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paragonrobits · 1 year

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Movie Reviews - Robin Hood: Men In Tights

Robin Hood! Men in Tights! (TIGHT tights!)

Robin Hood, Men In Tights occupies a pretty important spot in movies from a personal point of view. Bearing in mind that I was born in ‘88, and this was released in 1993. My parents loved this movie (and in retrospect a lot of things broadening my horizon weren’t age appropriate but whatever!) and watched it a lot, so I think it probably influenced me in a lot of ways; I certainly love this movie’s campy tone, its musical bits, and the combination of non sequiturs and physical humor. So what happens when you pair a film like that with genuine critical insight? That was something on my mind when this was brought up for the film challenge.

On a side note, this is one of the few movies I actually own a physical copy; my mom got this one a long time ago, and it was one of the DVDs I’ve kept with me ever since. It’s been a long while since I watched a physical DVD, I can tell you that.

But in any event this movie is interesting in light that it's been a pretty consistent presence in my life. Between having been released at a good time for me to have been aware of it throughout the entirety of the conscious memory portion of my life as well as it been played pretty frequently from VHS tapes being ubiquitous in the same way that DVDs and now streaming services would later become as various expressions of how familiarity is delivered, Robin Hood: Men In Tights was ironically enough THE Robin Hood movie for me. The Kevin Costner Robin Hood movie arguably shares that spotlight in some ways (mostly because my mom really, REALLY liked it), and in retrospect I didn’t really have them connected beyond sharing source material. I might compare it to, say, people comparing the G1 Transformers movie and the 1st Michael Bay Transformers movie; my first response might be to say ‘yeah, okay?’ when comparisons are made. They’re both movies made from the same broad material, and while there is analysis to be made about it, I probably wouldn’t make direct comparisons just based on that.

Possibly the most significant thing to consider about this movie is that it is a LOT more specifically poking fun at the Kevin Costner movie in particular than any other Robin Hood source, trope or general plot threads. It’s a parody of Robin Hood, sure, and its not solely fixated on Prince Of Thieves; its just designed on a plot, character and joke level to fixate at parodying Prince of Thieves that while I don’t EXACTLY want to say it hurts the movie’s appeal in the same way that Spaceballs feels a bit of a shallow parody due to Brooks’ apparent disinterest in Star Wars overall. But all the same, it’s hard not to think about.

In the interest of critical analysis of a movie I’ve liked for well over 20 years of conscious awareness, that both my and my immediate family have put some efforts into making sure has consistently been available in our various media access for most of that time, that regularly a feature in movie nights (or at least specific scenes of it; less of the obvious sex jokes in the serenading bit, more of Rabbi Tuck and pretty much any scene where Achoo plays a notable role), I feel obliged to say that I DON’T dislike this movie. Quite the contrary! I still like it, flaws and all. Indeed, it’s not that understanding the flaws or bits I realize I don’t care so much for detract from the overall appreciation. If anything, it certainly makes the comic bits stand out MUCH further.

For some people, I feel that critical analysis feels uncomfortably like drifting away from something you used to like. For me, it’s both a fun thing to do as well as it is a toolset. Analyzing and poking at a movie’s workings, or indeed a TV series, is like disassembling something.

You’re not damaging it, or your appreciation for it, you’re interrogating it on some level.

(There is a LOT of Princess Bride style bits about. I think on some level it might be that they’re approaching the subject matter with a similar sense of wry humor and SLIGHTLY over-the-top action outside of the physical comedy moments that, on reflection, seems specifically of the swashbuckling sub-genre of adventure stories that I mostly know from as a young kid knowing that my favorite X-Man Nightcrawler was into Errol Flynn and got a mental eye for when things were suitably Flynn-ish, and both these movies run on that general theme.)

The scenes that rely on physical comedy and exaggeration are probably my favorite overall, especially those that aren’t specifically riffing on Prince of Thieves. It’s not that I DISLIKE those bits, certainly, but the specific focus on that movie feels more than a little distracting at times. I can easily pinpoint bits, plot beats, characters and scenes that are whole-hog making a giggle at PoT, and it feels like some missed opportunities to do its own thing more often than not.

In the past I’ve compared Taika Waitit and Mel Brooks, with the point of the former perhaps being the current generation’s filmmakers equivalent to Brooks. They have very similar comedic timing and taste in comedy, there is a certain irreverence to their attitudes, but also when they do bits that I personally don’t care for, it sticks out much more for both of them. Much has been criticized of Love And Thunder (a movie that, as of this writing, I have yet to see and weigh in on it), but based on the tone of the less hyperbolic criticisms of Waitit’s less well received work, I speculate that their misses also show a lot in common. I wouldn’t say this movie is a miss, but it doesn’t ring quite as hard as I expected it to do from a critical lens, nor as firmly and consistently as Young Frankenstein, a movie that is rapidly rising VERY FAST in my personal esteem.

Now, I suspect this particular understanding has been around rattling in my brain for a while because while more direct and, to a certain degree, detached film analysis is a BIT new for me, personally, I HAVE always been interested in poking at the implications in movies ever since I watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 1990 (a movie released about two years after I was born and, according to reliable sources, AKA my mother keeping a fairly good track of my special interests across the years, might well have been SUCH a special interest that they had to replace it a few times because I watched the tapes over and over so much they kept wearing out) and noted that just as Raphael and Leonardo have a plot thread, Donatello and Michaelanglo have a role as a duo though more in the background.

Ultimately, I still like this movie; it’s a lot of fun and the slapstick moments are top notch; it’s just a shame that so much of it is specifically focused on parodying Prince of Thieves specifically, and not the larger body of Robin Hood works in particular. I think that if Brooks had not done so, it might have done better. That said, Prince of Thieves DOES have a few interesting elements to it that do lend itself to adaptation, but the specific-ness of it loses a bit of something.

One contentious point is Dave Chapelle, as Ahchoo. For the most part I like his performance a lot, barring the more body humor and ‘dude that’s kinda gross’ humor that is probably recognizable as Chapelle’s stock in trade. Its difficult not to discuss him without considering the controversy and anti-transgender attitudes that follows him, but I suppose a good thing about this movie is that if it was a theme then, he doesn’t really show it here. Not that he has opportunity TO do so, but good enough, I guess. This was apparently his first movie role as well; as such he seems to be a BIT more restrained than in the roles I tend to see him in.

I suppose in some ways I feel the urge to go a bit easy on him because while Ahchoo’s jokes are a bit hit and miss but generally hit WAY more when he acts as the only sane man to Robin Hood being comically serious (that is, Robin is in on the joke and fully engaged in the equivalent of Who’s On First, while Ahchoo would be the guy going off screen to give everyone flash cards so they can do it more sensibly and avoid misunderstandings). The anchronism stew that works well in this movie’s comedic attitudes are particularly present with them, and represented well in the set up song of Ahchoo and back-up singers constantly and smoothing transitioning from modern rap performances to dances right out of medieval celebrations and troupes that most likely popularized the character of Robin Hood in older times.

As an interesting side note, the chant they do there (‘Nonny nonny’) is an Elizabethian thing that was apparently used as a placeholder to allude to naughty or indiscret things. Given Chapelle’s general comic styles, that seems startlingly appropriate.

I probably give Ahchoo a bit of slack because he’s partially based on my favorite character from Prince of Thieves, Azeem. It might be noted that his father, Ahsneeze, is pretty bluntly based on Azeem in a much more direct way. It’s hard to even say he’s entirely a parody; he’s basically the same character with a more comedic attitude. Ahchoo otherwise has a few general stand out moments, and I think they tend to be strongest when he’s either acting as the only reasonable person or is going full ham on the anachronisms; stirring up the Merry Men by paraphrasing Malcom X being a good example.

So then, what of Robin Hood himself? Cary Elwes is, by far, my favorite actor in the movie. While Ahchoo might get comedy from being baffled or calling out the incomprehensible stupidity of everything around him, Elwes’ Robin Hood gets comedy through a very understated performance that contrasts really well against the more ludicrous people around him. He takes it so seriously even as abjectly weird stuff is going on around him, and his scenes are honestly the best overall, whether it is returning the Sheriff’s glove slap with an ARMORED GAUNTLET without ever really changing expression, battling Little John with increasingly tiny quarterstaff bits and being completely baffled as the man panics at drowning in a few inches of water, or goes full Mark Twain in disguise.

He is a LOT of fun in this movie, and I would even go so far as to say that he’s probably my favorite Robin Hood depiction, ever. He’s something of a case study on how to make things funny by having a more serious character contrast more openly silly ones. It helps that while he explicitly does have the same background as Prince of Thieves Robin of Locksley, it comes off as pretty minimalistic and more of an extended joke that also does a ton of understated comedy in a barrage of bad news. It also doubles as showing rapid fire Brooks comedy for sure!

Now, of the cast in general, the Merry Men feel a BIT by the numbers, in contrast. I can at least say that they don’t feel quite as specifically focused on Prince of Thieves; the worst you can say about them in general is that they, and by extension the rest of the Merry Men, are sort of a composite as the movie goes on, but at least they feel like drawing more from the lore of Robin Hood overall. In particular Will Scarlet (O’Hara) doesn’t really do much after some early physical gags, though Little John remains a good comic presence throughout.

Friar Tuck is Mel Brooks at his best. Best scenes are the ones with him in it, that’s just science.

Prince John and the Sheriff are interesting in context of the whole specifically parodying Prince of Thieves bit. John himself is actually a lot of fun, and the ‘bad news in a good way’ bit has lived rent free in my mind for DECADES; taking him as a slightly ditz Joiseyboi is a lot of fun. (I had trouble placing John in PoT at all, and that’s because he’s not in it, the Sheriff of that movie is a composite character with himself and Prince John.) The Sheriff himself is a fun villain for the most part (barring the various lack-of-consent jokes; the 90s was a dire time indeed), though his performance is specifically trying to outdo and lampoon Alan Rickman’s performance. Let’s get a thing straight; one does not outdo Alan Rickman. It just can’t be done. It would be like trying to out ham Vincent Price or Tim Currey, its a losing proposition no matter how you swing it. Maid Marian also feels a BIT by the numbers, while her assistant comes off as a somewhat weaker version of Frau Blucher in Young Frankenstein, but they’re both perfectly fine characters. Can’t say I really like the running gag with the chastity belt bit or the ‘greatest treasure in all the land’.

Does Patrick Stewart rock in his out of nowhere and extremely cool bit as King Richard? OF COURSE HE DOES. IT’S PATRICK STEWART. HE’S AWESOME. NUFF SAID.

The whole bit with Dom Deluise as the Godfather and celebrating the long friendship between England and New Jersey is an anachronistic bit with a lot of non sequiters but I honestly do like it a lot, even if it drags on a bit; he gives a great performance and the way he needles his henchmen is a lot of fun. It also leads into the over the top archery context where Robin one ups his own arrow splitting feat being done by GETTING A PATRIOT MISSILE ARROW INSTEAD.

Overall, I really DO like this movie a lot, though it doesn’t fair quite as well in a lot of ways from a critical perspective; there’s more scenes than not that I would skip on a casual watch, and that’s not a great endorsement. The stuff I wouldn’t skip IS quite good though, so its still a pretty solid movie, all things considered.

(I’ve always had a vague idea that the “Hey, Abbot!” joke is somehow a veiled references to Abbot And Costello. I have no idea why or what its an actual reference to, nor why I should assume this, but HEY)

#movie reviews #johnny watches #queueud

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caguaydreams · 3 years

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I finished Diamond Is Unbreakable and I am CRYING here. Beautiful shit... I'm gonna ramble in the tags here for a bit

#Might be my favourite Jojo's season #it's thanks to it (cough and Rohan cough) that at last I could fully connect with the series as a whole #Thinking about it in retrospective made me more aware than ever of the events that went down in parts 1 to 3 prior to Morioh #when I tell you that I sat down for an hour GRIEVING Kakyoin's death because it hit me again how much it actually hurt #G R I E V I N G... that poor kid #Joseph remains my favorite Joestar but Josuke is a close second. They're both silly goofballs in their own respective ways and I love them #to bits!!! Okuyasu best boy of part 4 by a milestone #Koichi objectively best character in the season and Rohan is my personal fave. Listen I would definitely stay here all afternoon #listing everyone and praising them for something different because I loved every character (save for Kira that mf) and #it saddens me to leave anyone out. Oh #and part 4 finally sold me on Jotaro. Must admit I didn't care much about him on Stardust Crusaders... but he's so damn cool now #always was #and Jean Pierre was far more interesting to me👉🏻👈🏻✨✨✨ Polnareff my beloved 🤲🏻🥺#Silver Chariot is my favorite stand too💖💖💖heh #'you can't have more than one favorite character/thing/stand/etc-' yes I can 😏😏😏 can't stop now that I actually like LIKE Jojo's #Now if you'll excuse me I need to hunt down some good fanfiction ✨✨✨

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tyonfs · 4 years

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i like me better (when i’m with you)

PAIRING ▸ jeong jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ friends to enemies to lovers, college au, sports, friends with benefits, smut, crack, fluff

WARNINGS ▸ sexual !! tension !! lots of it, smut (public sex, fingering, hate sex, raw sex, pool sex, oral sex), mark lee cockblocking, also yes, there’s actual fluff

SUMMARY ▸ there was no one else on the planet that made your blood boil like jeong jaehyun did. you never thought your feelings toward him were anything past pure hatred, but when you were lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands on your body, you couldn’t help but think that maybe a part of you didn’t completely hate his guts.

PLAYLIST ▸ i like me better by lauv • unravel me by sabrina claudio

WORD COUNT ▸ 11896 words

TAG LIST ▸ @gotoartistprofile @chanluster @steamyjaehyun

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ big shoutout to fia for hyping me up to complete this and i hope you guys enjoy it !! thank you so much for reading ♡ part of the dunk shot! series but can be read separately!

SOMETIMES, THE AMOUNT OF HATRED YOU HAD FOR JEONG JAEHYUN AMAZED YOU.

To the average human being, Jeong Jaehyun was, in a sense, perfect. On the surface, he was everyone’s trademark Golden Boy—good grades, athletic, and a seemingly good personality. The last point, however, was a complete and utter lie. Simply put, Jaehyun was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and you, unfortunately, wound up becoming his target.

If it weren’t for your love for cheerleading, you probably would never have to see Jaehyun, but your passion came with a price. Competitors were often asked a series of questions, and these questions typically included inquiring about your hardships as an athlete. If someone were to ask you what the hardest part of being a cheerleader was, your answer would not be what they expected.

It wasn’t getting back up after bad falls that left you with bruises and a concussion. It wasn’t dealing with the basketball team’s aftermath of a devastating loss and having to cheer them on through it. It wasn’t waking up extra early for morning practices, or having to push yourself to run miles in the sweltering heat. Hell, it wasn’t even dealing with the horny basketball team members at afterparties.

It was the annual training camp.

Every winter, the team attended a week-long training session along with several other teams in the city. With state-of-the-art facilities and a massive training center, the training camp was an event that the entire team looked forward to. Although the training was brutal, the luxury of the hotel rooms and the gourmet meals had made up for all of that. Yet, despite all of that, the camp itself was still hell for you.

It wasn’t all bad, though. In fact, you indulged in the concept of a training camp, delighted with the opportunity to meet cheerleaders from different universities. A handful of your friends from high school had joined teams at different universities, so it was exciting to get to see them all again. All in all, it was the whole package deal: friends, your favorite sport, and fun times. What could possibly ruin that?

Well, a certain someone by the name of Jeong Jaehyun could, and that wonderful individual incensed your fury quite like no other.

“You again,” you spat, clutching your duffel bag strap. You had just gotten off the bus to head into the hotel, but the devil himself was blocking your way.

“Y/N,” the devil cooed, “do you need help carrying that?”

“I’m fine.”

You shrugged Jaehyun off and tried to move past him, but the bane of your existence had other plans. He tossed you a small carton of milk; it was the kind you could buy at a vending machine. Your reflexes kicked in just in time for you to catch it, giving him a questioning look.

“You should be drinking more milk, Y/N. It’s good for you,” Jaehyun said. You were sure he was going to make a snide comment so you opened your mouth to protest, but he continued, “Jaemin likes big tits, you know?”

Ouch.

You and Jaehyun went farther back than you’d like to admit. While you did currently attend different universities, you had the joyous experience of going to the same high school as him. He wasn’t too different now; he had the same dimpled smile, the same godly features, and the same cocky smirk when things were going the way he planned. What was different was that you two were once friends.

And what took the cake? You had a big crush on his friend and fellow teammate. Introducing Na Jaemin, everyone.

It wasn’t like you never got over Jaemin, but you had to admit that your heart still fluttered pitifully whenever you saw him. It didn’t help that he was so breathtakingly beautiful, so undeniably genuine, and such a sweetheart. Unfortunately, Jaehyun knew of your little secret. Being the conniving little snake he was, he used it to his advantage.

Ever since your fallout with him in your senior year of high school, you’ve hated Jeong Jaehyun, and you were sure he hated you right back. It almost felt akin to the competition at this point, and you were a pretty sore loser. Honestly, you were sad initially when he broke off your friendship in senior year and threw crude insults at you. You normally didn’t let things get to you, but it hurt to hear that your best friend didn’t want anything to do with you after you had told him you were going to a different university. You were sure the both of you had grown past that, but now he had changed from a sincere highschooler to a complete low-life piece of shit.

“You’re a douche, Jaehyun,” you sneered.

A grin spread across his face. “Yeah, I know.”

You scoffed. “God, if I could, I would smash that pretty face into—”

“Hey!” a loud voice laced with trepidation interjected. It was your best friend on your school’s basketball team, Mark Lee, coming to your rescue; or, rather, he was trying to prevent you from doing something you’d most probably regret. He shot Jaehyun a warning look and slung an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N, what’re you doing here? We have to check into our hotel rooms.”

You looked back at Jaehyun to see a smug look on his face before he turned to catch up to Taeyong and Jaemin. You looked back up at Mark, who was also keeping an eye out for the demon in disguise.

“Thanks for getting me out of that mess,” you mumbled. “That guy is so infuriating. I can’t believe he still brings up Jaemin when I’m clearly over him!”

Your words were sharp enough that Mark and the people around you flinched, even if they weren’t completely paying attention to your rant. It was common knowledge that Jaehyun’s presence left you in low spirits, and Mark had come to terms that you would always be in a bitter mood during the training camp, and that there was only one person to blame for it.

Mark shot you a sympathetic look that you knew was intended to show his helpfulness, but instead just served to make you appear all the more bitter.

“Why don’t you just ignore him?” he suggested. “He’s just looking for a reaction out of you.”

“If I let him get the last word, then he wins.”

“At least he’d stop bothering you,” Mark reasoned as you both made your way to where your team had gathered by the reception desk.

“Is this about Jaehyun again?” Zhong Chenle chimed in, a devilish grin plastered across his face. “You’re a handful, Y/N.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped.

Chenle just stared at you, arching a brow as if the answer should have been obvious. “You and Jaehyun,” he said, “there’s some tension there.”

“Wow, Sherlock Holmes. Observant, aren’t you?” you spat, words dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve hated each other for years. Of course there’s tension.”

Johnny Suh snorted, averting his gaze as to not bring attention to himself. Chenle rolled his eyes, a delighted smile on his face as he watched you carefully, digging into his bag of chips in the meantime.

“Y/N, I think he means a different kind of tension,” Mark said.

“What kind of tension?” you asked, shocking the rest of them with your surprisingly innocent response. In retrospect, it was more because you couldn’t imagine the answer being anything past the realm of hatred.

While they all hesitated to respond, Johnny spoke up, “He meant the ‘I wanna beat you up and then have rough sex with you’ kind of tension.”

You immediately froze—long enough for Chenle to take a picture of your reaction—the expression on your face a cross between incredulity and visceral rage. You must have looked like a ticking time bomb because Mark had to take a cautious step back.

“Come again? Rough sex?” You were well aware of how strangled and pitched your voice sounded as soon as it escaped your lips, how guilty it sounded, but you couldn’t focus on that as the weight of Johnny’s words were sinking in. “Jaehyun and I?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Johnny answered.

“That’s a lie.”

“Yeah? Then why do you two always look at each other so weird?”

You didn’t know how to defend yourself now so you just said, “He’s a bastard and I would never see him in any other way.”

“You say that now but we all know—”

“Alright, let’s drop it,” Mark said, trying to defuse the situation before you blew it up into an argument. “I would rather go rest in my hotel room rather than bear witness to a homicide.”

“Fine, fine,” Johnny relented.

You scoffed and jabbed at his foot with yours before letting the topic go. Your squabbles with them were all in good nature, but this one somehow put you off. It was like Johnny had planted the seeds and were waiting for them to grow. You were starting to mull over every interaction you’ve had with Jeong Jaehyun.

Johnny and Chenle had made a startlingly accurate observation. You and Jaehyun did look at each other for a little too long sometimes, nearly to the point where it seemed like you were basking in the attention of the other—

No fucking way.

You were not going down that path. There was nothing more to your relationship with Jeong Jaehyun than pure hatred and resentment. He was a douchebag who was intent on making you feel like shit. His only motive was to start shit again between you and Jaemin, who you would’ve completely forgotten by now if it weren’t for him.

No way. There was absolutely no undercurrent of desire that was creeping its way to be uncovered.

Or was there? a small, treacherous part of your mind offered.

You were lost in your thoughts as the coaches handed you your room key, as you waited for your roommate who was some girl named Eunha from the other school, as you made your way to your room on the fifth floor.

The only thing you could think about were those long stares, those mesmerizing eyes, and the implication behind them. You always attributed it to Jaehyun being a hormonal teenage boy, but you had to admit that you’ve seen him look at you with some semblance of lust. Perhaps that same feeling was buried far in the depths of your consciousness, too.

Could you possibly be attracted to the devil incarnate, Jeong Jaehyun?

No, you argued with yourself, and shit, even your frontal lobe sounded pretty unconvinced. He’s a petty bastard and that’s all he’ll ever be.

You instilled the mantra of you and Jaehyun being sworn enemies in your head, but you couldn’t help the fact that it was peppered by the memories of an irritatingly familiar smirk. You scowled, willing your head to get rid of all-things-Jeong-Jaehyun, but he was right there.

Literally.

He was standing right in front of you.

“Hey, neighbor,” he teased, all too satisfied with the horrified look on your face. “Guess you can’t get rid of me.”

You were falling when you jolted awake.

A groan tore its way past your lips. You made sure you didn’t disrupt Eunha’s sleep before you recounted your dream. It had been a while since you’ve had one, and realization was morphing into shame when you realized what kind of dream it was. You’ve never had a wet dream before but what made you want to astral project yourself into oblivion was when you realized that Jaehyun caused it.

After tossing and turning for a couple of minutes in a desperate attempt for sleep to overcome you once more, you came to terms with the fact that you were staying awake for now. Staying awake was worse, though, because there was no way you could keep the intruding thoughts at bay. Not with the way Jeong Jaehyun kept flashing behind your eyelids, at least.

You considered how to spend the rest of your night, surveying your options as you stared up at the ceiling:

Watch season three of Riverdale on Netflix so you could make fun of it.

Attempt to sleep, but with little success because there was no way you were going back to bed after that dream.

Count the slacks of the window’s blinds even though it would be pointless because what the fuck were you going to do with that information?

It was truly astounding how interesting your life was.

You couldn’t think clearly with Eunha’s soft snoring, so you grabbed your keys and pushed the door open carefully to keep it from squealing. After your delicate movements to escape your room quietly, you leaned against the wall and let out a sigh of relief. You weren’t too keen on someone scolding you in the middle of the night for being outside, but you needed to clear your head somewhere. You packed for weather that was balmy, but the air conditioner carried a bite to it that made you wish you hadn’t just worn shorts and a tank top to bed.

You could practically hear Mark mocking you if he were here: Are you in the right headspace, Y/N?

You shook your head, getting your provoking best friend out of there, but instead, you found yourself wandering into dangerous territory again.

Johnny and Chenle were parroting the same words over and over again in your head. You wished you could use your metaphysical hands in your head and squeeze the life out of them, but they always flew out of your grasp. You clicked your tongue absentmindedly, your annoyance rehashing itself as your mind gravitated back to Jeong Jaehyun with his stupid smirk and annoyingly persistent cockiness. It was almost pitiful that you hated his guts and yet you couldn’t deny the magnetism he carried, the pull that made your breath hitch when he met your eyes.

His presence was announced by the change in the air more than anything else. You didn’t have to see him to know he was there. You clenched your jaw; you couldn’t catch a break from him even during the ungodly hours of the night.

He was unavoidable.

He hummed with amusement. “Look who’s here.”

“What are you doing up this late? Go to bed.”

You didn’t even bother to look at him because there was one thing you were sure of and it was that you could not look at his sickeningly attractive face right now. Jaehyun didn’t move, blatantly ignoring your order. The tension was so thick that you wanted to storm away, but you knew he would follow you just to piss you off.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “You should be the one resting up. You cheerleaders always train until you’re near death.”

“Can’t sleep,” was your curt response.

He laughed once, a short sound that was pretty much gone the moment it hit your eardrums. “What? You get nightmares or something?”

“So what if I do?” you retaliated, getting oddly defensive. It was a given that you’d lie about getting a nightmare over a wet dream. “It’s none of your business.”

He laughed again but this time it was lower, more dangerous. “It’s my business when it concerns you.”

“I have and will never be your business, Jeong Jaehyun.”

He leaned against the wall. “I beg to differ.”

“Then keep begging.”

“If you say so.”

“Jaehyun,” you interrupted your own banter. “What’s the point of this conversation? Just go back to your room so we can go back to not talking to each other.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you said. “I don’t want to talk to you, so go find someone who does.”

“We don’t have to talk.” Suddenly, his voice sounded closer, and you forced your gaze down at the strangely-patterned hotel carpet.

You swallowed thickly. “I’m here to clear my head. I don’t want you to hover around me for the rest of the night.”

“Actually, I had something else in mind.”

He closed in on you, one of his hands skimming up the soft skin of your arm. A shudder ran down your spine as you felt his fingers travel up to your shoulder, your collarbone, and then the side of your neck. With a swift movement, he caged you in his arms, biceps flexing as he did.

What was going on? You couldn’t quite keep up with the situation but the way Jaehyun was looking down at you made you feel hot. It was exactly like your dream—

“Holy fuck, Jaehyun.”

You couldn’t stop the words from escaping your lips when you felt his hot breath on your neck. Your head went fuzzy and you were pretty sure your knees were ready to buckle under you. The corner of Jaehyun’s lip lifted into a smirk as if he had been planning this. You mustered a scowl at him but one thing was clear: you screwed yourself over by getting into this situation.

Damn it. You knew you should’ve watched season three of Riverdale instead

Also, Chenle and Johnny were right. Not that you’d ever tell them that; put simply, you were a sore loser.

Lust was swimming in Jaehyun’s eyes. The way he caged you felt predatory, a show of dominance rather than passion. That smirk of his carved in deeper, and it only pissed you off. Yet, as much as it pissed you off, all you wanted him to do was just ruin you.

Your pride was too strong, though, and you concluded that you would rather stick a fork in your eye than let Jaehyun do what he wanted. This sparked a dilemma in your head: to fuck or not to fuck Jaehyun, that was the question. One sounded like a pretty uneventful night, while the other sounded appealing save for the self-loathing you’d experience afterward.

“You want me, Y/N,” he cooed. “I know you do.”

“I hate you.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“I mean it, Jaehyun,” you hissed. Your head was screaming at you to just go with it, but denying Jaehyun’s advances and provokes was just natural instinct to you. “I don’t want you. Stop lying to yourself.”

“Is that so? I think you’re the liar here,” he replied easily as you dodged his attempt to kiss you.

You pushed at his muscular arm but he didn’t budge. For a moment, you strongly considered just dropping to the ground and crawling out from under his legs, but you were done for. Seconds later, Jaehyun’s hand flew up, long fingers digging into the soft flesh of your face as he forced your chin upward to look at him directly. The lust in his eyes was so clear, so alluring, and it made you stop struggling for a second.

“I’m not going to ask you again. Let go of me.”

“Good, it’s a waste of breath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how infuriating you are?”

“You did. Many times.”

“Just fuck off already.”

Your words were like poison, but for some odd reason, Jaehyun was immune to it. Any reasonable person would at least flinch, but Jaehyun was so fixated on his one goal. Again, he didn’t budge. He gazed into your eyes with a fierce intensity that threw you off.

“Just let me fucking kiss you, Y/N.”

His smirk was gone. He wasn’t teasing you anymore. Jaehyun’s eyes darkened with his command.

He leaned in and you could feel his hot breath fanning your lips, drinking in your appearance. You were pulled into his trap and you hated yourself for it. You swallowed hard as all of your worries about being with Jaehyun and getting caught had started to fade away. All you could do was yield to him.

“Fine,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” was all he got out before basically smashing your lips together.

It was rushed, messy, and way too rough. Jaehyun grabbed the back of your neck, his other arm still locking you in place. Your hands moved from gripping at the front of his shirt to slowly wrapping around his neck. You weren’t sure how you felt, but there was something that made you want to tangle your fingers in his hair and get lost in him.

The moment Jaehyun’s tongue slid along the crease of your lips, you were conflicted. You weren’t exactly sure what to do so he took the reins. You wondered if he was expressing his pent-up hatred as well. It was clear in the way he was taking prying your mouth open with his tongue, snaking his hot muscle to dance with yours as if he had something to prove. He wanted you to see that he was the dominant one, that he had leverage over the situation.

But when he broke away, he flipped the switch. The both of you were left catching your breath, Jaehyun resting his forehead against yours in a feeling that had a weird sort of intimacy stemming from it. His hand dropped from your neck to brush messy locks of hair behind your shoulders.

Well, that explained why humans were so tempted by the devil.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jaehyun grinned down at you.

You fought down the shyness that was creeping into your chest. Before you could respond, the both of you turned your heads at the sound of footsteps. A flashlight glimpsed by you when you saw two dark figures at the end of the hall. It didn’t sound like your coach, but you weren’t too keen on sticking around to figure out who it was.

“Son, how in the world did you get locked out of your room this late?” one of them asked.

“I’m telling you, I needed to use the bathroom so I went outside without my key, and then I remembered the bathroom was in the room.”

That voice was most definitely Mark.

“Hey!” the security guard scolded when he saw you two. “What are you kids doing? It’s late!”

“You’re on your own.” You pushed Jaehyun away from you and fumbled for your keys before Mark or the security guard could spot you. “Bye.”

You jammed your key in, not worried about waking up your roommate anymore. All you could hear was Jaehyun growling out a short string of curses before you shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Your head was still reeling in what had just happened, but that kiss had left you in the clouds. You could feel the ghost of his lips on yours. Dazed, you just fell onto your bed, into the entrancing clutches of sleep.

You were exhausted when you woke up, and you blamed Jaehyun for it.

You weren’t in the proper condition for training; you hadn’t gotten enough sleep and your head was a mess (well, you supposed you were the only one to blame for the latter). You forgot to set your alarm so you woke up to Eunha shaking you gently, coaxing you into stirring. She was already dressed, tying her hair up in a ponytail. You all but jumped out of bed when you saw her, thinking you were late.

“What time is it?” you asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stood up and tried to adjust to the morning light.

“You’ve still got plenty of time,” she assured you. “I just like to get ready early so I can go for a quick run.”

“Ah, okay. Have fun,” you mumbled before she left the room, leaving you to drag yourself around the room to get ready. You heard a knock at the door and went to open it, assuming it was Eunha forgetting her keys. Your eyes narrowed when you saw who it was. “Jaehyun?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” His voice was somewhere between a pant and a rasp as if he had been working out, which he probably was judging by the sheen of sweat on his biceps.

“Were you waiting for Eunha to leave?” you asked. “You’re disgusting. Why would you think about me?”

“I was thinking about how much of a bitch you are for running away and letting me get in trouble like that.”

“Pity.” You mocked a pout for him. “Now move. I have to get ready.”

“Let me in.”

You made a face at the thought. You knew where he was going with this and you needed to stop it. “No. You’re disgusting.”

“You liked it last night.”

His eyes searched yours in the dim light, looking for something that unfortunately was there: longing. You were never the greatest at hiding your emotions, which was why you couldn’t lie to yourself and refuse Jaehyun. Screw your transparency. Jaehyun grinned at your silence and took a step in your room when you opened your door wider for him.

You closed the door. “I hated every second of it,” you said in a childish attempt to get on his nerves.

You were a terrible liar.

Your back was against the door in a second. You could only let out a soft gasp before he kissed you, hands on your waist, slowing his movements unlike the hurriedness from last night. It was foreign, the way he kissed you like you were the only girl he saw. You pulled away quickly but it just left the both of you staring at each other’s lips.

“You sure about that?” His lips curled into a smirk.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you warned in a low voice, “I still hate your guts.”

“As I’m reminded of every single time I see you,” he returned coolly.

“Fuck off.”

This time, you pulled him down to kiss him again. You fisted your hand into his hair, tugging at his dark locks as your lips moved smoothly against his. Caught off guard, Jaehyun groaned, low and deep against your lips.

The two of you separated again before Jaehyun said, “See? I know you want me. Only I can make you feel this good, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “We’ll see about that.”

Jaehyun’s eyes darkened at the challenge. To prove his point, he pushed his knee up and between your legs, pressing against your clothed cunt. A gasp escaped your lips, the fingers curled in his hair instinctively tightening. You bit your lip but to no avail; a whimper escaped your lips as soon as he started pulsing his knee against you. You grabbed onto his shoulders for leverage, burying your face into his chest while bunching up the thin fabric of his shirt.

You wanted to hold back your moans because you were adamant about not giving Jeong Jaehyun the satisfaction of hearing you moan. Instead, you shifted your hips so that the pressure of his knee became more intense. Sparks flew behind your eyelids as he bounced his knee under you.

He finally released the tight grip he had on your waist in favor of palming one of your breasts, squeezing it firmly through your shirt and bra. All the while, he continued ramming his knee against the apex of your legs. He kept his eyes on yours and you scowled at the thought of him getting off on seeing you crumble in front of him. But you couldn’t stop yourself. He wanted to completely and utterly ruin you, wanted to fuck you in and shut you up.

The worst part was that you wanted to let him.

“You’re so cute when you’re like this,” he mused, slowly rubbing his knee in circles against you. “God, you’re still wearing that fucking tank top.”

“You’re such a—ah!”

He groped your chest again, thumb pressing down on your nipple. Another whimper escaped you as Jaehyun grazed his lips down your neck, nipping at the supple skin. You only got louder as the kisses turned into bites.

He ignored you and removed his hand. Instead, he tugged the neckline of your tank top down, delighted at the loose straps sliding down your shoulders. He yanked it down to your waist so you were exposed to him, and you swore you heard his breath hitch. Jaehyun pinched your nipple with two fingers, drawing out a moan that drove him crazy. He buried his face into your neck, sucking and making you quiver under him.

“Didn’t you say I had small tits earlier?” you jeered, a teasing lilt to your tone.

“Yeah, I still stand by that,” he replied, resulting in you punching his shoulder.

“Asshole.”

“Hey, I never said it wasn’t cute.”

“You’re such a softie,” you grumbled, but your voice was gentler than before. It was almost like you were warming up to Jeong Jaehyun, and you hated the mere thought of that.

Jaehyun pulled away from your neck. “Y/N, I want you to suck me off,” he demanded.

“I refuse.”

“Be a good girl and do it for me.”

You swore you’d go crazy if he called you ‘good girl’ one more time. You were pretty revolted at the thought of sucking his dick, but the way he looked so fragile under your hold made you want to do it for the power rush. It was like some cheap porno in a way; ‘College Jock Gets Sucked Off By Cheerleader.’ You bet half the members on the team beat their meat to something similar to that.

Your shoulders sagged. “Fine. Get on the bed.”

Jaehyun groaned at your approval. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, letting go of you to pull down his sweats on his way to your bed. He sat at the edge of it, tugging the elastic of his boxers down. You swallowed hard, tugging your tank top back up as you stared at his painfully hard erection springing out.

You got on your knees in front of him, lips parted in anticipation of taking in his length. Your hair fell over your face, which Jaehyun took notice of and held it back in a fist. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your hand around his cock. It was rock solid to the touch and twitched at your grip. Glancing up at an eager Jaehyun, you pumped the length of it once, inciting a groan from him.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, rousing a strangled noise from his throat. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, messy strands of your hair tangling in his fingers while his other hand was gripping the stiff hotel sheets. Then, you took him in fully at his encouragement (which was more of him just grabbing the back of your head and pushing it down on his cock).

“Shit,” he breathed out before slowly moving his hips in and out of your mouth. It was like iron wrapped around velvet, and he was relishing how hot your mouth felt.

He pushed your head down further and right as you gagged on his length, there was a knock at the door.

“Y/N!” Mark’s voice sounded from the other side. “Are you coming for breakfast?”

You pulled off of him with a pop, a string of saliva dripping off your lips. Your eyes were wide as you lunged for your phone, checking the texts. Meanwhile, Jaehyun just frowned down at you, looking up at the ceiling with a frustrated sigh.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered when you looked at the time. You called out to Mark, “Give me a minute!”

“Perfect,” Jaehyun said in a low voice and held the back of your head, attempting to push you down on him. “We can finish up now.”

“Are you an idiot?” you hissed, swatting at his hand. “I have to get out of here before Mark finds out you’re in here.”

Ignoring your state of panic, Jaehyun said, “You look so hot with drool on your chin.”

That was the most disgusting thing you had ever heard, and if it weren’t for Mark being on the other side of the door where you and Jaehyun were screwing around, you would have beat the living daylights out of him. Only a creep like Jeong Jaehyun could find something like drool sexy. You scowled at him and wiped it off with the back of your hand.

“Put your dick away,” you scolded. “Hide in the closet and you can leave when I’m gone.”

He rolled his eyes at you and stood up, making his way to the bathroom. “I need to get rid of the problem you caused.”

You had no time to complain about him jerking off in your bathroom. Mark was not a very patient man, so as soon as Jaehyun closed the door behind him, you stripped off your pajamas and threw on whatever was at the top of your suitcase. You brushed your teeth at the speed of light, using your other hand to brush down your hair. After you laced up your shoes, you opened the door to Mark looking at you suspiciously.

“You’re never late,” he pointed out.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” you said. In your defense, it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Oh, by the way,” Mark started, “can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“No!” you exclaimed, pushing him away from your room and in the direction of the elevator. “My roommate, um, is… on her period—yeah, you don’t want to see that mess.”

Another reason why you hated Jeong Jaehyun was for giving you reasons to lie when you were a terrible liar.

Training was long and grueling. Your bones were mush and your muscles ached, pins and needles shooting through you every time you moved. As your teammates dragged you to get dinner with them, you couldn’t even resist because you were so drained.

The one thing you loved about training was that you could wear whatever you wanted, whereas you were confined to tight skirts and crop tops at your university. Now, you could rest in whatever position you wanted without worrying about exposing anything, so you didn’t hesitate to manspread as soon as you got to the cafeteria table.

“Did you guys hear about Jaehyun from the other school?” one of the girls gossiped. “Looks like he was fooling around with someone last night.”

You were grounded back into reality from whatever dimension you were floating about in. Your teammates were perplexed as you choked on air, hitting your chest to stop yourself from coughing. You were handed a glass of water, which you gingerly accepted and drank until your body had calmed down.

“Ah, sorry, Y/N,” your teammate apologized. “I forgot you and Jaehyun have bad blood between you.”

“You’re good,” you told her, waving it off. “I was surprised for a second, but I guess it makes sense for a guy like him to go around hooking up.” Then, silence fell. You were confused as they all looked at you with a puzzled look. “What? Am I stereotyping too harshly? My bad.”

“No, it’s not that,” another chimed in. “A lot of girls go around hitting on him, but Jaehyun never lays a hand on them. I thought it was common knowledge that he doesn’t do that sort of stuff, but I guess it makes sense that you don’t care about the details.”

That was news to you.

“Yeah,” you replied distantly. “I don’t care.”

So Jaehyun doesn’t hook up, was what you happened to hear around the grapevine, and he most definitely doesn’t hook up with his enemies.

You stood up in the middle of your dinner. “I gotta go,” you said. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”

You actually weren’t very sure where Jaehyun was, but you figured if you walked around enough, you’d run into him or someone from his team. You headed out of the canteen and walked to the basketball courts, expecting to see him dribbling a bar or doing reps. But the first person you saw was Na Jaemin, and he noticed you immediately, eyes sparkling with recognition.

“Y/N!” he greeted cheerfully. “It’s been so long.”

That infectious smile of his was plastered across his face, making a small one creep to your lips. If Jaehyun smiled like that more, then you could understand his charm, but he was always so moody around you. He either did something to get on your nerves or he would just flat-out ignore you. Furthermore, he always riled you up instead of offering you that warm security that Jaemin emanated—

Wait, why were you comparing him to Jaehyun?

“Sorry,” you apologized meekly. “Am I interrupting your practice time?”

“No, it’s cool. We were just messing around in here,” Jaemin replied. “Are you looking for someone?”

You looked into Jaemin’s eyes and your thoughts slowed. He made you feel safe, warm, but that was all; there was no fire, no rage, no heat. It was just a shallow attraction that fizzled out, leaving you neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. And you clawed at your brain as you wondered what you were getting at, but you knew. You knew it was all going back to Jaehyun.

And it pissed you off.

“I was looking for Jaehyun,” you said, “if he happened to be in here.”

“He told me he was going for a swim,” Jaemin said, and that was all you needed.

Before Jaemin could respond, you thanked him and turned on your heel. The pool was in a separate building, and there was no training that even required swimming, so it made no sense for Jaehyun to be there. You let out a frustrated sigh. Even when he wasn’t doing anything in particular to annoy you, it still managed to anger you.

You weren’t going to let Jaehyun do what he wanted this time. This was merely for interrogation—your own personal gain. Then, you thought it over some more, and you reasonably concluded that there was a 97.5% chance that you would not lay a finger on him, but there was a 2.5% chance you’d cave.

When you got to the facility where the pool was, you were entranced by the renovation at first. The pool was massive and the equipment was lined up so neatly along the walls. You peered through the glass to see the pool completely empty save for Jaehyun in the hot tub.

He met your eyes while you opened the door to the pool. His eyebrow arched at your entrance but a smirk settled on his lips as you neared him. You tried to push down your lust; you were not letting him get to you again. You crouched down by the side of the pool and Jaehyun moved so he was facing you, holding onto the edge of the hot tub.

“What brings you here?’ he asked, playfully flicking some water in your direction.

You flinched and scrunched up your nose at his action. “I heard you don’t do hookups.”

“You heard correctly.”

“So what am I?”

“You’re Y/N.”

You were a coward. Admittedly, you had probably always been running away from your own problems, deflecting your feelings with unbridled hate that had no direction, no meaning. Underneath your blunt and fiery front was pure cowardice. Even now, you refused to admit anything to yourself.

You didn’t want to accept that maybe you actually liked Jeong Jaehyun.

Maybe you’ve always liked him.

“Don’t be stupid, Jaehyun,” you grumbled. “You’ve always hated me.”

“I think you just want to believe I hate you. Is that how you suppress your feelings?”

“How long have you liked me for, then? Days?”

“Years.”

You paused for a moment as you recounted your interactions with Jaehyun. It was true that he never explicitly said he hated you and that you always started the arguments, but he was the one who broke off your friendship. Why would he do that if he didn’t hate you?

“You said you wanted nothing to do with me, Jaehyun,” you said in a smaller voice, fist balling at your side.

“You were going to a different university.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, and although you were angry, it was difficult not to enjoy the view. “Plus, you just kept going on and on about Jaemin, and I couldn’t even shut that mouth of yours up back then.”

“So you cut me off?”

“I felt like I was being petty, so I tried to apologize but you blocked my number and wouldn’t let me come near you,” Jaehyun deadpanned. He reached forward and grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer to him. You teetered on the balls of your feet, swallowing hard. “Forgive me?”

“No.”

Jaehyun rose up a little so he was eye-to-eye with you. He smiled at your flustered expression and cupped your cheek with his wet hand. Every muscle in your body was telling you to pull away but you couldn’t. Not when his lips were so close, when his eyes were boring into yours.

“Forgive me,” he repeated in a gentler tone, but it became more of an order than a question.

“Make me,” you whispered and Jaehyun groaned, somewhat helplessly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”

You opened your mouth to say something more, but you couldn’t even form your words as Jaehyun yanked you forward and sealed your lips with a kiss. Before, you had the sense to try and push him away, but now you were held captive. He slid his tongue past your lips and you let out an appreciative whimper, hand sliding into his wet hair. You tugged at his hair and this time, Jaehyun was the one to react.

He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath, eyes clouding over with lust. “Get in with me,” he said, voice rumbling. You shivered as he dragged his lips down to your jaw; you could feel his voice reverberate down your spine and to your feet.

“What if someone walks in?” you asked in a daze.

“There’s no use for the swim facility, so no one’s going to walk in on us,” he persuaded. “Come in.”

Water dripped from his neck, landing on your thigh. You took in a sharp breath as his hand tugged at your waist. While the pleading look on his face was priceless, you couldn’t even ridicule him because you were at your limit, too. You let out an irritated sigh when you realized you gave into that 2.5% of you caving.

You responded by pulling off your shirt, tossing it to the side where Jaehyun had left his shoes and towel. Jaehyun watched you as you fiddled with the clamp of your bra. Meanwhile, his hands went to the waistband of your sweats, making you shudder as he tugged them down at the sides. You raised your hips to help him get them off and, after removing your bra, you were only left in your underwear to protect you from his hungry gaze.

You weren’t the type to hook up with guys. Hell, you weren’t the type to even show a guy your ankle if he asked. You thought you’d feel insecure with Jaehyun eyeing you in your full glory, but there was none of that. You wanted to know why it was so different with him but maybe it was the way he looked at you like he just wanted to kiss you. Or maybe a tiny part of your heart always belonged to Jaehyun, and you couldn’t bury it anymore.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

He mumbled the words, barely audible, but they set you on fire. He pulled you down onto his lap like you were his anchor, and you were afraid you’d get swept with the current, but you let him. You’ve only ever kissed a few guys before, so you really had no idea what the fuck you were getting into. All you were sure about was that Jaehyun could make you feel good and you were having your first time in a hot tub. You only prayed that you wouldn’t pass out from the pleasure combined with the heat of the water.

“Is this your first time?” he asked, gliding his hands down your sides. You nodded. “Then I’ll be gentle.” Truly, you did find his gesture rather sweet, but it didn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. Jaheyun saw and narrowed his brows. “I don’t hate you, but you really piss me off sometimes.”

He kissed you again. It was more passionate this time, but also harsher and messier. You let out a sound that was something between a yelp and a moan, making Jaehyun move his hands to run down your bare back. Then, he planted his thumb on your clit and pressed down in a way that made a muscle in your thigh twitch. Your grip on his shoulders tightened; you weren’t expecting that. It felt different in the water, but somehow, you couldn’t get enough of it.

“You’re wet,” he mumbled against your lips as his fingers found purchase on your slit.

“We’re in the water, you idiot.”

Jaehyun scoffed. “You know what, Y/N, you’re right, I did hate you,” he spat, rubbing small circles around your clit now. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself, whimpering as his movements grew more intense. “I fucking hated how you looked at Jaemin with those love-struck eyes.”

There was a shift in his usual cocky expression. He turned focused and, to a degree, angry. It was the kind of look on his face you saw when he was on the basketball court or during a game.

“You’re the one who told me to go after him.”

Wrong choice of words. Jaehyun lifted you up and placed you on the edge of the pool, pushing a finger inside you with no warning. You gasped, your mouth open to ask him why he took you out of the water, but you already knew the answer; he wanted to feel you completely.

“R-right there,” you whimpered out as he pushed his finger deeper inside of you.

He started to curl his finger whenever he passed over your g-spot, and you had to close your eyes. Jaehyun pulled his finger out to marvel at the slick wetness that coated it. Your body tingled as he slid his finger inside you again. This time, he was teasing your slit with a second digit. Jaehyun had no delicacy, though, and he all but shoved in a second finger, causing you to cry out.

He didn’t even care. You opened your mouth to call him a bastard, but all that came out was a pitched moan that seemed to float up to the stars.

“I fucking hated,” he rasped as he pumped two fingers inside of you, “how you treated Jaemin like he was the only one in the world.”

“I don’t… like Jaemin,” you got out, each labored breath of yours fighting off another moan. “I’ve stopped liking Jaemin after high school.”

Jaehyun’s free hand went to your chest, cupping one of your breasts as he rubbed circles around your nipple. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, unable to contain yourself as the fingers on your clit got almost frantic in their place, and the fingers inside of you were pushing against your walls. You felt an unfamiliar cold fire that felt so fucking good, lighting you up and threatening to spill over. Your muscles clenched and spasmed around Jaehyun, and you weren’t even in the hot tub but you felt like you were sinking.

A high-pitched moan left your lips, leaving you hot with embarrassment because you didn’t know you could make a sound like that. You fell from your peak, relaxing in Jaehyun’s hold; it felt like you were floating amongst the clouds in an almost euphoric way.

“I don’t like Jaemin,” you breathed out, still winded from your orgasm, “you fucking idiot.”

“I know.” Jaehyun pulled his fingers out of you, eyes trained on you as he licked them slowly. The look on his face was more gentle now. With his free hand, he brushed loose strands of your hair out of your face. “You like me now.”

“No, I’ve loved you for a while now.” You didn’t know what possessed you to say what was on your mind, but it surprised you more than it surprised Jaehyun. “I didn’t realize it then but… I think I did.”

Love? Love?

You thought you knew what love was. Something that you felt in your bones, that burst within you instantly. Simple glances, thoughts, and daydreams—something gentle and fluffy, but also emotionally shattering. You thought it was tender smiles, kind words, and little gestures.

But maybe that was the kind of love that led to puffy eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and hoarse voices. The kind of love that was left fruitless with an empty gap in your chest.

Maybe this was different.

It was instinctive, the way you fell for him. Like an effortless intake of breath, you were in love before you even knew it. You always thought love was a monster. Ravaging, scraping, foul monsters with jaws so immeasurably large that they would have swallowed you whole. But maybe it wasn’t the tragedy you made it out to be.

With Jaehyun it was fierce and maddening and made you want to rip your hair out. It was a violent hurricane that you tried to brave your way through. But you were blind. You were already at the eye; you had always been at the center without realizing it. And, despite all the pointless arguments and name-calling, it was the most beautiful thing you had experienced.

Yeah, you liked him. You liked how you were around him, despite how much you complained about it to Mark. Part of you refused to admit it, but sometimes the bickering was fun. You realized that you never let go of Jaehyun before because you couldn’t. You simply didn’t want to be without him because Jeong Jaehyun drove a deeper passion within you.

Your rose-tinted loving moment was ruined as soon as a shit-eating grin spread across Jaehyun’s face.

“You love me.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“You love me,” Jaehyun echoed as if he was internalizing the information. “You love me.”

“I take it back,” you said flatly. “I hate you, I hate you, and I’ve always hated you.”

Jaehyun ignored your words, his cockiness morphing into adoration. “You actually love me back.” He cupped your face in his hands, eyes turning into little crescents as he smiled. “Even though I called you a cougar for liking a guy a year younger than you?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I made fun of you wearing a push-up bra in front of him?”

You clenched your jaw. “Yes.”

“Even though I asked Johnny about you and he told me that I still live in your mind, rent-free?”

“What? Johnny said that?” you exclaimed, eyes wide. You grimaced. Johnny would be dealt with later. You placed your hands on Jaehyun’s shoulders and made direct eye contact. “Look, Jaehyun—as much as it hurts me to say this and I’d rather tear out my vocal cords—I like you. I like you so much that I don’t care about the petty shit you pulled when I liked Jaemin because frankly, I don’t care about Jaemin anymore.”

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You wanted to slap him.

“Are you just constantly horny?” you snapped. “I’m pouring out my feelings to you here!”

“I’m better at expressing my love through actions, not words,” Jaehyun explained. “Can I show you?”

“Is this another ploy to get in my pants?”

“No, I’m asking you out on a date,” he said. “Sneak out with me tonight. I want to explore the city with you.”

The offer was tempting. In fact, you found no reason to be opposed to the idea. After all, you were always down for an adventure in the city. Jaehyun being with you didn’t sound too bad either, especially when Seoul was so lively at night. Part of you wanted it purely to catch up on all the time you missed when you stopped being friends.

“Fine,” you agreed. “An hour after curfew.”

“Great.” Jaehyun flashed a grin that slowly curled into a smirk. “Now let me get in your pants.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Y/N, you see,” Jaehyun started, “I don’t hate you, but you’ve really pissed me off these past two years. We have all of this pent-up rage, so it’s only fair that we let it out on each other.” His grip on your hips tightened.

You loathed yourself for wanting him, and for putting aside the fear of being walked in on for him. You internally cringed at the thought of Mark accidentally bearing witness, and you weren’t sure you were willing to explain the situation to him just yet.

It was the price you paid for carnality, you supposed.

You sighed in a forced way so that you sounded reluctant and bored. Unfortunately, your plan backfired and you ended up feeling bad when a concerned look crossed Jaehyun’s face.

“If you’re worried about getting caught, I’ll just cover you,” Jaehyun mumbled, the softness of his voice almost putting you at ease.

You rolled your eyes. “How kind of you.” You paused and looked up at him. “Are we really going to have sex for the first time here?”

Jaehyun looked around him. “Well, I guess we could go to the hotel room if—”

“Nope!” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around his neck and drawing him closer to you. “Let’s do it here. I love the pool, love having sex at the pool.”

He rose a brow at you, hands making their way down your body. Suddenly, your realization of being completely exposed had heightened, and you pressed your thighs together. Maybe it was because your vulnerability showed on your face, clear as day, but Jaehyun smirked, further flustering you by tugging down his swim shorts to reveal his hardened cock.

It was heavy and warm against your thigh, but what you were fixed on was the v-line on his pelvis. You traced along the bone, making him shiver under your touch. You were shocked when he grabbed your wrist tightly, holding it away from him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” he growled. Jaehyun leaned closer and nipped at the shell of your earlobe, chuckling as you tensed up under his hold. His hot breath made you squirm under his grip.

Have you ever noticed how insanely attractive he was? Yes, of course. You weren’t an idiot.

Have you ever appreciated his beauty until now? Probably not.

“Just fuck me already, Jae,” you grumbled out as he pushed you down onto the deck of the pool.

In seconds, Jaehyun grabbed your hips and pulled them to his waist. Without any preamble, he rammed himself inside of you. The motion caught you by surprise and you cried out, half out of pleasure and half out of pain. You were definitely wet from being fingered earlier, but two fingers were nothing compared to Jaehyun’s cock.

Seeing his cock disappear in you was enough to make you whimper. Your walls clenched around him, pulsating at the foreign feeling. You were tempted to slap him upside the head for going so fast, but all you could do was tug at his hair and wrap your legs around him.

“You bastard, I’ll fucking—oh.”

Jaehyun laughed cruelly at your reaction, partly to cover up the groan caught in his throat and partly because your attempts at being mad at him were downright pathetic. When you had adjusted to his size, Jaehyun grunted and pounded in you, hitting spots that made your limbs feel like jelly. As if that wasn’t enough, Jaehyun found your clit with the hand that didn’t have a bruising grip on your waist and pressed harshly against it.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Jaehyun gritted out.

“T-then be gentle,” you bargained, drowning in a molten sea.

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes at you. “Have you ever fucking heard of gentle hate sex?” he asked, validating his point with a particularly hard thrust.

Your fingernails dug into his back, leaving hot-white trails down his skin. You were certain you had drawn blood, but knowing Jaehyun, he’d probably feel proud if he saw it. He brought his lips to your neck as you writhed under him, biting around until he found your sweet spot. This wasn’t fair; he was pleasuring you in every way possible and all you could do was cry out as he pummeled in you.

You closed your eyes, sparks flying behind your eyelids as you felt your release rushing to you.

Then, he slowed his strokes down considerably.

“Look at me,” he ordered in a rasp. Your eyes fluttered open, remaining half-lidded as you felt like you were going to spill over. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

He slapped his hips against yours again, the sound of skin against skin making you shudder. Jaehyun filled you up to the brim and you were oh-so-close to letting go and falling off the edge. The hardscape was cool but you were on fire, bliss overtaking all of your senses. Your toes curled as you held onto his damp skin for dear life, not sure if it was because he was in the pool or he was sweating due to the heat you both emanated.

“R-right there!” you wailed. “Fuck, right there!”

Jaehyun angled his hips slightly to pound into you, causing you to see metaphysical stars. It was so hard to keep eye contact with him when your eyes just wanted to roll back. Jaehyun let out a groan by your ear, low and guttural. You didn’t even notice how tight the grip he has on you until he releases your hip for you to see the print he left.

You could tell he was close, but he wanted to hold on for you. Both of your breaths were labored as you stared into each other’s eyes, your body moving up and down against the hardscape as Jaehyun railed you. You tightened your grip on him, a pathetic moan falling from your lips as you were falling over the edge.

Jaehyun understood and fucked you through your orgasm, making sure you made the most of it. Warmth blossomed under your skin as you cried out in pure bliss, your vision blurring and refocusing as it flickered from normal to pure white as you rode out your high. You ground yourself back to reality after nearly sobbing out his name, the pleasure overwhelming you. Jaehyun’s eyes went hazy as he fell apart right after you did, and soon, you felt something warm spill inside of you.

Jaehyun finished inside of you and stuttered out a curse as he pulled out of you. He rolled over and laid on the deck of the pool next to you, the both of you catching your breath like you had just run a marathon.

“I have a cute date idea for tonight,” Jaehyun said after a long pause.

You looked over, watching his chest rise and fall. “Yeah?”

“We go to the store and buy Plan B.”

You couldn’t even disagree.

“Sounds good.”

Jaehyun dragged himself off the floor, muttering something along the lines of “shit, that felt good” to himself as he reached for his swim trunks to pull back on. You grabbed a towel to dry yourself off, but pins and needles shot up your legs when you tried to walk. Jaehyun noticed immediately and a smug look settled on his face again, not the least bit remorseful.

You scowled as you slipped your clothes back on. “Shut up,” you jeered. “You’re so shameless for someone who can’t pull out.”

“Oops,” he replied flatly.

“I hate you, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun ran a hand through his damp hair, letting out a laugh as he shook his head. He picked up another towel from the chairs by the poolside and wrapped it around so it covered your head. You bit your lip as you watched him attempt to dry your hair. It was times like these when he seemed so gentle and delicate, unlike his usual irritating attitude.

“You liked it, though,” Jaehyun said. “Right?”

You faltered, looking down at your feet as he continued to dry your hair. “Yeah.”

Jaehyun smiled softly and leaned in swiftly to peck your lips, but your moment was interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

Mark was gaping at you two, eyelids fluttering rapidly as if he was trying to blink away what he had just seen.

“Y/N? Jeong Jaehyun?” Mark questioned, his voice an octave higher than usual. Realization crossed his face through a series of facial expressions that morphed far too quickly for you to process. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Mark!” You and Jaehyun pulled away from each other quickly.

Mark paused to think his words through. “Did I almost walk in on a murder?”

You let out a frustrated groan. “Jesus, Mark, if you’re not going to read the room, at least SparkNote it.”

“Wait, so you were kissing?”

“No, we didn’t kiss,” Jaehyun assured, and you felt tricked for feeling relieved for a split second. “We actually had sex.”

Jaehyun’s words ended with a splutter as you elbowed him in the gut. Mark looked between the two of you, boggled. You nudged Jaehyun again with your foot, signaling for him to leave so you could handle Mark. Thankfully, he took your cue this time and grabbed his towel, mockingly saluting the both of you. You were stupid to think you were safe, though, because Jaehyun had to get another last word in before he walked off.

“See you tonight, Y/N.”

There was a long, awkward pause while Jaehyun opened the door and left the building. You and Mark were staring at each other but neither of you knew what to say or how to approach the subject.

“I just… I just came here to find you, and Jaemin told me you went to the pool. You…” Mark started. He looked absolutely horrified, like a corpse had fallen to his feet—no, rather, he looked like a corpse himself, like someone attempted to do taxidermy on him but did a shit job. “Bitch.”

“Let me explain.”

“Bitch,” Mark enunciated, “you just fucked the hottest guy here, oh my god.”

Definitely not the reaction you were expecting, but you supposed it wasn’t a bad one. You were glad he wasn’t getting into the whole ‘why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend’ rant, but this was equally as overwhelming.

Mark continued, “Wait—is that why you were late this morning? Oh my god, this has been a thing. You’ve been hooking up with him in secret, haven’t you?”

“No? Well, yes, but it hasn’t been much until, um”—you gestured awkwardly around you—“you know.”

“So you were the one who was with Jaehyun last night?”

“Yes.”

“And this morning before I picked you up?”

“Yes.”

“Are you two dating now?”

“Honestly, I really don't know,” you admitted. “Mark, please don’t tell anyone about this. Especially not those little shits, Chenle and Johnny.”

Mark gulped. “About that…”

Before you could question him, there was a chorus of loud clapping echoing from the locker rooms which was then followed by a few cheers. You grimaced as the two boys you didn’t want to see walked out: Chenle and Johnny, Tweedledee and Tweedledum themselves. They both wore cocky smirks as they shook their head at you, which made Mark a touch more nervous than he was before.

“Have anything to say for yourself, Y/N?” Chenle teased.

“Go to hell.” You scoffed and turned to Mark, narrowing in on him. “Why’d you bring them along? What are you? The three stooges?”

“We were looking for you so we could invite you to the movie night we were having in Jungwoo’s room!” Mark defended. “I swear, if I knew about you and Jaehyun, I never would’ve brought them along.”

You sighed deeply as Chenle snickered to himself. “Well, I guess Y/N can’t come to movie night since she has a date with—hold on, what did you call him again? The devil?”

“Okay, I get it!” You threw your hands up in defeat, eyes closed to show you were reflecting upon your actions. “I’m a dirty hypocrite and I’ve committed a crime worse than death.” You opened your eyes again. “I’m sorry.” To your surprise, Chenle and Johnny had their right hand up. You stared at it, puzzled. “Do you want me to make an oath or something?”

“In modern society,” Johnny explained, “we call it a high-five.”

It took you a few seconds to process their words before you tentatively gave them each a firm high-five. You blinked up at them before ease washed over you. This was how it always was, anyways. At the end of the day, no matter how much you guys bickered or teased each other, you always made up. That's what friends were for, after all.

“There we go,” you said, oddly satisfied. “For now, I’ll let go of the fact that Johnny snitched on me to Jaehyun behind my back.”

“How dare you!” Johnny gasped. “Chenle was with me.”

Chenle raised his hand to confirm the statement. “Indeed. Please give credit where it's due.”

“Alright, fuck you both.”

What the fuck even was a date?

This was foreign territory to you, but even so, you decided you wouldn’t rely on your annoying friends. First of all, you were sure they wouldn’t really be of any help and just endlessly tease you about it. Secondly, they were simply going to gradually grow more stressed (Mark), lecherous (Johnny), and aggravating (Chenle). Thus, you decided to slay the monster of first dates yourself.

Your first hurdle was looking cute. You packed absolutely nothing that wasn’t for the training camp, so you had already failed. Jaehyun was going to have to deal with you in your gym shorts and a school t-shirt.

Your second hurdle was sneaking away from Eunha, your roommate. That was a piece of cake considering how she didn’t exactly care. When you headed out of the room, wallet and phone in hand, she wished you a kind farewell, which you returned.

Your third hurdle was sneaking out of the hotel. You weren’t quite sure how you and Jaehyun made it outside without being spotted, but you were certain he must have tipped off some of the staff because there was no way the both of you could have walked straight out of the lobby without being reported. When you asked him, though, he said it was probably because you looked like the cleaning lady.

Needless to say, Jaehyun was on thin ice.

You loved Seoul, loved the dirty of it. Even at night, the city was alive and full of vigor, full of young people like you who were chasing cheap thrills. Jaehyun was a dream under the glowing lights, and you almost couldn’t believe that the prince-like boy was head-over-heels for you.

He took you to a wide alley with a night market, full of life and energy. Jaehyun was walking through the crowd and you were following right behind him, like some awkward fish swimming after a cuter, more popular fish upstream. There were several times where you almost lost yourself in the crowd, and Jaehyun noticed this. He reached behind him, still shouldering his way through the crowd, and grabbed your hand. The smell of spicy rice cakes, the numerous pop-up bars lining the alley, and Jeong Jaehyun gripping your hand—it all made a pretty eventful first date.

Jaehyun didn’t kiss you. Not once. He didn’t try to touch you anywhere that would have tempted you both into doing something you definitely shouldn’t do in public. There were times where Jaehyun turned pink or looked away from you shyly, and you indulged in it because this was a side of him you didn’t see often.

Jaehyun stopped at a convenience store before you both decided to head back. You waited outside for him, kicking stones as you thought of him. He was undeniably perfect, which you somewhat despised because you had spent the last two years hating his guts and this was an abrupt change. You were worried if he was buying you something; he had already bought you lamb skewers and rice cakes at the night market. You didn’t want to be the girlfriend to empty his wallet.

Wait—

Were you his girlfriend?

“Y/N,” he called when he walked out of the store, holding something behind his back with a sneaky grin. “Close your eyes.”

You bit back a smile and closed your eyes, holding your hands out. He placed the object in your hands and it felt light, so you were sure it shouldn’t have cost much. Although, your stomach was pitted with guilt at the thought of him spending money on you. You opened your eyes when he directed you to.

Plan B One-Step.

You no longer felt bad for him.

“Very romantic,” you observed, putting the packet in your wallet, “but thank you.”

You were seething. Your face grew unconditionally hot and you had to look down at your feet. It seriously pissed you off that your feelings were so clear right now because Jaehyun had bought you fucking Plan B.

Jaehyun seemed to notice right away and tilted your chin up with two fingers, chuckling. “Is something wrong?”

Your face screwed up when you decided on what you were going to ask him. “Are we dating?” you blurted out.

Jaehyun held your face gently like it would shatter if he applied any more pressure. His fingertips grazed the hinge of your jaw while his thumbs rested on your cheekbones. You were panicking when he leaned in, but it wasn’t what you expected. Jaehyun pressed a chaste kiss to your nose, grinning at your reaction. You reached up to trace his dimple with your finger.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, flustered beyond imagination, but you had already gotten this far so you continued, “do you?”

“Do I want to be your girlfriend?”

You wanted to hit yourself. “Fuck. I mean, do you wanna date me?”

“Of course,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

He drew you into his warm embrace and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how you hated this man for so long. Of course, when those cocky smirks and impish looks came back, you were sure you’d remember again. But right now, in his arms, you just knew that you wanted to be with him. You looked up at him, arms slung around him, and got on your toes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

You were positive you hadn’t ever seen Jeong Jaehyun blush before tonight, but it was a sight you were sure you could never get sick of.

And you never would.

8K notes · View notes

thinkingoutlouddblog · 3 years

Text

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist /// Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

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bluebudgie · 2 years

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10 YEARS OF GW2 – A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE

Hello peeps! As a little countdown to GW2's launch anniversary on August 28 I decided to dig up some old memories and take a small look at my personal journey through the game. Each day I'll make a post about another year.

DAY 5: 2016

Ah, 2016... if someone held me at gunpoint to name the GW2 year, for me that'd be this one. So many things that happened, so many new characters created... let's continue on the nostalgia road!

As teased last time, with Heart of Thorns came my back then favourite meta event:

The Battle in Tarir. I loved the amount of coordination and communication it took to succeed. The dynamic music that changed with the battle's phases really set the atmosphere. My favourite runs were those that took the whole 20 minutes of event time and then succeeded with 8 seconds left to spare on the timer. That happened more often than you'd think.

South gate was my gate, and boy did I push that egg bomb a lot. In the rare occasion that south wasn't last to finish after 5 (or more) excruciating burn phases, it was really fun to ping pong the bomb back and forth on the entrance stairs to wait for the other lanes.

Classic.

On that note... anyone remember multiloot? Likely the most toxic I've ever seen this game in open world pve, if you've known me at the time you know I was an avid and vocal anti-multilooter. Abandoning maps to hop onto 'better' maps after one regenerating octovine was all too common, and throwing insults left and right was the norm. Probably the only time I've seen people regularly compare the game to LoL and WoW. Still, in retrospect I'm kind of nostalgic for that era.

While Tarir was probably 50% of what my playthrough tag here was about at the time, let's not linger any longer. There was something else that filled the other 50%:

Excuse the language, but spiritwood planks were 13 gold per piece.

Ah.. Nevermore. My first legendary journey and by far most memorable to this day. Alongside the grind for crafting materials, it made me complete all the Heart of Thorns maps, level all my masteries (HoT was pretty stingy with mastery points before LS3 happened so that took a bunch of effort), and get into both WvW and fractals for the first time ever.

Along the way I met other people tackling this - at the time - most challenging legendary weapon to craft (alongside HOPE and Astralaria of course), and we've bonded with strangers through missed event chains, mastery point despair, and silverwastes chest farming (RIBA wasn't a thing yet as far as I'm aware).

After several very active months of tears and joy I got my first (and best!) legendary:

I still consider this my greatest achievement in this game. Also yes, I am literally this childish, I refuse to make use of the legendary armoury for this staff. I made it for this walnut and only he gets to use it. I won't even transmute it for other characters. Everyone else gets exotic and ascended staves. Is that silly? Yes. Do I care? No. His legendary. Noone else's. Main privileges.

By the way, Nevermore anon, are you still around? I always loved reading your messages here.

2016 had a lot of "first times" for me, which included doing all fractals my girlfriend and I managed to duo...

(we were not dressed as anakin and obi-wan to reenact the episode III mustafar fight scene for a really awful epic video in the volcano fractal)

...and doing all the story dungeons together.

Inquest brainworms were planted that day.

And I also joined Tyria Pride for the first time! We marched all the way to Silverwastes and through the entire jumping puzzle that year.

You know what else happened in 2016?

The return of Super Adventure Box! Not much to say about it really, as always it was a blast.

The months went by, I spent a lot of time with all HoT metas, replayed the HoT story on different characters, still fought Tequatl a lot, announced some Crashlanding achievements at the Claw of Jormag and at some point along the way picked up a minor Tangled Depths obsession. Speaking of which, check out this screenshot:

So much going on here. No HP% on the HP bar (was that a patch thing or was that an option I hadn't activated?), 4:20 (no meme intended) minutes left on timer until the cannons are charged and the event is far from over, all gerents moving to their third phase... a blast from the past. One-phase killing all gerents who? Didn't dream of that in 2016. Also I was an Ogre lane regular, I apologize. The other lane mechanics scared me too much. Until I found out there's nothing scary about SCAR and Rata. Nuhoch without mounts is a different story.

LS3 also started in 2016! Taimi's Game is one of my all time favourite story instances. Paired with the excellent music, Taimi announcing that Jormag (my favourite elder dragon that I had been waiting for for years....) had woken up was an amazing goosebumps moment.

Alas I somehow lost a large chunk of 2016 screenshots (and with that all the story ones) so have this memory instead:

You're welcome.

If I wanted to I could probably find plenty more things that went on in 2016, but this is getting long so let's wrap it up here. Onto 2017!

Permanent additions to the character roster that year:

That's a lot of new characters in a single year. At least it's not all Sylvari this time.

Links to all posts: 2012 // 2013 // 2014 // 2015 // 2016 // 2017 // 2018 // 2019 & 2020 // 2021 // 2022

#i think 8 burn phases at south is the maximum ive seen on a succeeding event #budgie plays gw2

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darklove9314-blog · 3 years

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Toxic Queen:Part 2

Disclaimer: part 2 is here!!! If you want to be added to the tag list please let me know!!

If there was one thing Nesta despised more in this entire world it was family dinners. ever since she was a small child, her mother had found the time for all of them to gather around and talk about their days.

On retrospect and to anyone whose family wasn’t hers, it sounded like a nice idea, a kindness, and a show of her mothers interest. What it truly was, was pure hell. having to sit there and plaster on a smile as she sat there with her siblings and got a weekly reminder that she was the fuck up of the family and her engagement to the wealthy, Eris Vanserra, heir to the Vanserra line was her only saving grace.

She hated him, with every fiber of her being she hated him. Sure when he was around, when he bothered to actually be in town and spend time with her, she played her part of dutiful fiancé. Being his arm candy at events, even when his obnoxious boss coped a few feels to make sure that Eris had a proper investment, she still plastered a smile on her face, laughed at all the cruel and crude jokes, let Eris rest his hands on her body even though his touch made her want to puke.

The truth was she had never been attracted to Eris. Had thought of him as insufferable from the moment they had first met at her parents annual Christmas bash. She didn’t even think they’d be engaged right now if it wasn’t for her mother and his father’s meddling in their personal life.

She still remembered her mother coming to her one day, her face stern as usual, and telling her that she was arranging a marriage between her and Eris.

Nesta had wanted to argue, but her mother had turned cold eyes on her, throwing her words out with as much venom as possible.

“You will marry Eris. You will wed him so our empires can align. You owe our family that much after that summer you had. A summer that nearly cost us everything. You will show the press that you are spoken for. That you are the perfect fiancé and wife. Even if you have to suck off Eris every night to accomplish that. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Nesta had gritted her teeth at her, but spat.

“Crystal.” As her mother walked away sealing her fate.

And she had tried to give Eris a chance. Had went to bed with him a couple of times. The results always lackluster. Although he had seemed to throughly enjoy using her body, a pussy was just a pussy to him and he had made it no secret that he was willing to come inside anyone as long as he was guaranteed to get off.

She hasn’t know when it had started, perhaps when she had felt the full effects of her own misery. Perhaps when she realized that she would soon be in a loveless marriage knocked up with Eris’s babies as he cheated on her with whatever was willingly available. He had already cheated three times as far as she was aware of. Had come home one day to a random women sucking his cock on the couch, claiming if she wasn’t willing he’s was more than willing to find someone who was.

That night she had gotten down on her own knees and sucked him dry, feeling humiliated, feeling as if she would never be good enough. It was her friend Emerie who offered the solution.

“Fuck someone else.” She had stated one day in Nesta’s apartment, Eris had been out of town for a business meeting and she had invited her two best friends Gwyn and Emerie over to have a girls night. Something they hadn’t done in a while.

Nesta had stopped mid scoop as she put the ice cream down and whirled towards Emerie.

“Your solution to his cheating is to cheat myself?“ she asked. Emerie shrugged.

“We’ll it’s not like you can leave without your mother and father disowning you and cutting you off from your family’s fortune. So do what any other rich housewife would do and take a lover to satisfy the things that Eris can not, it’s a win-win for everyone.” Emerie suggested earning a glance from Gwyn, who brought her cup of coffee to her lips.

“What do you think of this?” She asked Gwyn, she set down her coffee leveling her gaze with Nesta’s.

“I think Emerie is right.” Gwyn answered taking Nesta by surprise usually she was the one who stayed neutral in these kind of situations. Nesta glanced at her, tilting her head to the side.

“Eris has had his dick in at least twelve to thirteen girls since you two became a thing, and it’s only been two years. It may be just the thing you need to scratch that itch that you’ve been complaining to us about. And if he can do it, why can’t you? And eye for an eye. If you follow my meaning.”

She bit her lip, contemplating this idea, taking it into actual consideration, before she had Gwyn and Emerie help her set up a profile on several dating apps. Waiting for various replies for any potential suitors.

She had had a few bites, had a few awkward encounters with strangers in the night time before she had met him.

Nesta had gazed at Cassian’s physic for a while. Tattoos that went all down his glorious rippled body. Long shoulder length, curly black hair that had felt like silk when she had ran her hands through it last night. And this deep set hazel gaze that seemed to stare right back at her.

Emerie and Gwyn had looked at his photo, Emerie letting out a low whistle.

“Girl, if you don’t bang him-“ Emerie stated, Gwyn cut a glance to her as Emerie shrugged, “Just because I’m a lesbian doesn’t mean I can’t have an opinion on how hot a guy is. I just think he would be exactly Nesta’s type.”

Nesta’s finger lingered over it swiping right, not expecting a response, but when she had been standing by her bathroom sink carefully brushing her teeth for another night in a cold bed, her phone had chimed.

‘You have a match.” It had stated as Nesta had smiled that Cassian himself had been on the screen.

One night. She had promised herself. One night to get this out of her system, to get her brains fucked out of her before she had to commit to Eris. Perhaps he would be bad at sex and it would be easier for her to appreciate how Eris fucked her, but that was far from the case.

Cassian had fucked her in the ways she had always wanted to be fucked. Taking his pleasure at the same time letting her receive her own. A week later and she still had faint hickey marks from where he had sucked her neck. Marked her. Like he was trying to show other men that he had been there. Almost like he had known that she had been Betrothed to another and wanted Eris to see exactly what his fiancé was up to when he was away.

Nesta gazed upon them, picking up her foundation as she covered the marks sad to be doing so, but knowing that if her mother or father saw or God forbid her sisters and their significant others, she would be screwed.

When she was for sure that the hickeys were covered, putting her foundation in her purse just in case, Nesta strode over to her bed lying on it. She still had an hour or two to get ready, and she be damned if she went to this dinner without unwinding first.

Sighing, Nesta pulled out her bedside drawer, grabbing her vibrating message wand from within and pulling down her underwear, she had not bothered to get dressed yet as she flipped it on placing it on her clit, as she closed her eyes thinking about Cassian’s cock, his lips, and the way he had fucked her.

Her moans of pleasure filled the room, her hips undulating upward as she rocked her hips back and forth, a cry falling from her lips, her release upon when she heard.

“Now isn’t that a glorious sight.”

She gasped, the wand falling from her hand as she sat up, Eris leaning against the door frame, a small look of satisfaction on his lips. As if she had been thinking of him when she had been pleasuring herself.

“I thought you were out of town for another couple of days.” She stated feeling the blush creep up her cheeks as he made his way over to her caressing the inside of her left thigh.

“I was, but my last clients cancelled at the last minute. I thought I’d come back and surprise you, but-“ He leaned down to where he was by her ear, “turns out I was the one who was in for a surprise.”

His gaze swept down her body, satisfaction on his lips as his fingers went upward running through her wetness. She bit her lip.

“I have a dinner with my family tonight.” She blurred out. She at least thought she would have a few more days of the feel of Cassian inside of her before Eris replaced him, but she-she didn’t want that feeling to be over quite yet.

“I’m sure we have time before we have to leave.” Eris smiled, a primal, dominating look on his face.

Nesta frowned slightly, but let Eris flip her over feeling him at her entrance as he entered her. Not as deep as Cassian had gone, he could never reach those places with his length, but the sex he had given her was decent enough. Just not-mind blowing-earth shattering.

When he had spent himself pulling out of her before she could achieve her own orgasm, he rolled over lighting a cigarette, a habit he always had after sex. One she had always hated.

“See. Plenty of time for you to get ready.”

She gave him a smile, thinking she wouldn’t have had time to get ready if it had been Cassian fucking her. They had had plans to hook up that night after she had finished with her family dinner, but now she would have to put those plans on hold,

“I’m going to get dressed.” She told him pressing a brief kiss to his lips before grabbing her close and heading towards the bathroom.

She grabbed a washcloth, warning it up as much as possible as she ran it over herself before pulling out her phone to text Cassian

‘Something came up and I won’t be able to make it tonight.’ She texted him, a small surge of sadness going through her.

She turned her ringer to silent so Eris would not question who was texting her. As she got dressed in an outfit that was mother approved.

Nesta examine the baby blue wrap dress that hit mid thigh combing through her disheveled hair and putting it up in a cornet braid. A hairstyle her mother approved on her.

Sighing, Nesta dabbed on some makeup settling on a maroon red for her lips. Thinking she could have one thing about herself that didn’t please her mother. Her mother had always told Nesta that red was a whites color. Perhaps that was why she had pulled out one of her very few red dresses to get fucked by someone she hardly knew. The thought of it bringing a smile to her face.

After she was finished applying her makeup, Nesta glanced down at her phone to see a few text messages. One from Gwyn, One from Emerie, and one from Cassian that had been sent five minutes ago.

Nesta checked the outside of the room, glancing at Eris getting dressed, adjusting the collar of a brown shirt that her mother had given her for Christmas. Suck up.

She turned her attention back to her phone, opening the two text from Gwyn and Emerie herself, different variations of a “good luck tonight” from both of them. They knew how much being with her family stressed Nesta out.

After she had sent back a thanks to both of them, Nesta opened the text from Cassian, reading his text.

‘No problem, shit happens. Next week then?”

Nesta but her lip trying to think about Eris’s schedule. Perhaps she could lie to Eris about a girls night so she could scratch this particular itch. One more time. She thought, all she had to do was be with Cassian one more time.

‘Looking forward to it. Perhaps this time you’ll let me be on top’

A couple minutes passed before Cassian sent back a wink, making Nesta smile. The message making her more satisfied than sex with Eris had. She grabbed her purse from the counter, stuffing her phone back, and walked out of the room heading for the closet to grab her shoes.

Once she had located her clear ones, she shoved her feet into them, rising to meet Eris’s stare.

“You look beautiful.” He stated leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. There was no warmth in it. “I have something for you.”

Nesta plastered on a fake smile as Eris went to his suitcase and pulled out a necklace, it was simple, but enough to make Nesta’s smile faltered, she had always hated jewelry. Yet another thing that Eris had assumed about her.

“It’s pretty.” She stated as he took it out.

“Turn around I’ll put it on you.”

Nesta turned hoping that Eris would not wipe away the foundation that covered the hickeys on her neck. As the cold metal touched her throat, feeling heavy on her as Eris fastened the collapse.

“There now you’re perfect.” He smiled pressing a kiss to her throat beside one of the marks Cassian had left.

Nesta turned around, reaching her hand towards Eris’s as he took it and they went to go deal with her family.

The restaurant was quiet, just the way her mother liked it, as Nesta and Eris walked into the restaurant, Nesta spotting her mother and father, along with her two sisters and their husbands. Feyre’s hand resting upon her swollen stomach. Her mother had been ecstatic when she had found out, Nesta had just thought it was another way that Rhys had trapped her. Though she was happy for her baby sister. She had always wanted to be a mother. Nesta had no such inclinations at least not where Eris was involved.

But if Nesta hated Rhys, she despised her others sisters husband. Grayson sat next to her, looking every bit of the pompous ass that he was as Nesta and Eris slid in their seats, her mother turning eyes to her.

“About time you two showed up, we were about to start without you.” Her mother complained. They had only been late by five minutes, but punctuality was everything to her mother.

“Well we’re here now.” Nesta shot back crossing her ankles, trying to slouch slightly, her mother’s jaw clenching at the sight of it. Good.

Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but her father interjected,

“We should probably order, Nesta dear, do you want some champagne?” He asked. Nesta nodded, as her father poured her a glass, she would definitely need alcohol to survive this night. To survive the fact that Eris was by her side.

“So, Nesta, how is the job hunting going?” Rhys asked making Nesta narrow her eyes slightly.

Nesta gritted her teeth, Feyre giving her an apologetic look as Nesta answered,

“As I told Feyre, Rhysand, I already have a job.” Nesta growled out. Her mother’s face twisting in distaste.

“You mean the part time job at the bookstore, Nesta that isn’t a real job, perhaps you should reconsider Rhys’s offer to work for his company. That way you and your fiancé can have the same career and move up in the world.” Her mother interjected making Nesta’s jaw clench. Of course she would bring this up, it was the same old argument.

“I like my job at the bookstore, besides my boss is so impressed with me that she’s thinking about promoting me to full time.” She stated and it was true.

She swore her mother and Rhysand rolled their eyes, but Elain gave her a smile trying to smooth over the tension.

“That’s great, Nesta.” Nesta smiled at her.

“How is your flower shop coming along, Elain?” Nesta asked, a genuine smile spreading over Elain’s lips.

“It’s amazing. Business is really coming along this month. I’m booked for the floral arrangements of five separate weddings. I can’t wait to see the look on all the brides faces when everything is finished.” Elain gushed.

“I’m glad for you, Elain.” Nesta smiled.

“Maybe next month you can come in and look at floral arrangements for your own wedding.” Elain suggested taking a sip of her drink.

Nesta nearly gritted her teeth, truth be told she hadn’t done much planning for this wedding. She wanted no part in it in the first place and her mother, well even if Nesta did make a choice of had to be approved by her mother first.

Her mother looked to Elain, answering for Nesta.

“We’ll have to find Nesta the perfect dress first and of course get her brides maids and maid of honor a dress. Speaking of which dear have you picked who your maid of honor is going to be or the venue or anything like that?“ Her mother asked.

“Not yet.” Nesta answered. “I’m looking at venues right now.”

She thought it was easier to lie about that than to let her mother know she wasn’t planning the wedding at all. It was hard to plan a wedding that wasn’t her choice in the first place.

“Have you narrowed it down?” She asked pushing for further information.

“I have a list. It’ll take me some time.”

“We’ll try not to take too long, darling. A lot of venues get booked well in advance, you wouldn’t want to miss out on a great opportunity just because you were being indecisive.”

Nesta clenched her jaw, Feyre’s eyes flickering over to her.

“I can set you an appointment at my wedding venue. It was quite beautiful and they did a good job with the initial set up. And if it’s not to your liking, I’m sure Mor would be happy to assist you like she did me.” Feyre offered.

“Thanks for the offer Feyre. I’ll take it under consideration.”

Feyre nodded as the waiter stopped them mid conversation to take their order.

When the waiter looked to Nesta for her order, Eris frowned slightly at her choice, her eyes flickering g over to him.

“What?” She asked.

“Are you sure you don’t want the salad instead? I thought you were trying to watch your figure?”

Both Elain and Feyre flinched at the question.

“I don’t think one steak will hurt, Eris.” She interjected.

“At least order a salad as a side so you can balance it out. You wouldn’t want to not be able to fit into your dress during our big day.”

She clenched her jaw, but ordered the side salad so there would not be an argument both Feyre and Elain giving her sympathetic looks as they placed their own orders.

She hated those looks, hated that she had to deal with them instead of just being happy on her own. Her mid lingered back to Cassian. He had not had such complaints about her body. Had lavished it as if it was his own personal sanctuary. Perhaps she shouldn’t have cancelled on him tonight. She looked down at her phone contemplating.

“I have to use the ladies room.” She told her family, getting up before anyone could say anything, checking the stalls before she looked at herself in the mirror. The makeup still doing their best to cover the marks Cassian had left. The ones that still thrilled her. The ones she wanted more of. She was about to text him when her mother’s voice held her in place.

“What are you doing?“ her mother spat, eyes narrowed.

“I’m obviously trying to freshen up. mother.” She answered. “Wouldn’t want to look anything else but perfect, wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t patronize me, young lady. You don’t think I know exactly what you’re up to?” Her mother confronted her as Nesta pulled out the tube of her maroon lipstick reapplying it.

“And what exactly am I up to, mother?” She questioned before her mother went up to her, her hand darting out so quick that Nesta hadn’t known what she was doing before she wiped the foundation from Nesta’s neck digging her nails into the flesh of Nesta’s arm and exposing the hickeys that laid underneath the surface.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, you ignorant child. Who is he?” She asked, her nails digging in harder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nesta spat, her mother’s grip tightening, Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if she bruised with how hard her mother was gripping her.

“Don’t play dumb with me, child. Who gave you those hickeys?”

“How do you know it wasn’t Eris who gave them to me?” Nesta snapped back. Her mother let out a low laugh.

“Those would be fresh if that were the case, these ones seem like they’re almost healed, so I’ll ask you again, who is he?”

“You wouldn’t know him.” Nesta told her jerking her arm out of her mother’s grasp. And her mother wouldn’t. Nesta had opted to hook up with guys out of their social circle so there were no chances that this would get out to the wrong people.

“Did you fuck him?“ Her mother growled out. Nesta’s smile curled into a smirk of satisfaction.

“What do you think?“ Nesta challenged tilting her head up so her hickeys were on full display, her mother trembled in anger.

Nesta let out a low laugh, satisfied by her mother’s reaction as she turned back to the mirror pulling out her foundation to recover the hickeys.

“And before you ask, it was worth it. I couldn’t walk for days after he was finished with me.”

Her mother’s jaw clenched as she responded,

“You’ll end this thing with him right now, Nesta or I swear to God I’ll-“

Nesta turned narrowing her gaze at her mother,

“You’ll what? Tell Eris? Put a wedge in your own plans, No. You’re not going to say shit to him. Not when you need this marriage to work.”

“You spoiled, ignorant-“

Nesta lifted her hand up, silencing her mother’s words.

“Here’s how this is going to work, my dearest mother, you’re going to keep your mouth shut about me fucking another guy, and you’ll continue to do so, because I am getting fucked by him again, or I’ll tell Eris myself and let him really know why you needed this arranged marriage.”

Her mother blanched, a stunned look on her face.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Her mother breathed.

“Try me and find out. Until then keep your mouth shut, and I’ll continue playing the part of dutiful fiancé. But for right now, I’m getting out of here.” Nesta stated, moving towards the door, her mother turned to her.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To have some real fun. Tell Eris I had to run out for a friend emergency and probably won’t be back until later.”

“Nesta!”

“Goodbye mother.” She said exited the restroom, taking a brief glance at the dinner table where they were all distracted before Nesta left the restaurant to get what she truly wanted.

Cassian sighed watching the television, his hands down his pants stroking himself, trying to relieve himself when a persistent knock sounded at the door.

Cassian took his hand off his cock, zipping up his jeans, not bothering to put his shirt back on as he went to the door and opened it to see Nesta Archeron herself. Well. This was an unexpected surprise.

A light blue dress cling to her body, wet from the rain that had started outside, the outline of her breast visible, wet strands of her hair clung to her as Cassian’s eyes traveled down to the length of her dress. To the tie where all it would take was him untying it to expose that glorious body of hers.

I’m her hands, Nesta held pizza and a case of beer, making Cassian lift his eyebrow in question,

“I thought you were at dinner?” He asked.

“Left before the main courses even arrived. I figured I’d rather eat with you, unless eating is the last thing on your mind.” She breathed.

Cassian gestured for her to come inside, shutting g the door behind her as his hands went to that God damned tie. Undoing it, exposing that glorious body she had underneath. Her bra and panties clinging to those voluminous curves of hers. God, how much he wanted to fuck her right now.

“You want to do this?” He asked her running his hands over her curves, pulling her closer to him feeling the heat of her body. Glancing down at the want in her eyes. Her heated gaze.

“Yes.” She breathed, her hands going to her dress sliding it off her body. “On one condition.”

Her lips were close to his as she placed her hand on his chest, leading him to his bed.

“And what’s that?” He asked as she climbed on top of him undoing his pants watching his cock spring free.

“I get to be on top.”

Tag List:

@vinylcryes

#nesta archeron #nessian #nesta #cassian #acosf #a court of silver flames #acosf spoilers #nessian fanfiction #fanfiction #toxic nessian

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abyranss · 3 years

Note

Considering how much Nagisa enjoys her witch form, how do you think she felt when she first transformed into Bebe? (before Madokami was a thing).

Before Madokami was a thing? So like when she first transformed into Charlotte? I tend to think of Bebe as the version of her that exists in her witch form with the semi-clarity of mind afforded to her by being Nagisa at the same time, which is something that only happened after Madokami came about.

But when she first became Charlotte? We actually know the exact thoughts running through her head when she transformed.

“Oh, that’s right. Where’s the cheese? There are so many snacks here. I bet there’s even cheese that I’ve never tasted before.”

“Cheese, cheese, where’s the cheese? I’m hungry. Where’s the cheese? Mommy doesn’t have enough love for me. Enough what? Not enough cheese. What Mommy likes is what Nagisa likes.”

“Cheese, cheese, where’s the cheese? What do I want? I want cheese. I want more love than I could ever carry.”

- Nagisa's Wish Event, Magia Record

She wasn't totally aware of her surroundings at that point, and I don't think she was really conscious enough of her own personhood to think about her new existence in comparison to her old one. But after the fact, after Madokami took her and she was able to look back on her past lives in retrospection, I think Nagisa perceived her time as a witch as something closer to her ideal life than her time as a human was.

As Charlotte she was powerful and free to do whatever she wanted without needing to concern herself with any responsibilities she had to herself or others. Charlotte could have existed forever, living a life of gluttony, and miserable only for the fact that the cheese/love she really wanted would be forever outside her grasp.

But Nagisa was already miserable anyway.

As Nagisa she was constrained. Unable to decide things for herself and tethered to the imaginary relationship she was expected to have with her mother.

She never got a chance to try out life as a magical girl, but maybe if she'd still had hope it could have turned out better than either of the other two options.

I think her ideal life, and it's not something she realised she wanted when she chose to become a magical girl and run away because I don't think she had much of a goal in mind at all, involves her being able to choose the people she wants in her life instead of having everything forced upon her. Her lack of responsibilities as Charlotte was only a good thing because she'd never experienced having those kinds of connections with anyone she wanted to be around.

That changed during Rebellion, and if Homura's fake world were to be disassembled and Madokami returned to the Law of Cycles, Nagisa would be made to leave it behind again by a higher power she never chose to begin with.

#ask #pmmm

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kicksaddictny · 3 years

Text

Michael Jordan's '86 Specially-Altered, Game-Worn & Signed Air Jordans on Heritage Auctions Block

It has been nearly two years since The Last Dance pulled Michael Jordan off the sidelines and back into the spotlight; two years since the documentary series sparked new debates about who's really The Greatest of All Time; two years since old rivalries were rekindled and stale stories were spun into fresh fables. Which means it has been two years since collectors clamored anew for MJ's rookie cards and game-worn sneakers and sweat-stained jerseys. And still, the rush remains. Look no further than the fragment of a keepsake that sold in December — a record-shattering $264,000 paid for the stub of a ticket that gave its holder admission to an Oct. 26, 1984, basketball game at Chicago Stadium pitting the Washington Bullets against the hometown Bulls. This was the game in which a 21-year-old Jordan made his NBA debut, scoring 16 points, nabbing six rebounds, garnering seven assists and blocking four shots in the Bulls' 106-93 win over Washington. The stadium is long gone; so, too, most of the ticket stubs from the baller's debut; PSA counts just 20 from Jordan's first tip in its population report, a staggering low number for a game attended by more than 13,000. Hence, the record-setting sale in December — the "most expensive collectible sports ticket ever sold," ESPN noted at the time — which paves the way for an even more spectacular offering in February. Heritage Auctions will offer in its Feb. 26-27 Winter Platinum Night Sports Auction several extraordinary Jordan items, chief among them a specially altered pair of Jordan's game-worn and signed Nike Air Jordan 1s from an April 1986 game in Milwaukee. In any other auction, those photo-matched sneakers would own center stage. But one item also in the event threatens to seize the spotlight from Air Jordan's Air Jordans: the only complete ticket from Jordan's October 1984 debut known to exist, authenticated and slabbed by PSA. "I've been wholly aware of what's going on with Michael Jordan's debut stubs for several years, and always saw that particular item as one of the coolest pieces of MJ memorabilia you could purchase," says Heritage Sports Consignment Director Chris Nerat. "And I always thought I would get a phone call from someone with that elusive complete ticket, because surely one existed. Well, that call came about three weeks ago, and the first thing I said was, 'I have been waiting on this call. I always knew it would happen at some point. I just didn't think it was going to be today.'" That caller was Michael Cole, who, in 1984, was a Washington, D.C., native starting classes at Northwestern University in Evanston, some 14 miles and a long train ride from Chicago. As Cole writes in the letter of provenance accompanying the ticket, he was a deeply passionate basketball fan, especially when it came to his hometown Bullets. As it happened, his family was friends with Bullets executive vice president Jerry Sachs, "and my father was hoping to surprise me with tickets to the Bulls' season opener considering the Bullets were their visiting opponent." Sachs had two tickets waiting for Cole at Chicago Stadium will-call. Problem was, given the lengthy trek from Evanston to Chicago, the teenager could find no one willing to accompany him. So he merely pocketed the extra ticket, and kept it with "my collection of tickets from other memorable sporting events I had attended." As Cole notes in his letter, "It's funny to me in retrospect that my primary enthusiasm for attending the game was to support my hometown team more so than witnessing the start of Michael Jordan's legendary career." Besides, Cole notes, he'd seen Jordan play plenty — as one of the North Carolina Tar Heels who constantly bedeviled his beloved Maryland Terrapins. "It's hard to imagine a ticket from any sporting event more valuable or significant than this one," Nerat says. "Sure, a whole ticket from Jackie Robinson's Ebbets Field debut would be up there, as would one from Babe Ruth's first appearance. But as far as we know, none of those exist, which makes this, for now, the Mona Lisa of ticket collecting." Which makes these Air Jordans ... The Starry Night of shoe collecting? Close enough.

Since The Last Dance, certainly, early MJ game-worn Nikes remain deeply coveted, highly valuable items, as evidenced by last year's $1.47 million sale of Air Ships worn during that rookie season. Nike unveiled the Air Jordan 1 the following season, and they instantly became the go-to shoe for every would-be baller and Jordan himself, especially the red-white-and-black-swoosh Chicago model Jordan favored during the kicks' kick-off season. The Air Jordans offered in the Winter Platinum Night event were worn by Jordan during the Bulls' 116-107 loss to the 53-win Milwaukee Bucks on April 1, 1986, a night Jordan came off the bench to score 28 points. Jordan played in a mere 18 games that season after suffering a broken foot, which he refused to stay off as the playoffs approached. As Jordan later recounted in The Last Dance, he threw a tantrum when told to stay on the bench for fear of reinjuring the foot: "I just lost it." As the Winter Platinum Night catalog notes, these Air Jordans "were slightly altered from their standard format to mitigate the threat to Jordan's healing bones, trading out the standard soles for examples used on 'Nike Dunk' models, which were both softer and wider." That alone makes them unlike any other pair of Air Jordans worn before or after. Further, and most important, these shoes have been photo-matched to the April Fool's Day tussle with the Bucks. A photo from the April 2, 1986, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel is among the exhibits revealing a manufacturing error: The right shoe, signed with a ballpoint by Jordan, "is missing the third eyelet down from the top of the shoe," reads a letter from MeiGrayGroup, the authentication service with whom the consignor registered the shoes. A second photo also reveals "the large white scuff on the left side of the shoe," according to MeiGray. It's clear, too, these were Jordan's Jordans, as inside each shoe is a white stamp — the Nike code — that reads, "13 860304STPS." Air Jordan collectors know what that means: These are size 13 shoes manufactured between March and April of 1986, with "ST" noting the site of production and "PS" meaning "Player Sample," meaning these were meant for Jordan alone ... until someone else scores the sneakers in February. "I was incredibly excited when the initial inquiry came in for a pair of Jordan game-worn and photo-matched Air Jordan 1s, as these are considered to be the pinnacle for game-worn Jordan sneaker collectors," says Chris Ivy, founder and president of Heritage Sports. "These are the most iconic sneakers in the world, worn by their namesake in competition — and photo-matched to top it off. As any sneaker collector will tell you, photo-matching sneakers to game action from this period or before is an incredibly difficult task. Thankfully, the manufacturing error with the missing eyelet allowed these sneakers to be verified as being the exact pair on Jordan's feet during this April 1986 game. Should collectors pass on this pair today, they will kick themselves tomorrow." Heritage Auctions is the largest fine art and collectibles auction house founded in the United States, and the world's largest collectibles auctioneer. Heritage maintains offices in New York, Dallas, Beverly Hills, Chicago, Palm Beach, London, Paris, Geneva, Amsterdam and Hong Kong. Heritage also enjoys the highest Online traffic and dollar volume of any auction house on earth (source: SimilarWeb and Hiscox Report). The Internet's most popular auction-house website, HA.com, has more than 1,500,000 registered bidder-members and searchable free archives of five million past auction records with prices realized, descriptions and enlargeable photos. Reproduction rights routinely granted to media for photo credit.

#auction #jordans #kicksaddict #jordan #airjordan1

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caffeinated-cryptid · 4 years

Text

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil).

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

------------------

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

------------------

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

------------------

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

------------------

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

------------------

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

------------------

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city? Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

------------------

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

------------------

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

------------------

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt!

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard. He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-" Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you." Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

#sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #creativitwins #platonic prinxiety #platonic royality #my writing #that's a tag now ig #....i've stared at this for so long idk if it's good anymore #bruised but not broken

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 55

Emperor Wei WuXian And His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Birthday

Google Docs file

“I want to see A-Yuan.”

WangJi suppresses a sigh, and makes no response.

Jiang WanYin, who has likely never suppressed a single thing in his life, bristles like a cat, “Are you deaf, as well as stupid? The Lan Sect Leader has ordered that you rest. Granny Wen has ordered that you rest. You are not going.”

Slumped against the pillows, Wei Ying does appear feeble and weak, his body motionless in a way that suggests an exhaustion too deep for needless activity. It had taken a long time to remove all the trappings of rank necessary for the audience he had held. It had not taken nearly as long as the initial preparation, but long enough where even Lady Jiang had looked worn down by the process. WangJi’s task during this time had involved standing on the other side of the screen, listening to the faint mutters, and being handed layers upon layers of silk. The disrobing process had resulted in a succession of whispering, slithering sounds, both of silk against silk, and silk against Wei Ying’s skin, sounds that will doubtlessly haunt him in his dreams.

He is not precisely tired, but he is beginning to feel brittle in an unfamiliar way. The day had been long and stressful, allowing no time for contemplation and reflection. There will be consequences to the assistance the Lan Sect had provided to the Emperor. There will be consequences to such a blatant attack on the Divine Ruler, and these consequences may range anywhere from a set of executions, to an outright war. There will be consequences to Wei Ying’s actions today, the audience he had held, his defense of Wen RuoHan, his order for the immediate release of the Wen Sect from the Imperial dungeons.

Only days ago, WangJi would have disregarded the majority of these events as issues beyond his scope of understanding and responsibility, but today, he cannot. Soon enough, this will be his world as well. The Second Young Master of a disgraced Sect need only obey. The Emperor Consort must understand the complexities of ruling an Empire, the consequences of each decision made, the hierarchy governing the sect relations, and the full scope of the delicate balancing act that keeps the Empire peaceful and prosperous.

This is the cost of marrying Wei Ying, a price that WangJi is more than willing to pay. But it is a cost made no less overwhelming by his willingness.

Wei Ying’s expression turns stubborn, “He is alone among strangers, thinking I am on my death bed. I want to see him.”

“Wei WuXian,” Jiang WanYin says tightly, “if you can get up right now and walk out of this palace on your own two feet, you can go see A-Yuan, or go straight to hell for all I care.”

Lady Jiang may have acquiesced to his request, but she had taken her leave. The Imperial guards could have been ordered to carry Wei Ying anywhere he desires to go, but this would defeat the purpose of keeping the child hidden.

Wei Ying had been ordered to sleep.

WangJi thinks, if he could only be persuaded to close his eyes and stop speaking for a moment, the exhaustion he is trying so hard to ignore would accomplish the rest.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, turning his head, his eyes large and shining, “I want to see A-Yuan.”

Wisps of hair are stuck to his cheek, curving around the line of his jaw. His face is pale, but his lips are no longer bloodless, hovering just on the verge of a pout. WangJi knows that this is an expression Wei Ying has used before; he has seen it turned on Lady Jiang, and he has seen it throughly shatter her resolve. He remembers thinking Lady Jiang too easily swayed by such obvious tactics. He remembers thinking that he, himself, would never fold so easily by a mere hint of a pout.

WangJi is a fool. Love must permanently remove the most essential parts of one’s brain, because he can say absolutely nothing in response to Wei Ying’s plea.

Instead, his mind unhelpfully provides the memory of Wei Ying’s braid coiled in his lap. Wei Ying’s temple pressed to the side of his neck. The rich scent of ripe pears. The curve of Wei Ying’s waist through the heavy silk of the Imperial dragon robes.

Underneath these memories, his mind is hopelessly sifting through possible solutions to the issue. Wei Ying most certainly can not walk out of the palace on his own two feet. He can not cross his own chambers without being supported, and would likely need to be carried any longer distances. A-Yuan cannot be brought to him, as the situation at court is still dangerously tense, and the child must remain hidden.

“If you attempt this,” WangJi says carefully, “you will fall ill before you reach him. It will scare the child, to see you so weak. But if you must go see him, I will carry you.”

Jiang WanYin splutters.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen.

The expression on his face, the baffled disbelief slowly melting into a familiar softness, is so open, so transparent, that WangJi feels his own face heat in response. He is suddenly finding the embroidery on Wei Ying’s bed curtains extremely fascinating.

“You are both right,” Wei Ying says after a few moments, “I should not go tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Ugh,” Jiang WanYin says, “Now I feel ill too. Just go to sleep.”

“You leave first,” Wei Ying says, “I want to speak to Lan Zhan.”

Jiang WanYin makes a noise. It is a wordless one, but it still manages to perfectly express a hefty dose of disgust. He leaves quickly, as if afraid that Wei Ying will begin to speak to Lan Zhan before he has managed to make his exit.

Wei Ying reaches out, but seems to do so unthinkingly, the motion immediately interrupted by a hiss of pain. Perhaps the wrist injury is not the most serious one he had suffered, but WangJi has noticed him forget that particular pain often enough, where each resurgence catches him by surprise. In two steps, he finds himself by the bed, but once there, he is forced to stop and practice some self-restraint.

“You promised to be more careful,” he says, “The Head Healer should have strapped that arm to your chest.”

He means it as an admonishment, but his voice does a poor job conveying anything other than worry.

“It does not hurt,” Wei Ying lies with a smile, “Come sit next to me. That way, I do not need to move much.”

Only moments ago he had insisted that he is well enough to visit A-Yuan. Now, he is too weak to move on his own, and must have WangJi sit by his side.

WangJi wonders why these brazen tactics, which would be abhorrent in anyone else, are so irresistibly appealing when employed by Wei Ying. He wonders if there is anything about Wei Ying that will ever be unappealing. He is, again, forced to consider the possibility that love makes one unbearably stupid, and that this is precisely why he has already moved to sit down by Wei Ying, without giving the consequences of such action any further thought.

Wei Ying reaches for him again, the moment he has settled on the side of the bed, and WangJi takes his hand carefully, supporting the splinted wrist with his palm.

“You said you would not move.”

“I forgot,” Wei Ying says shamelessly, his fingers warm against WangJi’s pulse.

“You should sleep,” WangJi admonishes.

“I will,” Wei Ying says quickly, “but I have not-- had the chance to speak to you. After-- the Gifting Ceremony.”

His gaze lowers to their joined hands, fingers restless against WangJi skin, despite the fact that even this small movement must pain him.

“A great deal has happened,” he goes on, the words rushed, “There is so much I was not aware of before. About YanLing DaoRen, and his use of resentful energy, and this-- apparent affinity for demonic cultivation present in his descendants. The Lan Sect takes pride in the purity of their cultivation techniques. Over the centuries, they alone have remained unblemished by unorthodox practices.”

He falls silent then, letting WangJi try and make sense of the words on his own. This feels much akin to Wei Ying’s proposal, where WangJi must separate the words, then place them in a different order, just to discern the meaning behind them.

Once he does, however, he feels frustration and fondness flood him in equal measures.

“I still want to marry you, Wei Ying.”

“You--“ Wei Ying shifts, “Are you not worried? This affinity does not bother you?”

“Will you begin practicing demonic cultivation?” WangJi counters.

“What? Of course not!”

“Then it does not matter,” WangJi says firmly.

“How can it not matter?” Wei Ying says, agitated, “YanLing DaoRen nearly destroyed the Empire. He slaughtered thousands. How can you be sure that his madness will not become my own?”

WangJi, prepared to call his assertion utter nonsense that it is, pauses before speaking. It had not occurred to him that Wei Ying would be so throughly rattled by Nie HuaiSang’s revelation.

In retrospect, it seems obvious that this had to have been the purpose of Xue ChengMei’s story. To sow doubts and fears, not just in Wei Ying, but in all those closest to the Emperor. A filthy tactic, meant to cause chaos and uncertainty. It is no wonder that Song ZiChen had demanded no one speak to the boy.

“Wei Ying,” WangJi says carefully, “You are not YanLing DaoRen. I am not Lan ZhongYi. We exist under the shadow of those who came before us, and bear the burdens they have placed on our shoulders. But we are not them.”

Wei Ying’s breath stutters, his fingers pressing against WangJi’s wrist.

“But--“

“We spoke of Lan ZhongYi, and the reasons behind his actions. Do you remember what I said to you?”

“My mother did not kill Xu XiaoYun,” Wei Ying says softly.

“And I did not kill the Empress,” WangJi responds.

The words feel much lighter than he had imagined they could be, if ever spoken out loud.

Wei Ying falls silent, a rare enough occurrence where WangJi allows it to happen. There are now dark shadows under his eyes, and it takes a great deal of restraint not to issue another reminder about the necessity for rest, and long, uninterrupted sleep. Perhaps Wei Ying’s stubbornness requires a different type of approach. WangJi is starting to believe that any firm insistence on a specific course of action is more likely to propel Wei Ying in a completely opposite direction. This is something that will require further thought.

“You still want to marry me?” Wei Ying says, the corner of his mouth now slightly lifted, an expression that is not quite serious, but not quite teasing either.

“Yes,” WangJi says, “I still want to marry you.”

Wei Ying grins, shifting a little closer, “Will you allow me to make the announcement? Before the Lan Sect departs?”

WangJi is certain that the events of the last few days have already reached Cloud Recesses. The delay to consult with the Elders seems pointless now, as the rumors of the betrothal have been running rampant since the last Sect Leader meeting. Uncle’s actions, during and after the Gifting Ceremony, must have only served to reinforce these rumors.

It is difficult to decide which course of action will result in greater impropriety. An immediate announcement, or a lengthy delay, during which the entire court will ruthlessly judge his every interaction with the Emperor. The Emperor who is wholly unashamed of expressing his affection, and insists on behaving as if they are already betrothed.

WangJi sighs, “You must obtain uncle’s approval for the announcement.”

“Will you come and visit A-Yuan with me tomorrow?”

WangJi nods. It is a small enough request, and he is fond enough of the child where a visit would not be a chore.

“Will you spend the night?”

“Wei Ying!”

It is unbearable, the sheer number of times Wei Ying can make his face heat in a single day. How can an Emperor be so utterly shameless?

“Ahh, Lan Zhan, do not be angry. I only meant that you should stay in the Imperial chambers. What if I were to fall ill during the night and need assistance?”

Carefully, WangJi places his hand back down, and rises from the bed, “If this is the case, we should summon the Head Healer right now, and request that she spend the night in the Imperial chambers.”

Wei Ying splutters, “Wait-- that--“

“I would not want to take the chance of you falling ill during the night.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, “Why are you so cruel? Can I not ask my future husband to spend the night with me?”

“No, you may not.”

“What if I were to find myself unable to sleep, and in need of company?”

“Summon the Royal Companion. I am sure he will be equal to the task.”

“But--“

WangJi bows deeply, “Good night, Your Majesty. I will take my leave now.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice follows him out into the hall, “Hey, Lan Zhan! Wait!”

WangJi closes the door behind him, and turns to the nearest guard, “His Majesty requires the presence of the Royal Companion. And the Head Healer.”

The guard does not question the order.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #wangxian #wei wuxian is whiny #lan wangji is mortified #jiang cheng hates them both #we're gonna check on xue yang next #then find out what nie mingjue has planned #at least one person will die by the last chapter #but they will have deserved it #thank you for all the nice comments guys #ily chickens

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