant and which knocked me out almost as soon as I returned to our room. At least I was too sick to care about spending a night in the jungle- the part of the trip I was most worried about, previously – so uh. Every cloud and all that, I guess. Also, the muscle relaxant didn't even one, as I had worried it might, make me piss the bed. So that's two silver linings, which honestly, is pretty good going, as far as silver linings are concerned.

I was up several times in the night. The jungle is (shockingly) pitch black during the evening and, much like the night before, I found myself awaking with a jolt every two hours or so, to empty my bladder and perform a full and thorough inspection of my bed, using the torch on my phone, to make sure no errant tarantulas had decided to become my erstwhile bedfellows. They hadn't, to be fair, but that doesn't make me hate them any less. Furry, spindly little pricks.

Despite this, I did sleep better than I had the previous night (albeit again, only by the slimmest of margins) and actually found myself, for once, being woken up by my alarm, rather than just being awake several hours before it was due to go off, anyway. Take that, alarm.

Our morning plan was to take the boat out once more, to watch the sun rise over the Amazon and then around to go river-dolphin spotting, which, to be fair, did sound appallingly lovely. The sunrise was mostly obscured by clouds, so wasn't perhaps as impressive as it could have been, though still managed to remain fairly bloody impressive

Neat, I guess.

and what the clouds took away from the gravity of the experience, Alfredo more than added back in by uttering the cryptic, slightly frightening and just very, very metal line of “...His eye opens” as the sun just began to peek over the horizon

BEHOLD!

By the time we had begun dolphin spotting, I had once again grown weary and while I was definitely thoroughly enjoying the experience, and managed, at points, to get incredibly close and take some pretty okayish videos of the ugly, pink little jerks

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I have no way of editing videos out here, but if you wait until around the 30 second mark, you should see a big splashy boy

I was definitely not enjoying my nostrils turning into a snot-faucet and my head being slowly crushed into a singularity from the inside, so by the time we packed it all in and returned home, I was super glad to be doing so, despite feeling a little guilty for thinking like this. To be honest though, as amazing as this experience was (and indeed all the experiences the rainforest had to offer thus far – save for fire-ants, which can go fuck themselves), it was hard for me to really, properly enjoy them, as each time I got close to feeling like I was, the realisation that I am a comparatively rich, white tourist who paid for this experience set in, hard, and, in what has to be the most first-world-problemy way possible, did rather make the entire thing seem a bit...plastic. Not the monkeys though; they were legit.

Once home, we took a quick break; not long enough for a recovery nap, but just about long enough to relax in a hammock for a while

So relaxed...

before being ushered out onto the river by Alfredo once more. This time to go and meet some members of a local tribe. I wasn't particularly thrilled about this part of the tour, feeling that it was perhaps a little ...colonial and exploitative; parading us around this relatively primative tribe, oohing and ahhing at their grass skirts and shitty little home-made crafts and rudimentary hunting techniques and all that, but I did pay...quite a lot for this tour and didn't really want miss any part of it; especially a bit so awkward and unwanted that it was almost guaranteed to generate some dynamite blog-content, so I bundled myself back into the boat and headed off to tribesville.

We arrived at the small village and were directed to sit down inside, what I assumed was the main hut. We had been joined by another, different tour-group for what was about to ensue, which I was uncharacteristically thankful for, as it, at the very least, would dilute some of the attention that our group would get. After a brief talk on the tribe from Alfredo, which didn't exactly blow me away with any fascinating insight into their way of life (they're farmers who grow rice and bananas, they hunt for their food and use blowdarts), we then got another small talk in the tribe's native tongue from the chieftain; short, stern and stocky man, wearing a grass skirt and a large ornamental headdress, who was, hilariously, just called Richard, who essentially just went over the same things as Alfredo, but in a language that seemed to only consist of three independent syllables.

The tribe then demonstrated two of their traditional songs, both of which were accompanied by a dance, with which we were invited to join in (an offer which every single member of our group declined)

Not this guy, though. He was fucking loving it.

and both of which, with the best will in the world, were a bit shit. After a gruelling and genuinely awkward few minutes, the music abated and we were led to a different area to try our hand at blow-gunning, which, I'll be honest, I did rather enjoy, despite myself.

P-tew!

with no time to enjoy my definitely 10/10 blowgun prowess, we were directed immediately to the tribe's market stall, in which we were expected to spend our money on various bits of, to be totally honest, absolute garbage, which the tribe had made. Sam had brought very little money with her and I hadn't thought to bring any, at all, so we had a quick look around to see what we could buy with fifteen soles that was something either one of us would actually like and we weren't just buying because it felt awkward not to. It was then that li'l chief Richard approached us, his hand outstretched, rubbing his thumb against his middle and fore-finger – the international symbol for “give me money”

“Para la musica” he told us. For the music.

Great. Now apparently we had to pay for enduring their shit music which wasn't good and which I didn't enjoy listening to. Perfect. We (Sam) handed him five of our soles and he looked disgusted with us. We (Sam) apologised for not giving more and Richard walked away, unspeaking. I don't care if you are in some jungle tribe with all different culture and everything, rudeness is rudeness. Fuck you, Richard. Prick.

Now feeling a little like what little shine the experience had possessed, previously had very much worn out, we continued being made to browse the tribe's wares, until we finally succumbed to pressure and bought ourselves some tat.

Glad I spend money on this sweet little number

With everyone's pockets now entirely emptied and the lines on who was exploiting who blurred beyond all recognition, we loaded ourselves back onto the boat. Also, a little side-note here, but it was at this point that I watched a portly lady who was on the other tour, lean out of the window of her boat to take one final picture of the tribe, though instead managed to let her phone slip out of her hands and straight to the bottom of the river; an act which I singularly enjoyed infinitely more than I had the last hour or so of tribal interaction and having my money guilted off me. They should genuinely employ someone to do that on every tour, because, honestly, I nearly enjoyed it as much as Monkey Island.

Our next stop was one I could be fucked with almost as much as the previous; piranha fishing. I'm not a huge fan of fishing, to be honest, because I don't really like killing things (although, being in the Amazon does generally make you a little kill-happier. There was no way in hell I was going to scoop up each individual fire-ant on a bit of cardboard and pop them outside on the bungalow's windowsill. It was the boot for them), but we were told by Alfredo that the lodge's chefs would cook up what we caught and we could have them for lunch, which did remove some of the grey morality which which I was struggling.

Turns out I needn't have worried about any of that, though, because I was fucking terrible at Piranha fishing and didn't land a single catch. I couldn't get them to stay on the hook, no matter what I tried and more than likely emptied our group's reserves of spare bait, single-handedly in the process, like the saint I am. Sam, however, being a salty Geordie fish woman, was great at it and caught, as she kept boastfully reminding me of, as if ending the lives of innocent little snappy-boys was something to be proud of, no fewer than four fish. Five, actually, but one wasn't a piranha and was therefore too small to bother cooking (it was, however, too badly damaged to go back in the water and so had to be stomped to death, anyway. What a monster she is.)

After a while, even Sam's bloodlust was sated and we unanimously decided to pack in this whole fishing lark and go back for lunch. I got back on board the boat, over the piranha infested waters as carefully as I have ever done anything in my life and we returned to the lodge for what would be the final time.

We were afforded enough time, once back, for me to have another nap, which, at this point were the only things making me feel even vaguely alive or human, in any sense, before being served our last lodge supper. More mashed potatoes, jungle-beans, the piranhas Sam caught and a big chunky fillet of another, different (and anyone with tastebuds would say) better fish called Pacu and which looks like this

...yummy

I am told that this all tasted quite nice, but by this point, the flu had cruelly taken away my senses of both smell and taste, so I had no idea. I could just about make out that it was very salty, though, so that was something. Small victories.

With that, our jungle experience came to a close and after a strangely intimate hug goodbye with Alfredo, we and the Indian couple (who were the only other guests not booked to stay any longer than a single night) were plopped back on our boat and ferried upstream back to Belavista. A trip which I spent nearly the entirety of asleep, which I like to think was because I had grown so comfortable with being in the jungle, at that point, that I could relax fully in it, but more likely was because I had just been crumpled into a ball of misery and fatigue by my flu over the previous three days. Overall though, being in the jungle was a surprisingly good experience and one that I might even consider doing again at some point, should the opportunity arise. A solid 9/10, except for, as I've said, the fire-ants which can go fuck themselves.

Back on terra firma, we were wizzed via tuktuk first back to the company's headquarters, where we finally parted ways with the Indian couple – hopefully actually to never see them again this time, and then to our new AirBnb, in which we would spend out final few days in Iquitos.

Our new AirBnb, as it happens, was actually a collection of luxury riverfront apartments, in which, we had unknowingly booked the nicest room. We were checked in by the receptionist, Diego, who looked the spitting image of a brown Zach Woods and who was incredibly welcoming and helpful to an almost snivelling degree (not entirely unlike every character Zach Woods plays, now I think of it.) Diego explained everything there was to explain about the apartment in frankly laborious detail and, after dropping this info-dump on us and bidding us welcome, asked us point blanc

“what's my name?”

I suppose this was as some kind of test to see if we had retained the information he had just said, rather than a test of politeness, or some weird ego-trip. Regardless, I did not remember what it was. I was hard-humped with flu and generally disregard someone's name the first three times they tell me it, even when it is someone I know I'll actually see again.

“...What's. My. Name?” he repeated.

I laughed and told him I'd just be in the jungle for two days, so I'd forgotten. This seemed to be an acceptable enough answer for him and he immediately flicked back to his friendly, helpful self, creepily seamlessly. The entire interlude was really quite odd, totally out of keeping what the rest of what I'd seen of his personality and I'm almost certain, a preamble to my own murder.

Doing our best to put whatever psychosis we had just witnessed behind us, we settled in to our new digs. This apartment, a penthouse suite overlooking the Naney river, was about as different from living in the jungle as it was possible to get, and let me tell you, the change was one hundred percent welcomed by me.

The view is spectacular

...I mean if you’re into things like that.

The bed was comfy, the fridge loaded with pre-cooled water bottles, the kitchen fully stocked and the entire apartment almost entirely bug-free, due in no small part to its remarkably effective AC system, which really did turn the flat into a little icy paradise of excess, amidst a sea of poverty and sweat.

We couldn't quite settle in fully just yet, though. Sam insisted that we make a quick outing to the supermarket, because apparently she needed shampoo and apparently wasn't willing to go alone, for fear of being “mugged” or “abducted and killed” by a “crime man”, which to be honest, I felt was very selfish of her.

For the final time that day, then, I dragged what was left of my body out through the streets of Iquitos, to the supermarket and back, before finally being able to collapse onto our exceptionally soft airbnb couch, to eat a modest dinner of a single sausage and a couple of minty biscuits, while watching the Peru episode of an Idiot Abroad - because watching someone else suffer through what I just had was really the only thing that had the capability of making me feel any better at that point – and then heading directly to our comfy, comfy bed, which I believe I must have fallen asleep in, before my head had even touched the pillow. I have never been more done.

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drmicrochp · 5 years

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A Marathon trip to Havana, from the depths of the Chilean south.

A MARATHON TRIP TO HAVANA FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE CHILEAN SOUTH

Everything and everyone will pass you by in an airport if you wait long enough. While waiting for the plane to travel to Lima, I spent a short while in the Santiago airport. Chile’s main airport is about as busy as the Sacramento airport (14 million passengers in 2014 versus 11 million passengers in 2017), but an immense amount of construction is going on. Like the rest of Chile, it is growing rapidly. Trying to talk to strangers there is a lost cause. Everyone is paranoid that you're going to try to sell them something or con them.

It has been isolating for me. I have been able to get to know very few people outside of my wife’s circle. I hold back somewhat with them because we have such different ideas. Little signals tell me when I have strayed beyond the limits of polite conversation. However, outside of Chile, I can see the difference between conversation which is always to create a certain impression and talking to engage the other person.

What will the Cubans be like? I´m sure it will be different than living in this cold country to the south. I'm also wondering what it might be like to talk with educated people about politics. Usually I must bend to the right to avoid confrontations with the conservatives. In Cuba will I be able to find common ground with people who have a true revolutionary heritage, or would it seem that everything that I have to say is a repetition of a lie or completely uninformed? I've been practicing my little speech mentally; that people on the left should find common ground, between liberals, socialists and communists in the hopes of defending the small gains in justice and equality that have been won. All around the world, it seems that the forces of reaction have the upper hand, with racism and greater inequality being the result. In the U.S., where it is so polarized, it seems that the only interaction these days is shouting and name calling and… it seems that there is no interest in facts. How do you even talk to someone who denies climate change and the thinks that racism is a made-up excuse to harass white people. After that type of interaction, a Cuban viewpoint might be refreshing.

ARRIVING IN CUBA

I had so many impressions from my trip and I was so tired that I just let them wash over me and tried to live in the moment. Even so, there were so many amazing events that the images just stuck with me and, only now, do I realize what was so special about them.

There were three long flights with long layovers to bring us to our destination, from Temuco, Chile to Havana, Cuba. Spending six hours in the Lima airport was nice because it was so huge and interesting to see all the shops. The Lima airport was the antithesis to what awaited in Cuba. The most expensive luxury goods, duty free, beckoning me to spend money, any single purchase enough to feed a family in Cuba for a week. Like Chile, Peru has had a commercial explosion and the place is about ten times larger than it was the last time I was here. And, of course, there was construction going on all over the place. Drinking coffee was always my main activity as I can’t abide the thought of being sleepy and disoriented while having to keep track of my possessions, worry about schedules, and to be on the lookout for thieves.

Raquel, who is of a different mindset, concentrated on capturing moments of rest, sleeping here, there and everywhere she had a moment. Checking out the passengers in the waiting area in the airport for the group that was bound for Havana is one of my favorite pastimes, sleuthing the origins of the passengers around me. It seemed to me that they were mostly from Brazil, Peru and Argentina with a smattering of Cuban expats.

They were more Bohemian in appearance than the rest of the passengers at the airport. One young woman, with multiple tattoos and a hipster vibe, was very nice and explained the tattooed portrait on her arm as Celia Sanchez, an icon of the Cuban revolution. Surprisingly, there were several families with babies and small children. Bringing my crutch with me (a kind of strategic move as I rarely use it these days) earned us the right to jump ahead at each line at boarding time. I was grateful for every small favor as the trip was already becoming a grueling experience. Sitting amid strangers on mid-sized jets that were packed full of passengers gave me claustrophobia.

When had passenger planes ever flown so full? What enormous quantity of fuel was being consumed to lift all this weight into the sky and fling us to our destination? We were a smelly lot as sitting around in the same clothes for days on end can produce that effect. I don't much care about that as I’m not bothered by smells and find them to be an ordinary thing. The women seem to opt for spraying perfume and air fresheners everywhere. Raquel had a bottle of eucalyptus scent which, although it had a piney medicine smell, was a welcome alternative to all the other odors that were accumulating. I'm always reminded of medieval Europeans who rarely bathed and always carried around little handkerchiefs with orange peels and cloves in them. I can imagine the intensity of those olfactory onslaughts from my encounters with the truly homeless in Stockton, California. Just another indignity of poverty.

Finally, we arrived in Havana and I noticed that our cell phones, iPad and portable chargers were depleted. I have tried meditation, watching everything and everyone, mindfulness and conversation to pass the time, but it never seems to go quickly enough. Like the rest of my over-stimulated generation, I depend on small electronic entertainments to keep my mind occupied so I don’t have to think.

Havana airport! Smaller than I would have thought and about the size of the airport in Stockton, California. There were long lines for customs, baggage checks, and visa checks. My mind was filled with so many doubts and questions. How was it that all these people were doing their jobs with salaries of $25 dollars a month? Although the Cuban government doesn't let anyone actually starve, it doesn't seem possible that people would care about anything without getting paid more than that. Yet here they were, and they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. We could hear laughter and joking from the baggage handlers from the other side of the wall. Although everyone was dressed in crisp khaki and blue uniforms, they were far from the rigid, military postures that I remember in other international airports. They sat comfortably in their chairs. Many were enjoying conversations. They kept everything moving, but it was not like the work, work, work, hurry, hurry, hurry attitude that I remember from other customs experiences.

My happy observations came to a halt though when I realized that the airport had few seats. Also, there was no way to call our hotel people and our son’s flight was delayed. To add to that, the whole situation seemed confusing as there were so many people wandering around the exit area -taxi drivers, passengers, and people waiting for their friends and family to appear as they disembarked. Also, the lights in the airport kept flickering on and off. I concluded that this would be a trip of unexpected little problems, sudden surprises, and great beauty.

Finally, our son, Joaquin, arrived on a separate flight from New York and we were all reunited at last and, amazingly, nothing was lost or stolen, nobody injured, and no obstacle had proven too great for this encounter.

OUR FIRST NIGHT

Sure, we were exhausted when we checked into our beautiful hotel in old Havana. But stay in our rooms and rest? Never! Our ground zero was within the overwrought, grandiose, but decaying old sector, leaving us within walking distance of all the most interesting places in the capitol. I experienced déjà vu seeing these streets again, after having seen them in so many YouTube videos before the trip. We found a top restaurant not far from the hotel and, after checking out the prices, selected three cocktails and three appetizers. Even with judicious selections our bill came to around $50 dollars. We were surprised and amazed at the gourmet offerings and the three musicians who serenaded us. I was in disbelief at the prices of suggested wines handwritten on chalkboards; one of them selling for as high as $60.

Other contrasts confronted me as a member of a privileged group. The indifferent tourists, enjoying the musicians playing magnificently throughout, who would neither tip nor applaud. A single bottle of wine selling for two months average salary in Cuba. The impression I had was of two completely different sets of people, each one a stranger to the other. Perhaps they would never really see one another. Perhaps they could not.

I realized that I wanted to reach out and talk to everyone, to know their reality. Could they see me as someone who applauds their courage and their sacrifice? I think that everyone who comes here has some level of respect for the Cubans, how they have faced every trial with their dignity and ideals intact. Even so, when do tourists cross the line into disrespect? When will the Cubans get tired of this other group, a group that cavalierly enjoys and discards so much, so much denied to them by an accident of birth?

THE HOTEL

On our first day we enjoyed the softest of landings -a bathroom with hot water, air conditioning, a beautiful room in old Havana. There was so much to be grateful for, including friendly hotel staff, nearby restaurants, and impressive two-hundred-year-old architecture throughout this sector of the city.

The owner of the hostel (less than a hotel, more than a lodge) is a Spanish entrepreneur married to a Cuban woman who purchased the two-story home and rebuilt it into a hotel with twelve rooms. In the morning we enjoyed a full breakfast with fruit, bread, eggs and CUBAN coffee (delicious). Joaquin, my son, reproached us for looking at our cell phones during breakfast, but it was the best time to check the internet as the hotel provides a strong signal, as long as you’ve paid up your Wi-Fi access keys and figured out all of the steps to configure it. The public internet service here, less than five years old, requires that you buy little connection cards, each with a scratch off code good for one hour. Once you enter the code, the clock is ticking. Breakfast time is intense: eating, talking, connecting devices onto the net, answering email, checking web pages. Command central for planning out the entire day.

The staff at the hotel shared directions, recommendations, and chit chat. We felt close to them. I know that Raquel gave away some toothbrushes and toothpaste. I, myself, have been donating USB drives with collections of Chilean music on them. In an act of solidarity between old time music lovers, one gentleman even gifted me some of his prized Nueva Trova records, Cuban folk music from the 70’s records.

The street where we've been staying is an eclectic mix of private residences, private restaurants, hostels, government offices and other services. The streets are very narrow in Old Havana, full of pedestrians. When a car, taxi or pedicab comes by we all have to jump on to the narrow sidewalk until the vehicle goes by. Garbage trucks and water trucks are even wider and can be a challenge to escape.

The streets are an amazing combination of young Cubans, tourists, mobile salespeople with pedicabs full of bread or fruit, people just chilling and sitting on stoops, and a few homeless or derelict-looking people that just wander around. And nobody bothers anybody! And there aren’t any police. I'm told that there are a lot of police wherever you go, but that they dress in civilian clothes so as not to be recognized. I couldn't say for sure.

I enjoy talking with everyone that I meet and find an astonishing amount of honesty in every conversation. Sure, some of the people are just trying to hustle me to eat at their restaurant, take a ride in their taxi or buy whatever they're selling, but it always morphs into a conversation about Cuba, politics, or the United States. As I've said, I highly respect everyone I meet, and they reciprocate.

There is some apprehension in the air as our current government is trying to limit remittances and tourism. At the same time, Venezuela has reduced petroleum shipments here by two thirds. Cubans are expecting a return of the “special times,” a period during the 90´s when Russia cut off all support and the country endured hunger, unemployment and shortages. If the White House goes through with its plan, things may get a lot worse. They won´t be as bad as the 90´s, though. Still, hearing of a return to the “special times” sends a shiver down the back of any Cuban.

OUR FIRST TOUR

We met with our tour guide, a lawyer that had been employed with the television and programming ministry who had to leave a job that she loved, paying $25 a month, for a job as a freelance tour guide, paying ten times as much. She took us to the University of La Habana where the revolution began with a student uprising. Later we saw the Plaza of the Revolution and a nature preserve in the middle of the city, the Almendares River, where tall ceiba trees overrun with vines overlook the sleepy river. It's probably less sleepy when the rainy season arrives. We also visited a couple of street art projects, one named “the tank” (from a repurposed water tank) and one called “Callejón Hamel.” Both places featured sculptures, painting and art in open air galleries, using recycled metal or ceramics, free to visitors. The creations were ingenious and surreal, framed with poetry by José Martí or other messages promoting love, friendship, and patriotism. I was very impressed. I could only compare it to a neighborhood in Valparaiso, in Chile, where my Chilean niece convinced a dozen muralist and graffiti artists to paint everywhere throughout the sector, making the whole neighborhood a giant open-air gallery. Perhaps the movement to bring art to the people is something common to Latin America.

Finally, our guide took us to her apartment in the largest, most popular part of the city, 10 de Octubre, taking its name from the date when slavery was abolished in Cuba. It was eye opening to see this part of the city with the more affordable homes and the state stores with people queuing up for bread, eggs, or other foods sold at subsidized prices or redeemed with ration cards.

On the way to our guide’s home we picked her son up from kindergarten and traveled to her home on the third floor of a little cement building. Her husband gave me gift of a Cohiba cigar, one of Cuba’s prized exports. A quintessential experience in Cuba is to smoke a Cohiba cigar while drinking rum. It doesn’t get more Cuban than that.

THE BUENA VISTA SOCIAL CLUB AND ART GALLERY TOUR

We had reserved tours to see a “Buena Vista Social Club” style concert and to visit the commercial art galleries in central Havana. The Buena Vista concert was a pale reminder of the musicians I remember from the movie. The musicians were uneven, some spectacular and some less so. We were also hindered by sitting sixty feet away from the musicians with pillars blocking the view no matter where you sit. We arrived early, but all the best seats were blocked off and reserved. The show was a lineup of a dozen different singers, each one singing a song, followed by another with an orchestra backing them and an emcee introducing the acts. Following the magic of the movie, a reunion of the best musicians and vocalists in Cuba, is a bit like capturing lightning in a bottle. The best songs evoke nostalgia for a time gone by, the sultry rumba of Cuban rhythms and the sweet sadness of lost love.

The art galleries ranged from modernist themes with ironic overtones and political messages, to wonderfully complex panoramas of men, machines and urban landscapes. One gallery specialized in amazing woodcuts of sugar plantations and refineries. Sugar production is a resource that once carried the country’s economy, but now has a fraction of its previous production and export value. Since the time of the Chanel fashion exposition (May 3, 2016) and the Rolling Stones’ concert (May 26, 2016) a few years ago, art masterpieces valued in the thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars, seem less out of place. The glitterati and the literati have discovered Cuba and now walk these streets, perhaps disposed to pick up an expensive collectible piece, just as in any major city.

We weren’t able to include the “Museo de la Revolución” or the “Museo de Bellas Artes” in our tour but have heard that they are spectacular exhibits. We plan to return to see these sights at a later time.

A FAILED EXPEDITION TO VARADERO BEACH While planning our trip and scanning the possible destinations for our travels in Cuba, a constant lodestar was the chance to visit a beach considered by many to be the best in the world, Varadero. I was struck by the high price of the outing as listed on our AirBnB internet options and had the bright idea of bypassing these tour guide run operations and buying the tickets ourselves from whatever transportation service in Havana offered trips to said location. Ha! What we discovered is that buying a ticket on a bus to the beach from a public transport agency, the one available named ViaAzul, is next to impossible. We spent $30 on taxi fare to and from the bus station, wasted time with a phone number for the bus station that nobody answers, and an indifferent ticket sales office. It proved to be too much for us. We found the bus terminal, but the agent wouldn’t sell us a ticket until the “official time” to open, requiring us to wait a long time at the bus station. Remember, the ticket lady, the bus driver, as well as everybody else working at the bus station is on a salary of $25 a month. It seems that regular Cubans don’t buy tickets to travel to the most expensive beach in the country. Most of them don’t do any traveling at all, concentrating on how to procure food, money or other scarce, but vital resources. No wonder the ticket lady stared at us with indifference.

As some have said, “the government pretends to pay us, and we pretend to work.” So, long story short, we never made it. As weird as it sounds, the only way to organize a visit to anyplace in Cuba is from some other country than Cuba. From Chile or the U.S. one can buy a ticket and pay for it online. Trying to do it in Cuba is an exercise in frustration. We did, however, travel to one of the little beaches to the east of Havana, Santa Maria and had a good time splashing in the water, drinking rum from a coconut and getting sun burnt. We enjoyed talking with medical students from Gambia and took pictures together. For $5 we even paid a trio to sing us a song which I joined in on for the refrains. A little more frugal. A little more authentic. Memorable.

FROM VICTORIA, CHILE TO HAVANA, CUBA, METHODIST CHURCHES CONNECT TWO CONGREGATIONS It´s not in the Lonely Planet guidebook but making a direct connection with the congregation of the Methodist Church of Havana was probably the most authentic moment of our trip. Our little Methodist church in Victoria (a congregation of less than a hundred) charged us with outreach to the Methodist church in Havana. It´s common for people of certain faiths to visit with a sister church in another part of the country or even in a different country. A sense of belonging to a universal creed follows this kind of visit as people feel the connection that their church is part of something larger.

We arrived in time for Bible study and listened to the pastor´s wife tell us of the attributes of the “good wife” from Psalms, appropriate for this “Mother´s Day” service. Just as in Victoria there was plenty of joyful singing, the verses appearing synchronized on television screens throughout the church. Women wore elegant dresses and the men mostly wore shirts and ties. The pastor spoke and the congregation was rapt with attention. At one point he filled a glass with water and continued filling it as the water spilled to the ground. We grasped that someone that is already full up could not accept anything new (grace, knowledge, God’s presence). There is a Buddhist koan that teaches a similar lesson. Finally, the pastor moved to recognize visitors from other congregations. Some came from the east. Others from the west. Raquel, Joaquin and I stood up and introduced ourselves as visitors from Chile. People stared at us. How often do the curious hipsters and tourists in Cuba spend a day visiting a church and sharing in the service?

Raquel, never at a loss for words, said that her church in Chile sent greetings to this church in Havana. It felt electric. A more genuine regard for solidarity with Cuba couldn’t be expressed. I was asked to speak as well and used the moment to ask of the pastor if he could help me to find someone in the congregation who needed a cell phone. I had brought my used iPhone5 to give to someone in Cuba. The pastor asked the congregation if they knew who should receive the phone. On everyone´s lips was the same name, a praise leader who was also a fourth-year medical student who needed a cell phone. Nothing seems more miraculous than a prayer answered. Apparently, the church had been praying for this and now received a reply. He joyfully, tearfully, accepted the gift. There are no cell phone stores in Cuba and few people with the resources to buy one. We hadn’t visited every place on our list, but we made more real connections with people than we had ever hoped.

#expat expatlife expatliving chile cuba tourism stockton

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