#//It's from the latter three that any caring gestures towards him would mean the most. Diluc; Rosaria; and the Traveler | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

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davidmann95 · 3 years

Note

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

#Superman and The Authority #Superman #The Authority #Manchester Black #Grant Morrison #Mikel Janin #Jordie Bellaire #Steve Wands #Opinion

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anime-corner · 3 years

Text

Unmiss You I Iwaizumi H.

A/N: So, I basically don’t know how it turned out like this... Not proud of this one though, kind of am? It’s honestly confusing. But hey, hope you like it!

Two A.M. At least that was the time that was shown on his phone. He couldn't remember how long since then. Or how it happened. He just knew that he fucked up.

The device rang in his hand, answering quickly, not bothering to check the caller I.D., hoping that it was you, "yeah?"

"Aww, Iwa-chan! That was quick! Did you miss me that much?" He scoffed, throwing the phone on his bed, the call on speaker as he laid back down, his arm draped over his eyes.

"What do you want, Oikawa?" He asked without the usual insult to the setter's name.

"Are you… still thinking about her?" The caller said, careful in his words, "Besides, it's what? Almost three? You're usually not up this early."

"Why do you care?" He huffed as he thought about it. He never did stay up late or woke up early unless it was to give Oikawa the support he needed. But this time it was different, he knew that, and that was because he was waiting for you.

"Geez, of course, I care! You're my best friend! And it's obvious that you're miserable without her." Oikawa could hear shuffling on the other end.

"What do I do then? She won't answer my calls o-or reply back to my messages." Iwaizumi held out a pillow, throwing it across the room in frustration, "Hell, I can't even get a glimpse of her without those crows stopping me!!"

"Maybe… She wants to move on?" It was silent for a few moments as he debated in his mind. Was she really?

"... I hope not. Because wouldn't it be unfair if… she gets to forget everything when all I want is to get her back?" He gripped onto his dark hair, tears threatening to spill, his firm look shattering to pieces, "She's all that I think about after that game. She's in my dreams, within my vision… I could even hear her at times but…"

"But what?" A heavy sigh left Iwaizumi's lips as he succumbed to his thoughts.

"You're right… Maybe, she doesn't want me back. I can't just rewind time to make it right. I can't go back to before I fell for her, to stop myself from meeting her and undo everything because I know that I'll just end up liking her. Loving her." It wasn't like him to act like this.

He was stubborn. He wouldn't stop at anything like a breakup. Instead, he'd do anything to get you back. But, with how he was right now, he doubts that he'd be able to. That's just what was running inside his head. Full of doubt and regret.

"It would have been easier that way…" Oikawa comments, giving out a sigh as well.

"Yeah, no shit. But like you said, maybe she wants to move on. And I just have to live with the fact that you can't easily unmiss a person you so badly miss." Iwaizumi let out a growl of annoyance, hearing noises from the other side of the screen, "Oi Kusokawa, are you still listening!?!"

"Get up. Out of bed. I'll pick you up in thirty minutes." He had to blink a couple of times, trying to register the words of his friend.

"What do you mean you'll pick me up!? Oi, don't come over or I'll kick your ass!"

"Just do it, will you Hajime?" Iwaizumi mumbles incoherent words to himself, debating whether or not he should. In the end, he gives in.

"Whatever."

Forcing himself out of his bed, he dressed with what he thought was okay looking. A long sleeve grey shirt and ripped jeans, not bothering to look good for something Oikawa had planned for him. It was useless, he thought. A distraction was useless. A knock came as he opened it, the setter eyed his friend from top to bottom.

"You look like shit." Oikawa said as he went in, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, thanks sherlock." He rolled his eyes, closing the door.

"What's with the outfit? Come on, I'll get you something else." The setter darted towards his room, opening the closet for something the dark-haired male to wear.

"Why are you here, Oikawa? I'm assuming you aren't here just to take my mind off of her." Iwaizumi questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Actually, I asked (y/n) if she could just hear you out. She'll be meeting us at the park." Oikawa admitted, already preparing for the worse.

"YOU DID WHAT!? YOU IDIOT! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?" Hands wrapped around the collar of Oikawa's shirt, face dangerously close and seething with rage.

"Because you're both hurting! See for yourself!" He got out his phone, scrolling through the messages he and two of Karasuno's members had been exchanging, "Both Tobio-chan and that Small Fry has been sending me pictures of her during their practice and she's trying her best to cope, struggling just the same as you."

"Shut up Assikawa!! (y/n)... She doesn't want me back. If she did, we would have fixed our relationship by now." "I lost her because I messed up. And--" Oikawa threw a pair of jeans with an oversized dark blue denim jacket and a grey hoodie.

"Here. Wear this." It was also the same one he wore when they watched the game between Karasuno and Shiratorizawa, "That's what you wore on your first date, right?"

"I… yeah."

"Good. I'm sure she'd like it if you wore that instead. I'll give you ten minutes to freshen up." He left Iwaizumi to get ready, closing the door behind him, "Or at least, as much as you possibly can. Geez, I can't believe you're an emotional wreck!"

Was it okay? Was it okay to see you? Did you hate him? Or did you still care? Was there still a chance for the two of you to get back together? More questions than answers and honestly, he only wanted to know if you'd take him back again.

"Hey, are you really sure she'll be there?" He got out of his room, wearing the clothes Oikawa handed him.

"I'm sure but…" Looking at him up and down again, a smile on his lips. His usual cheerful and outwardly carefree expression was on his face, "Look at my Iwa-chan, all grown up and ready to get his girl back!"

"Shut up! This was your idea!"

"Huh? Does that mean you don't really plan on fixing all of this? Are you giving up?" Iwaizumi choked on nothing, that wasn't his intention. He wasn't giving up. He just didn't know how to.

"That's not…" He was struggling to get his words out.

"Just kidding, Iwa-chan~!" Oikawa received a hit behind the head, one of the usual violent punishments he would get from his best friend, "Gah! What'd you hit me for?!"

"Shut up!"

"Is your vocabulary only limited to that?"

"Shut up!"

The walk towards the meeting place was quiet. He was uneasy. What were you even expecting from him? A sorry? To beg for forgiveness? A hug perhaps? Because he'd be ready to give you anything and everything. Shit, he should have brought that scarf you made for him.

"Huh? She isn't here yet?" Oikawa looked around but you were nowhere to be found.

"I knew it. She hates me." The dark haired male crashed down on a nearby bench.

"Now, don't go all psychic on me Iwaizumi. I was only late." Standing up quickly as if he didn't drown in his sorrows sitting on that wooden seat.

"(y/n)!" The setter greeted, tackling you into a hug.

"Sorry Tooru, did I make you wait?" You asked, pulling away from his hold.

"Nope! We just got here. I had to make sure Iwa got all dressed up instead of coming here only in sweatpants. Or those nasty jeans I saw him wear when I got there." He shuddered when he felt Iwaizumi's glare hitting his back as he raised both of his hands, making his way to the sides, "Well, I'll be way over there before Iwa-chan hits me again!"

"So…" The both of you start, the male clearing his throat when you didn't open your mouth to speak.

"Uh, you go first." He gestured towards you as you shook your head.

"Tooru asked me to listen. Now, talk. I still have to help Kiyoko and Hitoka in handling the boys." Iwaizumi nodded, realizing what little time he had to explain.

"Right." He began, rubbing the back of his head, "Oikawa told me everything… that happened that day.

• • •

You have been meeting up with Oikawa for the past few days now. You planned on surprising him on your third anniversary and with his best friend's help, you knew he'd like it, especially if he and his team win against Shiratorizawa. Well, you want your team to win too, but can't choose which side you'd support so, you decided that whoever wins would avenge the other.

Aoba Johsai lost.

His team lost and you stood there at the balcony crying your tears out, both in frustration and happiness. The latter because of your team and the former for the loss. You excused yourself, looking for any of the third years in the team. And you happen to stumble upon Oikawa.

"Tooru!" You shouted, running towards the setter.

"(y/n)? Shouldn't you be with your team?" He asked, looking around for the crows. Or at least, his little rival other than Ushijima Wakatoshi.

"They'll understand why I left. But most importantly, how are the two of you? How's Hajime?" It was your turn to look for your boyfriend.

"I'm… not sure. Iwa-chan's probably with Mattsun and Makki. The others should be together." You nodded, grasping both of his hands in yours.

"I'm sorry for what happened, you were all really great! I promise we'll beat up Ushiwaka's ass for you two!" You declared, earning a chuckle from him.

"It's fine, (y/n)-chan." Oikawa ruffled your hair once you released his hands before remembering something, "Hey, why don't you give your present to him, I'm sure he'd like it especially when you've been at it for weeks. Isn't it your anniversary today? It'll help him a lot." You hugged the man in front of you, appreciating the help and support he has given you.

"I hope so. Ah well, thanks again for the help Tooru, I really appreciate it. I'm happy that Hajime has a friend like--" You were then cut off by a shout, your name echoing throughout the hall.

"(y/n)!!"

"Hajime! Great timing! I've got something--” You rushed towards him and was about to give him a hug when the look on his face made you stop.

“No. You don’t have to. I can see it perfectly clear.” Iwaizumi said as your brows furrowed.

“What do you mean?” You asked, glancing at the other two third-years behind him who only shrugged.

“What do I mean?! I should have known that you liked Oikawa from the start! We lost the game and the first person you went to find was him!? Unbelievable (y/n), unbelievable!” He bellowed, glaring at the two of you. His eyes were clouded with grief from losing and seeing you with his best friend triggered something he didn't want inside of him.

“W-what? That’s not true. Look, I just managed to bump into him and--” He cut you off again, his hands clenched tightly.

"Yeah okay, blame it on that!"

“Hey Iwaizumi, I think you should calm down a bit.” Hanamaki joined in, placing a hand on the shoulder of their vice-captain.

“Yeah, they were just talking. (y/n) was probably comforting him and asking for you.” Matsukawa added, getting ready to help his best friend if Iwaizumi ever decides to punch away his anger.

“Bullshit! I know what I saw! How do you explain those past few days huh?! I wanted to ask you out before the Interhigh and it so happened that I saw the two of you together. I ignored it because I trusted you!” He held back, not to get him and his team kicked out and bring shame to the school in his final year. Though it was painful, he knew he needed to get rid of it verbally, "If you wanted him then you should have said so from the start! I would have understood. So, I'm letting you go. That's what you want right? To be free from me?!"

"H-hey now, you don't mean that right? Why don't we take a seat a-and we'll talk this out, yeah?" You offered, walking towards him cautiously.

"Talk? You still want to talk?!! I'm done (y/n), okay!? Just leave me alone! I never want to see you ever again!" He lashes out, his emotions controlling every bit of his sanity.

“Idiot! You’re a total idiot!!” You screamed at him, closing your eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. You don't want to let him see how weak he's making you, not in a situation like this.

“How did I become--!!”

“I asked Tooru to help me think up an idea for the gift I wanted to give you for our anniversary. He’s your best friend so I thought it was okay and that he’d be able to keep a secret. But surprise, surprise, you don’t like that kind of thing. You don’t need to be jealous of someone I don’t have feelings for! But hey, I guess you don’t trust me like you say you do!” Shuffling through your bag, you pushed an Aegean hued scarf with Olive colored horizontal lines near the fringe, “Here, take it. Burn it for all I care. We’re done.”

'Did she..? No wait, don't move. I'm sorry..' He thought, he couldn't voice the words out and even if he did, the damage was already done, 'Why can't I…? (y/n) please, let's talk…'

"Goodbye, Haji-- no, Iwaizumi-san…" Saying his last name added salt, tons of it, to the biggest wound ever inflicted on your heart. And on his too.

'I said don't go..! I can't reach you if you do. I can't feel myself, please don't go.' Again, the words wouldn't dare leave his mouth as he was also afraid that he'd say something wrong. He didn't dare blink, wanting to still see your figure within his vision, 'Let me see those hands again, I'll kiss it all better. Just don't leave me…'

"Oi, Oikawa!!" Suddenly he was on the floor with a bruised cheek and an angry setter in front of him, being held back by the other two they were with. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I get it that you're like that towards me but (y/n) didn't do anything wrong! She asked me for what you wanted and this is the thanks she gets!?" His grip on his collar was tight as he was still able to get close to him despite being held down by two of their friends, "You saw those bandages on her hands right? Well, she made that scarf all by herself just for you! She did that despite knowing nothing about knitting!"

"I…" He started but, as if you were still there, the words he so wanted to stay retreated back down his throat.

"What!? You what, Iwaizumi!!?" Oikawa snapped, almost on the brink of insanity like how Iwaizumi was before you left, "Got anymore bad things to say about her!?!"

"Zip it, will you?! I know that she didn't do anything wrong! It's just my fucked up and tired self making all the excuses!" He looked down, burying his face in his hands.

"Y-you could still run after her. I'm sure she'd--" One of them said, patting his back.

"She won't. Six years and never did she go against her word once she's made up her mind. It'll take a shit load of convincing but, I doubt she'd want me back." He gave out a huff, walking away until his best friend stopped him.

"Then you've just got to be stubborn like usual and try your best." Oikawa spoke, pumping the depressed Iwaizumi up.

"Huh? Ah, y-yeah…"

• • •

"How long has it been since you last slept?" You asked him, caressing his cheeks with your thumb as he leaned into your touch.

"What?" He blinked a couple of times before sighing, "I slept, maybe for just a few hours before waking up again because every time I close my eyes, that face you gave me that day keeps coming back to me and…"

"And?" He didn't want to tell you but, this would be the chance that he couldn't take hold of on that day.

"And there's this stupid scene that keeps playing in my dreams, during that fight we had, you left and when I saw you again, you were so happy with someone else and that broke me." He wanted to cry but all he could do was ball his fists with his brows furrowed in anger. Anger towards himself and his stupid decisions, "My last words to you that day was to leave me alone. That I never wanted to see you again. But, I was wrong. I still want you here by my side. I still want to see you. I still want to hear your voice every morning after I wake up and every night before I sleep just like before."

"Iwaizumi…" You started but your words just went in one ear and out the other as he continued.

"What I'm saying is, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I fucked up. That my jealousy got in between the two of us. It was dumb of me and Oikawa's supposed to be the childish one." He chuckled bitterly, mostly to himself. Now that he spoke his mind, it was silly of him to feel that way. To feel, was it inferiority? "I guess I still wasn't used to being the one getting the attention instead of him who's always surrounded by fangirls everywhere. Or believe in the idea of someone who would actually love me and not use me just to get to him."

"Iwaizumi, never in my life was I attracted to him. You know that right? I told you this once before." He held both of your hands, placing the other on his cheek. It was as if he was touch deprived and wanted to make up for the times he was away from you.

"I know. It's just that… letting you go that day was the hardest thing I've ever done. I couldn't even stop you, I just stayed there. I tried, believe me, I tried but I couldn't. I wanted to make you stay. But losing my last game in high school and all my emotions were over the place that it took a toll on me." Iwaizumi admitted. Sighing for who knows how many times now.

"It's okay. I understand." He stared at you, confusion written all over his face.

"No, you don't! I'm not blaming this on my loss. I'm blaming this on myself, for doubting you. You've been loving me so right despite studying in different schools and all I did was hurt you! Days after we broke up, I've been feeding myself these useless reasons not to see you, telling myself that you're mad at me and that you don't need me anymore. I'm sorry. Please hate me…" He was crying, he didn't care anymore if anyone saw him so… vulnerable. You wiped it all away, a smile on your lips.

"Hajime." You started. It was the first time in weeks since he last heard you say his name, "I love you."

"W-what?" These words were the least he expected to come out of your mouth but, he wasn't complaining either.

"You heard me. I love you." You repeated before you giggled, "Sure yeah, you were totally an ass for not listening to me but it doesn't change the fact that I still love you. And I also heard from Tooru that you haven't been like yourself since that day, my fault entirely. I should have thought about what your reaction would be.

"You know… I tried to come up with tons of reasons to just give up, so we both wouldn't have to hurt like this. It would have been easier for both of us. But, I can't. I don't want things to be easy between us. Everything you do makes me fall for you over and over, deeper than the last time. And hearing you say that you still love me, makes me realize that I should have tried even harder." Iwaizumi hugged you tightly, afraid that this was all a dream and was about to wake up. Or was he going soft just for you? Because it was obviously not because of Oikawa.

"So, what do you want to happen to us? What's your call?" You asked looking up at him.

“What’s this? Are you two okay now?” The childish devil on Iwaizumi's shoulder popped in between the two of you, “You are! That’s great! I’ll tell them right now--!”

“You, hanger bastard! I’ll beat you up--” He was about to give Oikawa a piece of his mind when he heard your voice echo in his ear.

“Hanger bastard? What’s with the new insult?” You laughed out loud, the wing spiker smiled, missing the sound, "Where'd you get that?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow, I'm sure Mattsun and Makki want to get a say in this too." He suggested, receiving a nod from you.

"Hey Iwa-chan, you guys don't have to diss me every time you get jealous!!" Iwaizumi scoffed, ignoring the setter.

"Anyways, I'll fetch and take you home after practice. We've got a lot of catching up to do." He offered, intertwining both of your fingers together, “We can even start now, I’ll walk you to Karasuno.”

"I'd like that, Hajime."

I gave you my heart and I don't regret not taking it back. My attention is yours and no one else's from the beginning until the end.

#hq x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyu!!#hq!!#hq fluff #hq angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #hq hcs #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x y/n #hq x you #hq imagines

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ackerfics · 3 years

Note

hi! i don’t know if you’re taking requests but if you are would you be interested in a soulmate au with mikasa. i adore soulmates au a lot! mikasa x fem!reader (aot cast reincarnated into the modern world and they get to have a happy and not stressful life)

she is half of my soul, as the poets say — mikasa ackerman

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (soulmate au)

— warnings: none, just fluff

— summary: you finally found each other.

— word count: 3.2k

— author’s notes: thank you so much for the request !! i hope you enjoy reading this because i had a blast putting this all together. plus, i couldn't help but place a quote from 'the song of achilles' bc that was a masterpiece.

Underwater.

Your surroundings were submerged in the depths of the ocean to you.

The professor in front of the lecture hall continued his lesson in a cacophony of white noise. The occasional flipping of textbooks and the clacking of the keyboard droned, a majority of the students tried taking down what the middle-aged man was reciting. You should be doing those, too, but there was something about your day that made you want to skip class and bury yourself in a mound of blankets. The air-conditioning wasn’t helping at all, it just made you drift away, even more, images of flying people and humanoid giants flickering through your mind. Even your vision was becoming blurry as you stared at the seat in front of you, not noticing how your Ethics professor dismissed your class with a reminder of the paper that was due the following week. You were still seated as most of the students stood up, eager to spend the rest of their day inside their dormitories and apartments.

“[Name].” Somebody called out to you but the raw feeling of swinging in midair acted like a bubble, keeping you from going back to reality. The voice groaned in frustration at your lack of response. “Earth to [Name]! Hey, wake up!”

You shook out of your stupor with a blink, turning your head slowly at the person waiting for you. You took in her casual attire, so different from the daydream you were in. At first, you didn’t know about your whereabouts, making you look around the lecture hall — empty except for the two of you and the professor at front. The feeling of confusion once again dominated your sound mind as you breathed out, “Where am I? I thought I was just outside in this desert and I was surrounded by people who were crying like they were a hopeless case. Then there was someone screaming my name, saying they wouldn’t let me go.”

The person pursed their lips, concerned and slightly creeped out at the nonsense coming out of your mouth. There weren’t any deserts near you right now because you two were in the middle of the city, inside a university. The way you phrased those words sounded like a plot from an apocalyptic movie you were bound to binge during academic breaks. There were accounts scattered around the internet about reincarnation that the person drank in the early hours of dawn when they couldn’t go to sleep but witnessing it in front of them, was another whole level of conspiracy theories. A hand was planted on your shoulder, your friend smiling sympathetically at you, knowing that you sometimes have these episodes inside your shared apartment. The look you gave them was enough to erase the wariness bubbling in your friend’s stomach, which spurred them to gather your things and placing them inside your backpack. Your friend worked in silence, however, they were aware of the stare you never took off from the side of their head.

“In case you don’t remember me,” your friend looked up at you with a twinkle of mischief in their irises, “I’m Hitch and I’m your roommate.” She was speaking to you as if you were a toddler, something that made annoyance tickle your chest.

“Hitch?” You mumbled, looking down on your lap for a solid minute until you gasped out loud, the sound echoing inside the lecture hall without any warning. The professor looked up from his seat, glare already in place at the disruption you caused. You buried your face in your hands, face erupting in hues of red because of the embarrassment creeping in your throat. “Oh, my God, don’t tell me I did it again.”

Hitch nodded with a shrug. “I mean, I’m used to your episodes but it always amazed me how you wake up from them all disoriented.” Finishing with her task of tidying your bag, she pulled on your arm. “I think I should record whatever you say next time, this could be my viral moment.” When you gave her a dry glare, she laughed. “Oh, come on, think of the possibilities! But pushing that aside, let’s have dinner first.”

“Hitch, it’s only four in the afternoon.”

She scoffed lightheartedly. “We can always have a midnight snack later. Right now, I’m craving something savory.” The two of you went outside the lecture hall’s door, not missing the look of relief from your Ethics professor as you linked your arm with Hitch’s. She turned to you expectantly. “Any ideas for dinner, bub?”

There was a churning feeling inside your stomach, very much like those life-and-death situations during exams where you rely on your gut for the correct answer if the test includes multiple-choice questions. This time, instead of the nagging voice telling you to encircle the first choice, your gut was telling you to head to the café near your university. Aside from their famous coffee blends and teas (the latter being one of their specialties), the café houses a variety of dishes in its menu, which doesn’t make them a café anymore but the owner still insisted that they’ll be known as that establishment. It was more of a restaurant than your regular coffee shop, making it a hit among the students in the University of Eldia, where a majority of the student body was either caffeine-dependent or reliant on fast food take-outs. The quaint café owned by Levi Ackerman was the perfect solution to yours and Hitch’s grumbling stomachs.

“How about the café just outside of uni?” You suggested, hoping that Hitch will consider the idea.

The said girl hummed, a finger placed on her chin. “The one owned by that grumpy short-stack?”

“Hey, that’s rude.”

Hitch shrugged without care, hoisting her tote bag up to her shoulder. “Even his cousin calls him that, you know?” At your raised eyebrow, all Hitch could do was laugh at your adorable, clueless expression. Between the two of you, the light-haired girl was the social butterfly in your friendship and you wouldn’t be surprised if she even had an inkling of the gossips happening around your year level.

“Relax, his cousin is a good person (that is if she doesn’t kill you with her blank stare), along with their little friendship circle. I must say, all of them look so adorable. You remember Annie, right?” She continued when she saw you nod, the mention of the blonde made you remember your time when the three of you shared your apartment. It was a good kind of chaotic, the three of you balancing out each other’s personalities. Annie was always the indifferent one, Hitch the most sociable, and you being the mediator of the two. “She’s dating one of Mikasa’s friends, Armin. Mikasa is the cousin, by the way, and I can clearly see the resemblance between her and the café’s owner. With the permanent scowl and all.”

“Uh-huh.”

You didn’t know what to do with the information so you only hummed and nodded your head every time Hitch spewed out a couple of trivia involving people you have heard down the hallways or being called during roll-calls. She even told you how one of Mikasa’s friends, Sasha Braus, was reprimanded for eating inside the class of an infamous terror teacher, which landed the girl on that professor’s blacklist. The girl, Sasha, was actually in one of your classes but you never really talked to her, all of your attention poured out into absorbing what the teacher relayed in the class. All of Hitch's ramblings spanned the entirety of your walk to the café — a talent your roommate has that amazed you every time it happened.

The smell of cinnamon greeted you once you stepped inside the café, the homey decorations making your heart warm in an instant. There were a couple of college students in separate tables, all of them draping their textbooks and readings in front of them, headphones plugged in despite the soothing background music brought by the café’s speakers. Now that you mention it in your head, midterms were coming up in a month and you hadn’t started organizing your revisions. As your mind was filled with the scent of flowers and coffee, Hitch tugged on the sleeves of your blouse, your light-haired friend wordlessly gesturing her head towards one of the empty tables overlooking the window showing the small garden beside the café. You nodded and flashed a thumbs-up, already knowing what Hitch’s order is the number of times she went home with take-outs from this establishment.

Thinking that you should order something for a change, you looked up at the menu board above the counter. With your order listed in your mind, you faced the person manning the counter, ready to relay your order to her. What greeted you, though, wasn’t a smiling cashier, instead, wide gray eyes stared at you with a slacked jaw — irises flecked with an emotion that sent your heart lurching inside your chest. She was a tall girl with muscles in the right places, black hair styled in a pixie cut that made you appreciate her features more. You faintly recalled that she was in one of your majors, which should explain the air of familiarity surrounding her. Her hands on the small notepad hovered over the current lilac paper, her posture rod straight as her breath hitched while staring into you. You weren’t sure what made her react like that so you slightly tilted your head back to look at the booths behind you. Hitch caught your eyes, raising her eyebrow in a silent question. Facing the counter attendant again, you were shocked to see that star-like tears were decorating her eyelashes, chapped lips wobbly.

It felt like you’ve seen that expression too many times but you were sure this was the first time you saw her face to face.

“Oi, Mikasa, why are you stalling?” A short black-haired man entered the space behind the counter, arms crossed and gaze questioning as he took in the breaking form of his employee. “It’s been a full minute and you still didn’t take the customer’s order.”

“Can I stay in the breakroom for a while?”

Your breath was taken away at the sound of her voice. It sounded like all four seasons were present in the soft-spoken tone she carried, very different from her tough physical appearance. You were left staring at her back, chest nearly bursting open because of how fast your heart pounded just from that sentence. Images of late-night trysts played in your head; of secret kisses that created an ocean of emotions inside you; of eyes looking at each other with tendrils of hope before the gates open, death beckoning you in its arms; of desperate promises, neither person could ever keep. All of them were so familiar and nostalgic that a swarm of butterflies was starting to infest your ribs and chest, sprouting flowers that clogged your throat from speaking.

Levi glanced at you, eyes analyzing your form with a hint of concern for his relative and wondering what made Mikasa act like that. “Sure, go ahead, brat, your friends are at the back. Hello, ma’am, I’ll be taking your order.”

“Oh, sure,” you murmured before beginning to list down the food you and Hitch will be indulging in, eyes curiously staring at the girl going inside the breakroom. “Uhm, is she going to be alright?” You tried asking Levi, who only looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “It looks like she had a fright here.”

“It’s the first time I saw her in that state, to be honest,” Levi simply answered, with no room for other discussions. “Your drinks will be served shortly.” He gave you a small gadget, his pointer finger pushing a button on the device, making it light up in a blinding red. “Once your drinks are ready, this will light up and you can get it here on the counter. Thank you for your patronage.”

“Thank you, too.”

It was only when you seated yourself in front of Hitch that you realized Mikasa’s voice sounded like the one always shouting your name in your daydreams, failing to keep the promise of never letting you go.

Mikasa was a mess.

First, before waking up for her 7 A.M. class one autumn day, she was haunted by the memories of her previous life (or this is what Armin told her, with him also remembering being born again from a different timeline, another universe altogether rather). In that more outdated version of this world, they were on the constant grapple with these beings called Titans. Her dreams became more complex the more time passed by as these Titans disappeared, replacing with it a looming war between two countries. Her daydreams always resulted in tear-stained cheeks, eyes then finding her best friend who started a mass genocide in their previous lives, Eren. When Mikasa remembered that part of her last life, she would often find herself staring deeply at the side of Eren’s head, resulting in the brown-haired man complaining about her soulless eyes. It looked like Eren didn’t remember it, which nearly drove Mikasa mad.

Until that day Eren came up to her after a three-hour lecture, all haggard with his man-bun in disarray, and shouting, “I’m so sorry for laughing at you, Mikasa! I had a dream during a lecture of those titan things you and Armin are talking about. I believe you!”

Second, the warmth of somebody was a constant in balancing out the horrors of her daydreams. Among the carnage, a body fitting against hers with the morning rays passing through the slit of the windows was a sight she didn’t want to wake up from. Threads of soft hair tickled her cheek, making way for an unforgettable shade of irises that she compared to the crystals they found underneath the Reiss estate. A smile so vibrant that it paled in comparison to the blue expanse of unknown waters they saw after killing all the Titans in Paradis. The smell of freshly picked flowers lingered in the air, acting like the comforting blanket Mikasa had when she was young. At first, she couldn’t see the face of the person but as the episodes became more vivid, Mikasa finally saw the woman of her dreams.

Pulchritudinous — that’s what you are.

After that encounter with you in the café, Mikasa immediately talked everything out with her two friends.

“So you’re saying that you kind of knew her but you don’t?” Eren pointed out after a spoonful of ice cream. “This is some conspiracy theory shit right here.”

“Eren,” Armin sighed. “This is not one of those videos you watch at 3 A.M., okay?” The blonde glanced at the last member of their little trio, who was pacing in front of them with a queasy expression on her face. “Mikasa, I know you feel like you’re in a pinch but please calm down.”

Eren leaned forward and took a spoonful of ice cream from the tub on the low table. “It’s no use, Armin. You know Mikasa.” He nodded his head towards the said girl. “Once she enters that state, we can’t do anything about it.”

“I know,” Armin trailed off, dejected.

Mikasa buried her hands through her hair. “This was so unexpected.”

“Clearly,” Eren dryly stated.

The blue-eyed boy beside him instantly hit the back of his head. “Eren!”

Mikasa stopped pacing, not hearing how Eren exclaimed ‘finally’, her face and neck erupting in a warm shade of red that made her two friends exchange a concerned glance. Placing a hand on her pounding chest, she murmured with half-lidded eyes, “She’s much more beautiful than my dreams depicted her to be.”

Armin breathed out a silent ‘oh’ while Eren snickered, “Great, she turned into a simp,” to which the former slapped another hand at the back of the green-eyed boy’s head.

“That explains it,” the black-haired girl exclaimed. “There were times where a voice inside my head tells me to be at this specific place at a specific time.” (“I’m concerned,” Eren stage-whispered to Armin.) “While applying for this university, I had a feeling that I should take up medical sciences. Every time I’m at the campus, I will always find myself in the library after five o’clock and there are instances that I would search the tables. And you guys know how I hate helping Levi in the café.” Eren and Armin nodded as if they were children. “I just realized that she was always there, I can see her now. Why did I miss her when all this time, I was meant to find her? And now that she’s finally in the café right when I told Levi that I felt like helping the shop, I ran away! I’m such an idiot!” Mikasa then sunk on one of the plush chairs, her groans mingling with the gloomy atmosphere she created.

“You’re not an idiot, Mikasa,” Armin told her, to which she replied with an aggravated groan.

“Yeah, you’re not an idiot, you’re just having a gay panic moment,” Eren casually announced. Both of his friends slowly turned their heads toward him. He stared right back, blinking as he shrugged. “You have to admit, I’m not wrong.”

“You’re not helping right now.”

“I’m just stating a fact, Armin!”

The blonde boy rolled his eyes. “So what are you going to do about this, Mikasa?”

“About Eren?”

“No,” Armin shook his head. “Eren will be fine with his two brain cells.”

“Hey, I’m right here.”

Armin rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze on his gray-eyed best friend. “So are you going to tell [Name] that you two are star-crossed lovers pre-destined since your previous lives?”

The confidence she gained the day before during that conversation with her childhood friends dissipated as Mikasa awkwardly stood in the middle of the university’s library, eyes widely staring at you, who was browsing the shelves for the reference material for your papers. She didn’t expect to meet you this suddenly. All she was supposed to do was borrow a reference material and there she realized that the two of you share the same major so most of your schedule line up with one another — the both of you share a free period. Almost as if you were surrounded by a magnetic field, Mikasa went in your direction, her heart matching her footsteps. Meters became feet as she looked at your captivating figure. Even with a shirt tucked inside a pair of jeans, you are still the most beautiful girl inside the library.

And as you lifted your gaze, your glinting irises meeting her gray ones, Mikasa swore her orbit was waiting for this moment to be tilted to you.

Tears were immediately present in your eyes when she stood in front of you, it was as if you remembered her.

“Hey,” Mikasa breathed shakily, hands gripping the strap of her backpack.

“Hey, starlight.”

That nickname. The one you blurted out when Mikasa invited you stargazing in the meadow beside the Survey Corps Headquarters. You said it suited her because her eyes reminded you of the glow of the stars forming a canopy above you. But for her, you were brighter than any star in the sky, you were an entire cosmos altogether. “You became a part of me the moment I laid my eyes on you in our town. Right then and there — wherever you go, I’ll go. Because I know, I’m a part of you as well.”

“You finally found me.”

You are half of her soul, as the poets say, and the Fates will do everything in their power that it stays like that for eternity.

#aot #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #mikasa ackerman x reader #soulmate au #rorywrites #new aot writing blog #mikasa

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

I trust you

Prompt number: 31 “I trust you”

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Part two to Trust me for once.

Rating: T

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions blood, violence, and death. A lil angst.

A/N: I just want to write for Bucky for the rest of fictober, someone stop me please. I don’t know why I love this fic so much, but I do. Maybe it’s my lack of sleep messing with me lmao. I passed 500 followers and I can’t possibly begin to explain how much that means to me and how much I love each and every one of you! When I started my Tumblr last year to write some shitty self indulgent fanfics I never thought anyone would ever read them. I never imagined having 500 people following my shitty blog.

In the week and a half since Hydra had captured you, Bucky has been spiraling. When he got to the quinjet and turned to look for you, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he couldn’t find you. Everything you had said to him in the warehouse started to make more sense, you phrashed things a specific way; ‘so long as it gets you out of here safely.’ He knew you weren’t coming, but he still made Steve keep the quinjet there and wait until it was almost too late and the team was under attack again.

Back at the compound Bucky spends all of his time in his room or down in the gym punching- and breaking- one of the many punching bags, throwing his knives at targets, and working on his shooting. He isn’t sleeping and he isn’t eating, he won’t even talk to Steve when the super soldier tries to get him to talk- whether it be about what happened in the warehouse or anything in general.

Steve, Sam, and Tony are exhausting every resource they have to find you, Hydra had moved you to another location as soon as the quinjet was out of sight of the base. On the rare occasion Bucky isn’t in the gym or his room, he's hovering over the shoulders of the three men hoping he’ll see something they missed. He doesn’t, and only succeeds in annoying aforementioned men with his brooding stares and silence.

Bucky has nightmares on a daily basis again, something that his time in Wakanda with Shuri and T’Challa had gotten rid of. The only difference this time is he doesn’t see himself. He sees everything he went through, all the tourture he endured and the innocent bloodshed, but instead of him you’re in his shoes. He watches you get your brain turned into mush in the damn chair. He watches you forgetting everyone- forgetting him- and then going after the Avengers because you don’t know any better. He can never wake up from the nightmares, he’s stuck in them until he watches you die or you kill him.

Twelve days after you’re taken, Bucky's down in the gym, sitting on a chair because the memories of you in the warehouse are consuming him. You saying that he hates you and to just trust you for once are playing on repeat. How could you think he doesn't trust you?

“I trust you!” he screams into the empty gym, wishing he’d told you so in the warehouse, hurling the knife that was resting in his hand into the wall across from him. He goes to run his hands through his long strands of hair, forgetting he had cut most of it off, something you would refer to as pulling a Britney. He has no idea what that even means, but you say it everytime you or Nat impulsively cut your hair super short. Instead he pushes the palms of his hands into his eyes, trying to push the memories away. “I could never hate you.”

Steve enters the gym quietly, observing his best friend for a few minutes. He’s never seen him this bad before, not even when he was consumed by guilt when he realized all of the innocent lives that were lost by his hands. Steve was aware that Bucky has had feelings for you since he saw you, immediately becoming infatuated with your beauty. His feelings continued to grow when he learned your humor, sarcasm, intelligence, and saw your skill in battle. Steve knew Bucky was intimidated and nervous, not as skilled with the women like he was seventy years ago and that’s why he didn’t talk to you, but Steve never realized that Bucky cared this much.

“Hey Buck,” Steve finally speaks, causing Bucky to stand up and pretend he wasn’t just having a breakdown. “We’ve got something.”

Bucky doesn’t verbally respond, instead he brushes past Steve and walks out of the gym. Steve quickly leads the way to the lab, filling Bucky in on the new development. Hydra is streaming a live feed of you chained to a chair right to every computer and television screen in the compound. When the two get to the lab, packed with the rest of the Avengers huddling around the same screen, Bucky see’s you for the first time in twelve days. The first time you aren’t a figment of his imagination. You’re bruised and bloody: split lip with dried blood on your chin; dried blood on your forehead from where you must have wiped the blood from the cut on your eyebrow so it didn’t drip into your eyes before you were chained to the chair; you’re left eye black, blue, and bruised; your skin has a yellow hue and your cheeks are hollow from malnutrition.

Bucky wants to scream, he wants to put a fist through a wall, and he wants to kill whoever laid a hand on you. The Avengers watch quietly as he squeezes through the gaps in the group's huddle so he can be by the screen. By you. You aren’t staring at the camera, instead staring straight in front of you, where he imagines Hydra agents are standing.

“You don’t want another Winter Soldier,” your voice is the exact opposite of your appearance, it’s still so strong and determined. “You want the Winter Soldier. You wanted us to intercept the messages and show up at the base, it was an ambush.”

“Very good, Ms. (Y/L/N),” a man speaks off screen, he has a thick Russian accent, but Bucky doesn’t recognize it. “The only problem was that you seemed to figure it out that day, and ruined our plans.”

“Oops?” your sarcasm garners another slap, the ring on the man's hand causing a gash on your cheekbone. “It’s been what, over a week? How long are you gonna keep me?”

“Until Soldat switches places with you,” you let out a loud bark of a laugh that echoes off the walls in the small room.

“Bucky, your Soldat, he won’t sacrifice himself for me,” you laugh at the man interrogating you.

“We learned of his affections for you-” you cut him off with another laugh.

“You need to fire whoever told you that,” you can’t stop laughing at the absurdity that came out of the Hydra agents mouth. And you don’t care if he becomes angry and annoyed with you, you’re gonna get killed no matter what. Your eyes quickly flick to the camera set up on your left, the one the Hydra agents thought you hadn’t seen, before continuing knowing the Avengers had to be seeing all of this. “The only affection Bucky has for me is hatred. He hates me, there’s no way he’d switch places for little old me. You should have captured literally anyone else if you wanted him to be upset. He can’t stand me! We can’t even hold a simple conversation, and he always leaves the room when I’m in it. We were only paired up on this mission because of a fluke accident. Face it, you fucked up. I’m worthless to your Soldat.”

“That’s not true!” Bucky feels like he’s yelling it at the screen, but his protest is only a whisper. The rest of the team watches him with sad eyes, he’s looking at you so longingly. Trying to will you to understand how he feels about you through the screen. As if on cue, you glance at the camera again, giving it a sd smile, accepting your fate. A loud ping comes from one of the computers in the lab, but Bucky keeps eye contact with you, even though he knows you can’t see. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until his flesh hand is pressed against the television.

“We’ve got a location!” Tony yells, already calling for his suit.

“Then you’re worthless to me!” the hydra agent growls, stopping the team in their tracks who were on their way to change.

“No,” Bucky pleads, when he hears the safety of a gun clicking off.

“Any last words for your precious Avengers?” the man asks you, gesturing to the camera, he hadn’t noticed you’d already seen it.

“I’d say tell my family I love them,” you’re openly talking to the camera now. “But I don’t have any. So thank you for being the family I never had, and the family I always wanted. I love every single one of you.”

A tear slips from your non swollen eye, a matching one rolling down Bucky’s cheek. The screen goes black, a gun goes off, and then the feed cuts completely. “No!” he screams, going to punch a hole in the television, but his fist goes right through due to it being Stark technology.

“Where are you going?” Steve calls as Bucky heads to exit to the lab, no one else moving, too shocked to register everything that just happened.

“Let’s go kill those bastards,” is his gruff response, heading towards the hanger with the Quinjet since he’s already dressed in his tactical gear from his time in the gym.

Steve and Tony are the first ones dressed and ready to go, but the latter hangs back so Steve can talk to his best friend privately. Steve doesn’t say anything when he sits beside the brunette, he doesn’t know where to begin.

“(Y/N) died thinking I hated her Stevie,” Bucky’s voice breaks. “I kept my distance cause I didn’t want to hurt her. And then I saw her with Sam and I was jealous so I started to ignore her more. I pushed her away because I was scared and jealous. And now she’ll never know that I love her.”

A shot rings through the small room you’re stuck in, the bullet lodging into the wall beside your head. You glance at the camera, finding the red light off. Your team, your family thinks you're dead. That was his damn plan, he knows they’ll come to avenge you.

“Sit tight,” he smirks, the barrel of his gun coming into contact with your skull, effectively knocking you out.

Your head is heavy and pounding in pain when you finally come to. Outside the door you can hear screams and guns going off at rapid speed. You cringe away from the sound when someone uses their body to break open the door to your room. The sound of familiar footsteps clomping towards you causes you to perk up, it’s Bucky. You can’t open your eyes or even move your head towards the sound to alert him that you’re okay, but you hear a whispered “thank god,” when he hears your steady heartbeat. From the crunching sound you can tell Bucky used his vibranium hand to crush the handcuffs keeping you attached to the chair.

He picks you up bridal style, holding you close to his warm chest. You involuntarily cuddle into the warmth, causing Bucky to smile lovingly down at you. “I’ve got you now,” he whispers, hand caressing your cheek, careful not to put pressure on your many cuts.

When you wake up again, you're in the familiar sterile medbay at the compound. A heavy weight is on your hand, looking over you notice it’s Bucky's hands clutching yours, his head tipped back on the seat he’s in.

“He hasn’t left your side,” Sam smirks at the scene from the doorway, holding a falcon stuffed animal. You playfully roll your eyes at the gift, but reach for it with your free hand. Bucky starts to stir, so Sam gives you a kiss on the forehead and heads for the door again. “Tinman’s whipped.”

The first thing you notice when you glance at Bucky again is his hair. He cut it all off when you were gone. As much as you loved his luscious locks and thought he was hot with them, he’s undeniably sexy with the short hairstyle. “You cut your hair,” Bucky immediately wakes up the rest of the way at your voice, ocean blue eyes staring into yours. “It looks good on you.”

“You could have died,” his voice exasperated. “And the first thing you mention is my hair. I’ve been worried sick, (Y/N)!”

“I was fine,” you roll your eyes, trying not to think of just how close to death you came. “I’m fine now.”

“Next mission I get to call the shots,” he grumbles. “I’m not having the woman I love almost die for me again.”

“I love you too Buck,” you ignore the fact that he didn’t mean for you to hear his confession. “Why else would I be willing to die for you?”

He shoots out of his seat, eyes wide as he stares down at you. You push up to a sitting position, moving to the side of the bed, motioning for Bucky to lay beside you. He seems to debate with himself about whether he should or not, before finally laying down and gently pulling you into his arms. You crane your neck up to look into his eyes, he leans down and your lips meet timidly at first. It quickly turns into a slow loving kiss, the two of you wanting to prolong for as long as you can. You reach a hand up, caressing his face before slipping it through his now short locks.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#bucky barnes x reader #fictober20 #day 13 of fictober #bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

Total Eclipse (P.2)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 3,792 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: There is heavy backstory here in italics! I was reading up on Victorian customs and tbh, I’m not privy to it at all, so I apologize if things are not historically accurate!

Part One || Part Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You walked away from where your ladies tea was going on, brushing your skirts out. You had begun to become uncomfortable sitting on the blanket and wanted to stretch your legs.

“Do not wander too far,” your mother called out to you.

“Of course not, mother,” you called back over your shoulder.

She would not notice how far you wandered when she was this engrossed in the latest gossip from the castle.

Coming onto the cobblestone, your eyes set on the fountain. There were goldfish inside and you made a point to always come to the fountain when you visited this park. You nodded at a couple as you passed them, exchanging pleasant smiles. They did eye you somewhat curiously at the fact you were walking alone but pleasant, nonetheless. Reaching the edge of the fountain, you leaned over, peering into it.

Just as you were reaching into the fountain, a small gust of wind hit you and you felt your hat fly off the top of your head. You let out a noise of frustration, turning around, eyes searching. It was tumbling away and coming to the feet of a gentleman sitting on a bench. His eyes were on you, and you had a feeling they had been for a bit.

He dipped down, picking your hat up from the cobble stone and stood up from the bench. His hands came up to brush at it as he walked towards you. He was careful with the fabric, his own coat bristling in the small breeze at his sides.

“Your hat, miss,” he said holding it out to you, giving a small bow.

You thanked him and took it.

He was terribly handsome. Dark hair, tousled just so, not to the point that he looked unkempt. His eyes were an alluring shade of chocolate. There was a playfulness in them and they excited you.

“You must keep a good hold on that. It’s woven perfectly,” he continued.

“Perfectly?” you asked, putting the hat back on.

“Yes. It’s immaculate. The stitchwork. Whoever did it took great care. I believe it is the work of the hatter on Bishop’s Gate, east end?” Your mouth fell open in surprise as you pulled the ribbon down beneath your chin and you froze. He gave a light chuckle at your expression, “Sorry, I have a keen eye for detail and a memory to boot. May I?” He asked suddenly, his hands reaching ever so slightly towards your face, eyes on the ribbons for a moment to explain what he was asking.

You stilled, your hands falling to your sides, and he took it as invitation. You breathed easily even though your heart jumped at him being so close. You did not even know this man; he was bold. Coming forward, his hands latched to the ribbons, tying it better than you could. He had a nice smelling aftershave and you locked eyes, your breath hitching. He was suspended in your gaze for a moment before clearing his throat.

He gave a brief smile as he pulled away. “That’s better.”

Something had happened there. And you pressed it.

“Are you sure you would like to tie it that tight? I may want to lose it again if it means you’ll fetch it for me?” you asked.

He actually looked amused, and you were relieved. You were constantly scolded from a young age for being so coquettish. “Bold. Aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told so.”

“Miss….?”

“Miss Y/N L/N. And you?”

“Sherlock.”

“That’s it, then?”

Now he was coy. “For now.”

“So, there’s to be a future, then? Between us?”

He caught your wit, amused even further. Thankfully he did not think you crass and he did not chastise. He was returning your flirtations. “I think so, Miss Y/N.”

“Well, I look forward to the future then. You live in London?” you questioned.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Most of the time.”

“’Most of the time?’” Sherlock repeated and you shrugged.

“Sometimes I dream of escaping. It takes up some of my time, pulling me away from here.”

He smirked at that. “I suppose I should say most of the time too. My mind pulls me to places. As well as my job.”

“Lucky you,” you said sincerely, and his expression was warm. He was interested in you. He was older, not terribly but there was distance. Reaching out, you touched his topcoat. “You are a bit of a pyromaniac it seems. Or just terrible with the cherries of your cigars. Please tell me it’s not the latter.”

“What makes you say that?”

You cocked your head and pulled down his vest and his eyebrows rose at the movement as you exposed some of his chest hair peaking out from beneath his dress shirt. You ignored his stunned look, doing your best to not linger on his exposed chest. Your finger landed on his dress shirt, pointing out the singe. “Do you think I’m blind, Mr. Sherlock?”

He let out a small laugh.. “I thought I hid it well enough beneath the vest.”

“You must not move as quickly as you have been to keep it hidden. Now, tell me. Why would you not just get a new shirt? You surely have the money. I mean, if you know the hatters on Bishop’s. And it’s not just anyone that splurges on a silk tie.”

He cocked his head, eyes running up and down you. You smiled in response, seeing you had impressed him.

“I haven’t gotten around to it,” he shrugged.

“Busy man, then.”

“Quite.”

“Too busy to escort me through the park?” you asked.

He eyed you and asked, “Would that be entirely inappropriate? We did not set this up beforehand.”

You shrugged now and said, “I could tell the gallant story of how you saved my hat from getting dirty in the mud. And I asked for you to walk me back. I did get quite a look for being on my own on the way over here.”

Sherlock’s lips pulled into a smile, and he gestured for you to walk. You were thankful he had initiated it; it was societally appropriate for him to initiate everything. How you wished you could loop arms but that itself would be societally inappropriate considering you had just met. Your mother would simply have a heart attack if she saw that, especially with so many possible suitors in the park.

He came to a stop, and you stopped as well, watching him curiously as he left the path. He reached for the rose bush, and you grimaced as he reached straight into it. He could cut his hands. But he yanked, his fingers moving ever so, pulling a single rose off the bush. His hand was unharmed.

He presented it to you, and you took it gently.

“A token of appreciation of your company, Miss L/N,” he said.

Examining it, you observed, “Pink. Are you of grace and sweetness? Or is that to refer to me?”

“I would have given red would it have been readily available,” he smiled, and you felt heat creep. “Also, pink can symbolize admiration. That is breaching on the red, is it not?”

You shrugged, keeping it close. “Yes, I suppose so. A fine point.”

The two of you walked on and Sherlock asked lightheartedly, “Where is your escort, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I am here with a ladies group. They’re probably sitting at the blankets still, tittering about the gossip,” you responded. “My mother especially. She loves being in the center of all the gossip and drama.”

“My, I must watch my back returning you. Would not want to start any rumors.”

“Would rumors about us be so bad, Mr. Sherlock?”

He was tickled. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Only in the presence of people I think I can trust. Not all women are complete straight laces. And frankly, most are only that way in public. Have you not spent a lot of time with women in private spaces?”

Sherlock chuckled, “That is a very loaded question, my dear. Where did you ever learn to banter like this?”

“I have an older brother. And your ‘dear’?”

“Have I offended you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

His eyes were alight, sharing a look with you. It was only interrupted as you passed another couple and nodded at them, Sherlock doing the same.

“Ah, like I said,” you said coming back over the bridge. You spotted them still eating their small cakes and sipping on their tea. Sherlock followed your gaze and you leaned in, “Thank you for providing me a walk. My legs had become quite numb sitting on the ground for so long.”

“My pleasure,” Sherlock responded.

You saw that one of the women had noticed you and Sherlock approaching over the bridge and you needed to hurry up the conversation. Pressing your luck, you asked, “Do you happen to have an invite to the Mayberry Ball?”

“Unfortunately,” Sherlock sniffed.

“Would it still be unfortunate if I was there?” you inquired.

Sherlock’s eyes were locked with yours and you came to a stop in the path. You stared at him with sincerity, waiting for his answer.

He cleared his throat, looking away. “It would liven up the event, that is for sure. I am terribly bored at those events, but I am dragged along by my�� partner.”

“‘Partner?’” you asked, your fiery hope getting water doused on it.

“Confidant. Flatmate,” Sherlock explained quickly sensing your discomfort, meeting your gaze once more. You visibly relaxed, and he no doubt noticed. He resumed walking with you down the path. “He encourages me to get out. It is why I am at the park today. I had only been out for about a quarter of an hour before you showed up and I had already been considering heading back inside.”

“What a shame, sir. To hide yourself away. Who knows who you’ll meet if you only ventured out?” you stated, shrugging in a lighthearted manner.

“Too true,” Sherlock returned, eyes bright. He shot a look towards where the tea was being held and then cleared his throat, straightening up. “Well, it looks like we have been found out, Miss L/N. I suppose I should let you get back to your lunch. I have taken up too much of your time.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Sherlock,” you assured him as you reached the edge of the grass.

Sherlock gave you a curt bow and turned towards the ladies and gave them a smile and a bow as well in acknowledgment. The ladies bowed their head in return, and you kept yourself from smirking at the fact they all looked like chickens bobbing their heads in unison, eyes fixated on him.

“Enjoy the rest of your afternoon. Make sure to keep that hat tied tightly, Miss L/N,” he told you before turning on his heel and walking off.

You watched him walk off for a few moments before turning back to the tea.

Your mother was on you the second you sat down.

“Who was that man? And where did you get that rose?”

“My hat flew off and he fetched it for me before it went into the mud. I was foolish, I should have tied it before walking off. A gust of wind caught it,” you told her calmly, fixing your skirts around your legs as you relaxed in your sitting position. “And I made a comment about the roses, so he picked one for me. I was afraid the poor man was going to hurt his fingers, but he was careful. Very kind of him to do so, it does smell lovely.”

“And his name?”

“Mr. Sherlock.”

Your mother eyed where he had walked off and she said, “Why does that name not sound familiar?”

The other ladies looked at a loss as well and you merely shrugged in response. “Maybe he is new to the city. I am grateful he walked me back. Are there any cucumber sandwiches left? I am famished.” You acted as if you had little interest in him to get your mother off your back, but you were already thinking of what gown to wear to the Mayberry Ball.

<><><>

You looked down at your gown for the umpteenth time, making sure nothing had spilled on it. You had chosen a deep purple, silk brocade with silver detail. It was one of your finest and your mother encouraged it, considering it was the courting season and especially since it was your fourth season. Your father listened to you when you told him you were uninterested in the men who had tried to court you thus far, but you knew even his patience would wear thin with your pickiness and your hand would be forced.

Eyes wandering, you stood by where your brother was recounting a story to your father and mother. People spun to the dance, others off to the side, exchanging flirtations. You suddenly locked eyes with Sherlock across the room.

He grinned briefly before raising his eyebrows. He turned, disappearing back into the hallway behind him.

Your family was distracted with your older brother, and you easily slipped away through the crowd, following where he had gone. The hallway was empty and there were doors at the end of it. You pushed them open and were expecting him. But you were met with empty air and your brow furrowed.

“Sneaking away, Miss L/N?”

You startled hearing him from behind you. He was sitting on a bench against the wall, nestled between two tall plants.

Stomping over you glowered down at him.

“Did I offend somehow?” he asked as he stood up from the bench.

You scoffed, “You told me to sneak away! And then you startle me!”

“I did nothing of the sort! I merely made a face. And you assumed from there. I don’t argue your detection skills though.”

“Why do I feel as if you are jesting?”

“Never.”

You sighed before saying, “Well, I would accept a dance. But I am sure my mother would be on you in a second. She was already curious about the walk.”

“As you suspected. And she should be. A strange gentleman walking her daughter through the park. Especially during the season. And who said I danced?”

“Is that why you were standing on the outskirts?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You cocked an eyebrow and said, “If you haven’t noticed, I am single. I am to be escorted at these types of events. My father and brother were keeping me close until someone approached me to ask for a dance.”

“You’d already danced with three by my count.”

“You were watching me. For how long?”

“The detail on your gown is exquisite.”

“Will you always compliment my clothing? Is there nothing else about me to compliment?”

There was a pause, the two of you staring at the other. Sherlock’s lips twitched and he hid a smile. “It would be inappropriate of a me to engage in other compliments, no matter how much they are warranted.” Well, that answered your question in a sly manner, much to your pleasure. “But, being found outside with a man alone would tarnish your reputation. And yet you followed. Speaking of inappropriate.”

“And you encouraged it. Plus, it is not like I am a lady. I’m simply middle class. It would not affect me as greatly.”

“I would not say ‘simply’ in that regard. It is very respectable to be middle class. Especially since I can deduce your family is further into the elite side of it. And on the contrary, not being upper class, the situation which we are describing would certainly affect you greater considering you are closer to having less equity if a suitable match was not made within your own social class. Middle-middle class is less than lower upper class.”

He noticed your eyes were narrowed and he cleared his throat, stopping in his speech.

“Do you always speak so much?” you asked him.

“Yes.”

You spotted your brother going through the crowd inside in earnest, certainly searching for you.

“Well, do not change, Mr. Sherlock,” you told him, giving him a quick smile. His interest was piqued by the comment, and you added, “I’m quite serious. It amuses me so. You have intellect. But I must take my leave. I spot my brother who is certainly going to talk my ear off in an unpleasant way about wandering off alone. Even if I say I was using the lavatory and did not want to interrupt their conversation.”

“If you find yourself on New Bond Street…” you said in invitation. Sherlock looked taken aback and you quickly said, “I am sorry. I did not mean to be too forward.”

“No,” he recovered quickly. He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. You are just… very close to me. A few blocks actually… fascinating.”

You saw your brother cross again and you hurried, “Oh, well, yes, that is. What a coincidence. Well, good night. I hope to see you again.” You gave him a half curtsy before you turned.

He grabbed your hand and you stopped, facing him again. He brought your gloved hand up to his lips and gave it a kiss, keeping his eyes on you. “And I as well.”

A smile was on your lips as he let your hand go and you hurried back through the doors back to the ballroom.

<><><>

The day after your tryst with Sherlock, you were not surprised you were called on at home. Thankfully, Arthur was not home.

“A gentlemen is here to see you, ma’am. A Mr. John Watson.”

You greeted him in the parlor, the door cracked. You did not want to arouse suspicion about this gentleman visiting you while Arthur was out, no matter if he was known as an acquaintance. Although, he was far closer to you than anyone in the household would ever know. If the maids wanted to eavesdrop, they could do so gladly.

“John,” you greeted him and he took his hat off to greet you in turn.

“Y/N, you look lovely as always,” he complimented as one of your maids brought in a tray of tea.

John waited for you to seat yourself before he sat down as well. You reached forward, preparing two cups of tea for the pair of you.

“Thank you. You look well. Mrs. Hudson must be feeding the two of you well.”

“Quite,” he answered.

“Sugar?”

“Please.”

You handed him his tea and he placed it in front of him.

John asked point blank, “How was he?”

Of course John knew you had seen him. If Sherlock left 221B Baker, you were one of, if not the first, stops he would take on most of the time if John was not with him.

“He was Sherlock.”

John took a drink and you watched him closely. He met your eyes again and sighed, “He’s been manic.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s coming back out to see us then, correct? He confirmed he would be at the masquerade.”

“It’s gotten worse since—”

“I don’t need to be reminded again,” you told John.

“I think you do. Are you happy here?”

You bristled at the comment. Why did men think they had such a liberty to comment on your choices? Maybe you should have closed the door, but you did not expect something like this from John of all people. Sherlock, certainly. But not him.

John noticed your expression and he opened his mouth, but you cut in testily in quiet tones.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak so loudly about such matters right under my husband’s roof.”

You did get up now and go to the door, closing it. This was turning into something else entirely than what you had expected. John was watching and you hoped he realized he needed to be quick about this to not give too much time for them to speculate what was happening in here. You sat back down.

He matched your quiet tones, thankfully, even with the door closed. “It’s the most sure-fire way to get your attention on the matter.”

Taking a drink of your own tea, you kept your eyes pinned on him. Swallowing, you placed your cup back down delicately. “I cannot leave my husband.”

“I wasn’t asking you to do that.”

Cocking your head, you asked, “Then what are you asking, John?” His lips were pursed and you knew you had caught him. You shrugged, “You’re asking me to leave my husband. Divorce is illegal for me to initiate if you have forgotten.”

“I know that. He’s always better after he sees you.”

“But?” you asked, knowing there was more.

“But he always reverts.”

“Because he’s not with me?”

John gave you a look now and he said, “You know it is true.”

“John, is this for you or for him?”

“Can it not be both?” he asked honestly. “I am concerned for my friend, and I can simultaneously be concerned for my own mental health and anxiety.”

You sighed heavily, looking out the window.

“I know it is near impossible for you to obtain divorce – or even a separation – but… if you simply saw him more.”

“How?”

“Bring him into your circle. Then it would not be suspicious if the two of you were speaking with each other. On the street, in a restaurant, at the park.”

“You know it not just speaking that Sherlock and I engage in,” you whispered.

John rose his brows, looking embarrassed, but said, “I know. But just seeing more often may encourage him to imbibe less and relax.”

“Do you understand how much I wish I could be with him?” you asked seriously. John was quiet and you shrugged. “There will always be a hole, John, for me.”

John leaned forward and said, “Then try what I am suggesting. Please.”

Studying his face, you exhaled, running the risk of the idea through your mind. Sherlock was unorthodox, but perhaps he could put up a front to be around the gentlemen your husband surrounded himself with. It was farfetched but… possibly.

“I’ll consider it. I am going to see him tomorrow night at the ball. I trust you are attending?”

John nodded, “Yes. I am.”

“Good,” you told him, getting up again and going back to open the door a crack. You did not see anyone in the hall but you doubted they had not been there and had only run away when they heard your footfalls coming towards the door. Facing him again, you said in your normal voice, “I am looking forward to the gooseberry pie myself.”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #rdj sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes rdj #my shit

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digitalstowaway · 3 years

Text

No Winners: Chapter Three (Mia & Miles AU)

Read on AO3 | After failing to win a guilty verdict at his first trial, Edgeworth is denounced as von Karma's protege. Mia finds him, alone and traumatized, and decides that befriending him is like picking up a lost, wounded puppy on the side of the road. But it turns out they're connected in more ways than Terry Fawles' death.

It was Friday afternoon by the time Lana knocked on Miles’ front door, holding a thermos of soup and smiling.

Miles stood in his doorway, squinting at her. He wore his pajamas still—a comfortable set of flannel bottoms and a large t-shirt that hung off of his scrawny frame—and his hair was ruffled and messy. Lana could see how it stuck up in the back while the fringe had become frizzy and laid flat against his face.

“I thought I’d check up on you,” Lana said. “And bring you soup.”

“That was… thoughtful.” His voice was hoarse, and it sounded like he strained to get the few words out.

He would have looked adorable if there wasn’t a worrying flush to his face and glassiness over his eyes. But he did look younger than Lana had ever seen him. And smaller. If Lana didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teenager taking a day off school.

She just had to take care of him. She couldn’t leave a sick child home alone.

“Mind if I come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, Lana pushed past him and was walking into the house. His home was cute but definitely belonged to a 20-year-old boy. There was hardly any decor, and all of the curtains were drawn shut—though, the latter could have been due to the poor thing looking like he had just crawled out of bed—leaving the rooms to be dark and stuffy. The kitchen was bare, most notably. The only items on the countertops were an electric kettle and decorative containers that Lana suspected held nothing in them.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” Miles asked, standing behind her as she unscrewed the top of the thermos.

“If you don’t eat the soup now, it’ll get cold.”

If I don’t watch you eat right now, I don’t think you’ll eat at all.

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter if you’re capable of it or not, it’s just nice to have someone with you.”

She began rifling through his cabinets. She was happy to see full sets of plates and bowls and cups. She wasn’t very happy to see, though, the lack of food on his shelves.

She motioned for him to sit at his island. He did, looking like he was obeying the command of a superior.

“I can make you tea as well,” Lana said, pouring out the soup in front of him.

“Are you always in the habit of inviting yourself into people’s homes and invading their kitchens?”

“I’ve been known to do so on occasion. But usually, people are more accepting of it than you because I’m also known to be a good cook.”

Miles looked down at his soup. He stirred it, mixing up the vegetables and noodles in a whirlpool, and then set his spoon down.

He was tucked into himself, arms discreetly wrapped around his middle. Lana recognized the position as someone who couldn’t stomach the thought of food.

And all of her forged maternal instincts that came from taking care of Ema rushed forward. Really, a 12-year-old girl and Miles Edgeworth couldn’t be too different to look after.

Lana pressed her hand to his forehead. He allowed it, closing his eyes.

“You’re really warm,” she sighed. “Do you have a thermometer?”

Miles shook his head. Lana tutted.

“Do you have cold medicine? Or any medicine?”

“I have aspirin.”

He was barely old enough to take aspirin. Lana prided herself on her knowledge of over-the-counter meds, and she clearly remembered the warning label on the back of the aspirin bottles to not give any to a person under 20. And god, the kid was just old enough to take such a simple drug? He was just entering the final stages of his coming of age?

Lana had had a thought or two upon first meeting Miles that he was truly too young to be in a prosecutor’s office. Not for the uptight, snooty reasons her colleagues had. But because she couldn’t bear to think of the toll it would take on someone so young—so bent on perfection.

“Do you have anything else?” she asked.

Miles shook his head. His eyebrows raised as if he was in trouble and scared of being scolded. It was always the subtle things that made Lana worry.

“Well, lucky for you, I carry everything in my purse.”

As she dug through her purse for her trusty bottle of acetaminophen, he coughed harshly into his elbow. It sounded worse than the night before. Like his lungs were trying to come up his throat. He winced and grimaced and struggled to breathe through it. Lana forgot about the pills and pulled out her phone.

“I’m going to have Mia pick up a few things for you,” she said.

“No—”

“Miles, you’re not going to get better like this. I’ll have her drop off something for your cough and a thermometer at some point today, okay?”

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make sure you finish your soup.”

—

By the time Mia arrived with a little bag from the pharmacy, Lana was waiting in the doorway with her phone in hand. She tried to smile when Mia met her, but she looked tired and worried.

“Is he okay?” Mia asked.

She tried not to care. People got the flu. People lived through the flu. Miles was going to be fine in a week.

“He’s in rough shape,” Lana said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be okay.”

Mia passed her the bag with the highly specific requested items inside. Two types of cough syrup—antitussives and expectorants. Whatever those were. Lana had said a balance of both was necessary. A bottle of acetaminophen and another of ibuprofen. There was something about alternating between the two that wasn’t explained well over text. And cough drops (of which Mia had bought three kinds), acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and a thermometer. Any thermometer, Lana told Mia.

The shopping list had been followed by a notification that Lana had sent Mia more than enough money to cover it all. There was a note in the money-sharing app that said and buy yourself something nice ;) xo Lana

It had been a nice break from her anxiety-ridden text messages. Mia had bought herself a pack of gum and two lollipops.

“That’s for you,” Mia said when Lana pulled out the second lollipop.

“How sweet,” Lana said.

“Can I see him? I want to look at the scary prodigy all sick.”

“Yeah, but be quiet. He just fell asleep.” Lana led her in. “Why do you want to see him like this?”

“Blackmail. In case he ever tries pulling something, I’ll have a picture of him all snotty and gross.”

“Mia, don’t take a picture of him.”

“Why not?”

“It’s mean. And isn’t your whole thing being anti-blackmail?”

This was different. There would be no one to truly show the picture to. And Miles would catch on to that. The threat would be superficial and empty.

The living room was dark and quiet, and Mia nearly missed Miles on the couch. He was curled up under a blanket, blending into the upholstery. But looking closer, Mia could see how pale his face was and the light layer of sweat covering his forehead.

Lana unpacked the pharmacy bag on the coffee table, careful to not make a sound to disturb Miles. But he woke himself up anyway, his uneasy breathing turning into a coughing fit. A hand emerged from the blanket, and a crumpled tissue in his fist was pressed to his mouth. His cough sounded awful. Mia nearly gagged in sympathy when she heard something deep in his lungs get stirred up.

“Miles, Mia brought you some stuff,” Lana said. “Can you take your temperature real quick?”

She assembled the thermometer. Mia had picked one up with multiple tips in hopes that the fancier it looked, the better it would work.

Lana handed the thermometer over, and Miles laid it under his tongue. Mia was surprised by the lack of fuss he made, and he did close his eyes immediately and seemed close to sleep by the time the thermometer beeped.

Lana slid it out of his mouth for him as a mother would.

“103.5,” she read.

Mia grimaced. That wasn’t good at all.

Miles’ eyes opened, but they didn’t react to what Lana had said. Instead, they fell on Mia with a glare nastier than what he usually served.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I delivered you half of a pharmacy,” Mia said, gesturing to the table. “Be grateful.”

Lana interrupted them. “Miles, if your fever gets much higher, I think I’m going to take you to a hospital.”

And the glare towards Mia immediately changed to a scared look to Lana. He shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“But if you get any worse, I think you’ll need help and there’s no clinics open at this hour. It doesn’t sound like you’re breathing very well, either.”

It didn’t. Every other intake of breath was raspy.

Miles shook his head again. Lana sat next to him on the couch and brushed his hair back from his face. It was absolutely out of character to allow himself to be coddled in such a way.

How childish he looked, Mia thought. He certainly always carried the air of a brat, but he had never looked so small. So helpless. So in need of a person like Lana Skye.

“Only if you get worse, okay?” Lana said. “And Mia brought you a lot of medicine, so hopefully you start feeling better by tonight.”

But Miles still looked scared, and Mia wondered what his damage was with hospitals. Not that anyone particularly liked having to go into hospitals. They were genuinely acknowledged as places no one ever wanted to be.

“Let’s try to get this cough under control first,” Lana said and reached for one of the bottles of cough syrup.

Hours passed, and Mia stayed. She felt bad about leaving Lana alone with the possibility of Miles needing to be taken to a hospital hanging in the air.

It was also nice to see Lana mother Miles, waking him so often to take a different pill or to press the thermometer into his mouth one more time. When she wasn’t doting on the prosecutor, they snuck into the kitchen to talk like children.

“He really needs a doctor,” Lana said. “But it’ll be best if I can get him to a clinic tomorrow instead of putting him through the emergency room tonight.”

“You’d go with him?”

“Do you think he could drive himself?”

Mia rocked against the countertop. “No.”

“Then, I’d have to go with him. Or someone would have to go with him, and I don’t really see anyone else lining up to escort him.”

Lana picked up her phone and, looking over her shoulder, Mia could see her texting Ema and then Damon Gant. One a reassuring conversation and the other a semi-desperate beg to ask anyone at all if they could do her a favor.

“You know,” Mia said, “if someone needs to watch Ema tonight, I can do it.”

Lana looked up, perhaps embarrassed that she had been caught in such weakness. “Would you?”

“Unless you need someone to wrangle Miles to the hospital.”

Lana smiled. “We’ll see which child needs the most supervision. But if I did ask you to watch Ema tonight, you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. I have nothing better to do.”

“And if I asked you to help me get Miles to a hospital?”

Mia tilted her head back. She had little reason to say no. “Sure.”

—

As the sun was finally setting, coughing turned to choking.

Miles struggled to pull himself up. He rested on his elbows, his head bowed, coughing too hard to take in any fulfilling breaths.

Lana tugged him up so that he was sitting against her. His shoulders heaved and with his coughs, small strings of bile spilled from his mouth.

“Can you get towels please?” Lana asked Mia.

Mia ran down the halls until she found a closet and stacks of towels. It was an unnecessarily large house for one kid. Mia had a one-bedroom apartment with barely enough room to accommodate Maya when she visited. And there was Miles living in a house with, if Mia counted right as she passed them, two bathrooms and a bedroom on the first floor alone.

But she couldn’t be mad at him if his sleazy mentor gave him the money to buy the house. If anything, it was good for Miles to keep whatever that man had already given him.

Mia grabbed all the hand towels and wash clothes she could, wetting a few down, and ran back to the sitting room where Lana was trying to keep Miles up.

“It’s okay,” she was repeating, and Mia could hear Miles mumbling apologies as she handed over the towels.

Lana got to work cleaning up his face and then his clothes. Miles’ thin hands were limp on his lap, only being moved by Lana to scrub at the bile that hand landed on his sweatpants.

“Do you want to change?” Lana asked.

Miles shook his head. He was usually so pristine, Mia was surprised he didn’t want a fresh pair of clothes.

“Okay. We can lay back down for now.” Lana helped him shuffle around until he was lying back down.

She covered him with his blanket again and left one of the damp cloths over his forehead. Mia stood awkwardly off to the side.

“It’s getting kinda late,” Lana said.

“If you want me to watch Ema now, I can,” she said.

“I don’t know. I think I should really get Miles to a hospital, but I think it’ll take at least the two of us to get him anywhere.”

“Is there anyone else who can watch Ema?”

Lana didn’t say anything. Mia didn’t know many people who could really be left alone with a child. Not any that could be called at the last minute.

“What about Diego?” she asked.

“Ema’s never met Diego before. I’ve barely met Diego.”

“Yeah, but he’d probably be willing to stay with her for the night. He mentioned to me once that he likes kids.”

“Miles is a kid, and he doesn’t seem to like him.”

“Miles is 20.”

“I’m 20,” Miles agreed sleepily.

“And Ema isn’t Miles,” Mia said. “She’s… less difficult.”

“Okay,” Lana said. “If he doesn’t mind, tell him I can give him our house key if he meets us here and helps us get Miles into my car.”

Mia didn’t hesitate to grab her phone and begin texting Diego, her newest message harshly juxtaposing her previous, half-flirty ones. Miles whined next to her, telling Lana that he would be okay. That he didn’t need to go anywhere. And Lana gently cooed to him that it would be alright. He needed more help than she could give him, and she and Mia would stay with him.

Mia didn’t remember when she volunteered to stay with Miles in the hospital. She thought that she would be there long enough to get him inside and moved on from the waiting room before going back to her own apartment. She watched Miles cough into his pillow and Lana brush his damp hair back from his forehead and knew that she was well past the point of any further negotiations.

#mia & miles au #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #mia fey #lana skye #my fics #no winners #finally chapter three!!!

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part three: Click this, Rumtumtugger.

Part four: you're here, jennyanydots

Part five: Clicky dicky here, buddy

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Those words left my mouth without much thought. I wasn't thinking of the damned consequences at the moment.

Behind me was Kunal, an iron grip on my leg, bawling his eyes out. "Y/N! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T GO!" he pleaded, his cries getting louder by the second.

My hand ruffled his strawberry blonde hair, messing it up. "Let go, Nal," I said in the calmest tone I could muster. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, I cleared my dry throat, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry as if I just ate a handful of salt, which was honestly a luxury.

My face remained stoic, the moment I show a sign of distress I know the people in the Capitol would eat it up like good bread. It entertains them, our suffering entertains them.

His hands slipped from my leg, gripping on my pants before he was finally taken away from me. "Up you go, Owl eyes," said Gale, his voice trying hard to remain steady. Beside him was Katniss, who was holding Kunal by the shoulders. She nodded, "Good luck, Y/n,"

I nodded, before looking back at the temporary stage. "Oh well, Bravo!" Effie exclaimed. "That's the spirit of the games!"

She was thrilled, finally seeing some action from this district. It made a pit in my stomach, I clenched my jaw. If only the roles were reversed, Capitol people fighting for their lives instead of us.

Oh, how funny that would be.

I strode to the stage, trying my best to look collected. The foreboding feeling in my stomach only grew with each step I took, my hands sweating as if they've just been dipped into water once I finally took my place.

"Do tell us your name," Effie said, her grin widening as she nodded, encouraging me to talk. It took all the will power I had to not strangle her.

"Y/n Greyback," I replied dryly, hoping it would set her off.

“I bet my buttons that was your brother. Don’t want him to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” she trilled, making me clench my fists.

Her words were met with silence. No one clapped, not a noise can be heard. Even the ones who would usually bet on who would wound up as a tribute didn't do anything.

I held back a smile, a surge of hope flowing through me. This was the most rebellious thing they could do without getting punishment of any sort. Silence.

Silence doesn't mean fear or that we're cowards. It meant that we do not accept this, we do not condone.

Just as my father always said, one does not need to shout to make a change.

The next thing that happened was even more of a surprise. Maybe it was because I was a son of a "rebel", maybe they pitied my family or maybe it was because I talked to the mayor's daughter.

Just one, then two, then a group almost all of the crowd put the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

My tense hands relaxed a sense of calm washing over me. We were united in a strange way, something I thought would only happen in my dreams.

"Look at him! Look at this one!" Hollered Haymitch, throwing an arm around my shoulder. His arm was quite heavy, understandable, he's a wreck. "I like him!"

The scent of alcohol from his breath was strong, or maybe he just smelled of alcohol. "Lots of. . ." He paused, trying to think of a word.

I cringed as he slightly swayed around, trying my best to not touch him. "Spunk!" he declared triumphantly. "More than you!"

He released me, staggering to the front of the stage. "More than you!" He declared once more, pointing towards the camera.

Was he talking to the audience? Or maybe he was addressing the Capitol. I wish it's the latter, that would be funny.

Just as he opened his mouth to continue, he fell down the stage, knocking himself unconscious in the process. I snickered slightly, my face scrunching up right after.

Thankfully, the cameras were all pointed towards him, watching as they whisked him away into a stretcher. I took this moment to glare back into the distance, watching the scenery.

There was the hill that me, Katniss and Gale were just at. It looked so peaceful, contrary to my day.

"What an exciting day!" Effie warbled, trying to fix her tilted wig. It looked ridiculous. Why would Capitol people, no, why would anyone wear that?

It looks ugly, like a beaten up squirrel. Though I'd be lying if I said it wasn't eye-catching, though, beaten up squirrels are also eye-catching. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our next tribute!” she continued, putting one hand to the second bowl.

Her fingertips grab the first slip it encounters. I hoped it wasn't Gale or Katniss. I didn't want to kill them, not that I'd ever stand a chance.

Katniss was extremely skilled with the bow, she could probably shoot my head from miles away. Gale, on the other hand, was strong, compared to him, I had the strength of a broken twig.

"Peeta Mellark," She read. Oh no. Why him? Of all the people in this district. His father just "introduced" me to him this morning, not just that, I knew him.

I watched him make his way up the stage, I had a clear look at him this time. He had a stocky build, medium height, ashy blonde hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the situation registered on his face, though you could tell that he was alarmed by the way his blue eyes looked.

Like a prey knowing it'd be hunted.

Despite this, he still manages to climb up the small flight of stairs calmly.

Effie Trinket then asked for volunteers, but no one spoke up. He has two older brothers, I've seen them. But one is probably too old to volunteer, and the other just wouldn't. This was standard family devotion, what I'd done was a radical thing.

The mayor began to say the same old words he always says every reaping day. I couldn't help but think, why him?

I remember it all too well, that day, it was raining up a storm, the wind was howling. My mother and my brother were left at home, I was tasked to find food for us since my mother couldn't bear to show her face to the district.

How could she? Her husband has been executed for rebellion against the Capitol. One of the peacekeepers found weapons under his possession and he was killed. He managed to convince them to spare us, though sometimes I wished it hadn't worked.

Within a week of his death, we began to lose money, and therefore, food. Nobody wanted to help us, nobody wanted to associate with the family of a tyrant.

Shame, the family name bared shame. My mother didn't have the gall to go out and sell any of my father's things, my brother was too young to even understand what was going on.

I was angry. How could they have just taken everything away from us that easy? Who gave them the right to do that?

But at that moment, I couldn't afford to sit still and wallow in my resentment. That was a luxury I couldn't afford. not many could afford it either.

Starvation was a fairly common thing in district 12, though the amount of covering up the peacekeepers do no one a favour and fools no one.

There I was, a boy who wasn't even old enough to be registered into the pile walking around in the harsh weather, stripped away from my dignity and whatever money we had.

I found myself in the Mellark's bakery, being told off by the baker's wife, who was tired of having brats from the Seam paw through her trash. I would've screamed back then, but I didn't want the Peacekeepers called on me.

So I left without another word, sitting at a tree for some sort of cover from the harsh rain. I remember the snorts of the pigs beside me, and that was when I realized I'm no better than cattle; the people of Panim were no better than cattle.

My knees buckles as I collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering from the cold and the harsh reality. Maybe I had gone insane then, but I vaguely remember talking to the pigs, ranting to them.

They didn't listen, they were too busy rolling in the mud. Looking back, I find this extremely funny, but maybe that's because I don't want to pity myself.

I didn't even notice a boy until the pigs actually rose to eat the pieces of bread thrown at them. I stared at him for a long while, mainly because of the burnt bread, the crust was scorched black.

But a red mark on his cheekbone caught my attention. Had they hit him for burning the bread? My parents have never hit me, I couldn't even imagine what that would feel like.

He took one look at the bakery as if checking if the coast was clear before he turned back to the pigs. Though instead of feeding the pigs he tossed the loaves of bread to me.

I watched him walk towards the bakery and closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. All I could do was stay silent, before shoving them up to my shirt, muttering a broken thank you as I ran home.

The loaves had cooled by the time I got home, but that didn't matter. We had something to eat. Mother looked at me, relieved I didn't die. She hugged me, apologizing.

I didn't care though, we had food, that's what's important.

And for the first time in weeks, we had a proper meal.

I was thankful, the fact that he'd probably burnt the bread on purpose never occurred to me until I crawled onto the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. An act of kindness, someone still cared.

It was as if spring came overnight, fluffy clouds, blue sky, the warm sweet air. At school, we would always catch each other's gazes. I felt a tad bit bad, his cheek was swollen and his eye had blackened.

I couldn't come up to say thank you, instead, I watched him from a distance, contemplating whether I should. When I went to fetch Nal, out eyes met once more, I was about to mouth a thank you until Nal tugged my shirt.

He handed me a dandelion. He's always loved flowers. His love for it made me realize how I would get the food we needed. All that time I and my father spent in the forest won't be for nothing.

To this day, I still feel as if I owe my family's life to him. I had honestly given up, but he gave me something. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread and the dandelion, both gave me hope.

Maybe if I had said thank you all those years ago I wouldn't be feeling so guilty now. I could always say it but something about thanking him whilst I'm practically holding a knife against his throat seems dishonest.

The mayor finished his speech, telling us to shake hands. His were as warm and firm as those loaves of bread. He squeezed me as if reassuring me. Or maybe those were just nervous spasms.

We turn back to the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

There are twenty-four of us fighting in that arena, as grim as it is, let's just hope someone kills him before I'm forced to. I don't wanna kill the reason I've survived all those years.

Word count: 2026

Tags:

@nin3s

Sorry for the late update my exams are next week and im rushing to finish my requirements at school. :"

#hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #male reader #hunger games #male reader insert #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #x male reader #peetamellark #gale #katniss everdeen #male x male reader

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avnkin · 4 years

Text

THE BET ( jj maybank. )

Chapter 8 - Intoxicating

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of sex, foul language, alcohol & the usual dash of angst

author’s note: it’s been a while but i’m getting my inspo back finally lmao hope you enjoy this chapter gif is by @heapass also veins oml

series masterlist

You and JJ hadn’t spoken a word to each other after what had happened. You’d just laid silently in his bed, listening to each other’s heavy breaths as you got your heartbeat to slow down from your previous endeavours.

“So what does this mean?” JJ was the first to break the silence as he rolled over to look up at you.

“Uh- i’m not sure, do you want this to mean something?” you hesitantly asked moving down a little so you were at eye level with each other.

“Yeah I do, but I think I may need some time to get over you and Rafe- I just can’t get the image of you two together out of my head”

That sentence made your blood boil, even if you wanted to get back together you weren’t about to let him blame you for everything that went wrong in your relationship.

“JJ are you being serious right now? It’s not like I cheated on you, we were broken up when I kissed Rafe!” you chided getting out of the bed, covering your naked body with his bed sheets.

“I don’t care and I wouldn’t have minded it as much if it had been anyone but Rafe! He’s made all of our lives living hells for the last year- I mean he nearly cost Pope his job! So it’s not because you made out with someone it’s who it was with!” JJ snapped back getting out of bed after you, quickly pulling on his boxers.

“You’re such an asshole! I don’t even know how I thought of getting back together with you!” you retorted hastily walking around the room in an attempt to find your clothes.

Once you finally managed to get fully dressed you went to unlock the door but JJ pulled you back before you could leave.

You quickly snatched your hand out of his grasp not giving him a chance to talk “give me a call once you’ve decided to stop being a self absorbed asshole” you grumbled slamming his bedroom door shut in his face.

You stormed out of the chateau still adjusting your clothes, when Kiara pulled into the driveway with Pope and John B, perfect timing.

“Hey-“ Pope started but was cut off by you crashing into his shoulder as you stormed past your three clueless friends.

“What was that about” Pope questioned turning to Kiara and John B who stood there, bewildered at your sudden outburst.

“Fuck” Kiara mumbled once she remembered the reason you’d been here in the first place, practically running into the chateau to find JJ.

“What the hell happened!?” Kiara shrieked as she pushed open the door into JJ’s room who just shook his head and let himself fall down onto his mattress.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he shrugged her off not bothering to look up at her.

“Don’t give me that bullshit JJ, I drove Y/N here earlier so you two could make up and then I see her practically crying running out of here so what happened!”

“It didn’t work out alright! We’re not getting back together and we’re not gonna be friends again, okay!?”

“was that your decision or hers?” Kiara countered.

“Hers! or- I mean I just told her that it would take time to get over the thing with Rafe and she just lost it!”

“JJ are you kidding me? You dated her for a bet and she was able to forgive you for that and you’ve got the audacity to be mad at her for something she did when you were broken up! Come on JJ you’re better than that”

“But its Rafe-“ Kiara quickly cut him off.

“I know! Do you think I like the fact she chose him of all guys to be with? But she was hurting because she thought that the guy she really wanted was only with her for money, you both need to sort your shit out because this is getting really tiring for all of us” she spoke gesturing towards her, Pope and John B who stood in silence behind her clearly taken aback by her words.

JJ scoffed not bothering to respond simply pulling a shirt over his head and walking past the three pogues towards the front door.

“You’re just gonna leave?” Kiara chided following after him “yeah I am” he replied coldly before slamming the door shut in her face.

Tears were furiously running down your cheeks as you walked the road down the cut that lead to figure 8.

Deciding to walk home maybe hadn’t been the brightest idea you had, it was so hot you thought you were going to pass out but you refused to spend another minute with JJ.

A sudden honk from behind you made you jerk around, only picking up your pace when you saw Wards all to familiar jet black Range Rover, not needing to guess twice as to who was sat in the drivers seat.

“Y/N?” Rafe leaned out the window as he pressed on the break just enough so he was able to drive alongside you.

“Go away” you replied curtly beginning to walk even faster although you knew your chances of outrunning a car were not in your favor.

“Come on Y/N let me drive you home you’re gonna melt out here in this heat” he sounded sincere his eyebrows contorting, silently begging for you to get into the car.

You came to an abrupt halt as you turned to face him arm crossed over your chest. You had two options one walk home in the burning heat which would probably take you around two hours or get into the car with Rafe and have to endure his company for 10 minutes.

You went with the latter huffing before pulling the door handle and getting into the car without a word, although you couldn’t contain the moan that slipped past your lips once the cool air from the AC met your flaming skin.

“Y/N I just wanted to-“ he began but you cut him off raising your index finger towards his face “stop I don’t wanna hear it just drive me home” he nodded obviously disappointed but kept on driving either way.

Once you pulled into your driveway he gave you one last pleading look but you didn’t give him a chance to talk muttering a small thanks before slipping out of the passenger seat and slamming the car door shut in his face.

You were in desparate need of a shower your sweaty skin beginning to stick to the shirt that loosely hung over your body.

You decided to push all thoughts of JJ into the back of your mind as you turned the shower on wanting nothing more than to take back the fact that you’d gone and slept with him.

“Idiot” you mumbled shaking your head the warm water travelling down your body the only comfort you felt you needed right now.

Just as you began to feel the corner of your eyes brim with tears you were startled to hear the bathroom door open.

“What the hell!” you shrieked once you saw Kiara walk in with a large purple backpack slung over her shoulder.

“That door was locked!” you yelled hurriedly grabbing a towel and wrapping it around yourself.

“I know that’s why I have a knife” she deadpanned before placing the silver object she’d obviously stolen from your kitchen on the bathroom counter.

“What do you want Kie?” you huffed finally stepping fully out of the shower and onto the white tiled floor.

“You, me” she lifted up the backpack she’d been holding “and our dear friend vodka”

“I love you” you gushed grabbing the bag out of her hands and walking into your bedroom gently placing it on your bed.

“What’s the occasion?” you turned to face her “the occasion is a party down at the cut” she smiled sitting down on your bed unzipping the bag revealing the numerous amount of white claws and the huge bottle of vodka.

“God are you trying to kill me? you know i’m a lightweight” you gaped at the numerous beverages but still grabbed a white claw quickly opening it and taking a large sip.

“Who said any of this was for you” she raised an eyebrow an amused smile playing at her lips “shut up” you laughed.

“You owe me this whole thing is your fault” you took another sip out of the can before it was harshly ripped away from you the liquid spilling all over your arm.

“Oh so it’s my fault you hooked up with Rafe” Kiara placed a hand on her hip as she held the white claw up with her other hand.

“No” you snatched the drink back before continuing “it’s your fault that I went to JJ’s which ultimately led to the decision of me sleeping with him and making a complete fool of myself in the progress”

“Fair enough” she surrendered “get ready we need to be down at the beach in half an hour”

Once you’d made it down to the beach you’d already downed four white claws and three shots the alcohol running through your veins making you feel dizzy as you walked alongside Kie towards the crowd of teenagers all packed together around the keg watching as a girl you didn’t recognised stood in a handstand downing the beer without a struggle.

“I could do that” you slurred Kiara’s head turning in the direction you were looking “no you couldn’t” she chuckled dragging you towards John B and Pope who looked beyond shocked to see you.

“Y/N?” John B looked almost panicked as he abruptly stood up his eyes frantically beginning to dart all over the beach before stopping and widening as he looked at something behind you.

You turned to where his eyes were directed and you were horrified at the sight before you. There he was none other than JJ Maybank himself with his tongue shoved down some girls throat.

“That asshole!” you practically growled throwing the white claw you held down onto the sand as you made a bee line towards him, Kiara frantically picking up the can before following after you.

“Real classy J” you sneered a scowl resting on your face as you gave him the most disgusted look you could muster.

“Y/N” was all he said as he turned to face you, he didn’t even look sorry.

“So this is your way of trying to repair our relationship” you shot at him and the girl quickly stood up practically running away from the scene unfolding before her.

“Hey i’m just doing what you’ve been doing all along” he replied curtly standing up to face you.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean JJ” you were surprised at your ability to form a whole sentence since you didn’t exactly see straight, but this whole exchange seemed to be sobering you up.

“I saw you earlier getting into that car with Rafe!”

“What? you were following me?”

“Yes! Because I wanted to come and apologise for how I acted but clearly I was right all along!”

“JJ I didn’t ask him for a ride or call him he offered and I accepted because because I didn’t really feel like walking all the way from the cut back home in the burning heat!” a hint of regret washed over his face at your words but you continued “It doesn’t even matter I don’t have to explain myself to you”

He was about to open his mouth and say something but you didn’t give him the chance. “We’re over and this time I mean it”

You suddenly became more aware of the crowd that had begun to gather around you and you quickly turned around pushing your way past the teenagers that were huddled behind you.

“Are you okay?” a frantic voice belonging to Kiara sounded from beside you.

You swallowed the lump that was beginning to form in your throat and turned to face her pasting on a fake smile as you did.

“I’m fine” you knew she didn’t buy it but she could tell from the look in your eyes that you were silently begging her not to press on it any further, you wanted to have fun tonight and you were not going to let JJ get in the way of that.

“Come on let’s get drunk”

#outer banks #jj maybank #john b imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #outer banks netflix #obx netflix #obx fanfiction #kiara carrera #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward #rafe cameron imagine

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imasimpforstevengrant · 3 years

Text

His (Part one)

Edit by the wonderful 💕💕💕 joker_jessica295

Instagram: @joker_jessica295

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Special thanks to @neon-umbrella-for-stella (thank you so much for the ideas!) and @darkshadow90 for the tips on certain scenes 💕💕

• Author’s note¹: Another Arthur/Harley smut. Yes. It took me more than seven months to write it, based one a suggestion from a reader on a different take.

• A/N ²: 447 FOLLOWERS? WHEN tHE HELL DID I GET SO MANY?! THANK YOU SO MUCH OMG

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Summary: A piece more centered in Harleen and her feelings towards Arthur, Flashbacks to the first meeting and kiss. More sex comes after their first night together as they open up about each other. Meanwhile, a clown has stirred Gotham City by murdering three young Wayne employees, awakening a popular fascination which not even Harleen won’t escape from. She doesn’t know this (wrongly) crowned hero is closer than she thinks.

Warnings: insecurity, self-hatred, swearing, darker Arthur ahead (possessive, lusty, crossing boundaries), age gap, strong sexual themes, sexual humor, oral sex (male receiving), fluff, breast oral stimulation, dirty talk, mild praise kink, possessive, unprotected sex.

WC: +9.946 (IT’S LONG I KNOW… I hope you don’t get bored!)

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November would mark one year since she got to Bronx Apartment after finishing her studies in Gotham’s University, obtaining a degree as a psychologist. Harleen was blessed with an exceptional intuition and a brilliant memory, this preventing her to burn her eyes away studying day and night for exams.

Once finished, she got a job as a therapist in social services. It had been hard to get but Harleen used her charm to convince the man she was ardently committed to social causes. A few smiles to the old, drooling creep during interviews and she got what she wanted. But with the unemployment rate increasing in the city, Harleen knew crisis couldn’t be avoided with a charming smile. Resenting her situation but with no other option, Harleen obtained a job as a bartender in shifts, most of them at night.

She was a frequent target of blatant ogling and indecent comments from men of all ages to which Harleen always replied with sarcasm that either scared them off or ended up with men insulting her under their breath. The first two months in the building were boring and gloomy, until she saw him.

Harleen had seen him a few times. He always seemed so mad, so drawn within himself and yet there was something oddly attractive about him. If not beautiful, it was certainly intriguing. He was the neighbor the other residents warned her about: the laughing guy from the eighth floor. Some told her he was ugly, deranged and creepy. Harleen got her first impression of him during a day off: she went for a drink when the mail boxes, surrounded by a small cage, were checked by the mysterious man.

There he was. The guy was wearing the usual yellow hoodie, navy blue pants, brown vest and a white polka-dotted shirt. Shoes were worn as much as his outfit, hair slicked back, gaze focused on the box that seemed eternally empty. She then noticed the frown that hardened his features, reinforcing the idea that he was always angry, while asking herself some questions about him. Who was he? What did he do for a living? Was he married? Did he have children? He looked old enough to have them.

What was his name?

She would have never imagined she’d figured it out months later. It was one particular night she went out to a party just to return home a little drunk. A catchy song refused to leave her mouth, while dancing in a lively way were enough to get the attention of the loner. He returned from getting his medicines. Hunched pace tracing his way back home, Arthur saw the young recently graduated young lady dancing shamelessly in the hall. She wore a short red dress and her lips shone in crimson gloss.

The image of her hair flowing, creating a blue and pink spectrum of colors turned out to be so unusual and beautiful that immediately sent involuntary visions of her in sexual situations. He hated the idea of her being out of his reach but felt a modest share of satisfaction just by seeing her. This became a common practice on his routine, with Harleen being completely unaware of it. She only saw her mysterious neighbor a few times from then, probably because he had to work. A lot, from what she could tell.

It was Thursday in the evening when she returned from the theater. Harleen was thankful she was on the taxi when the rain started. It was a small luxury she could gift herself after working so hard. She thought her day couldn’t get better when back home when she’d finally get what she wanted for so long.

Once in the elevator bag, in hand, she saw him. The door opening revealed the crestfallen individual, always withdrawn in his thoughts. That would explain why he almost jumped out in shock when he saw her, as if she was some kind of ghost. Harleen finally found the courage to grin and speak up.

“Hi”. One kind greet was enough to freeze him. At the same time, Arthur stared at her, examining the funny hairstyle that embellished her. Simple but pretty: a white sweater and jeans with short boots and a blue bag hanging from her left arm. Buns held her hair, blue the left one, pink the other one. A few platinum locks fell over her neck.

“Hi”, he finally replied. Doubt made his vocal chords tremble. His stare betrayed everything he felt for her, showing even how surprised he was for a woman like her to talk to him. He did his best to return the grin, his lips curving into a sneaky, playful one. Something inside Harleen trembled. Of all the reactions she expected, this was certainly an unexpected surprise. It was like a powerful bolt whipping her body. The odd attractiveness of her older neighbor caught her off guard. She did not expect him to actually have… charm.

There was something that tainted his unique beauty, however. She couldn’t help but stare in silent horror at the small bruise on his eye and a dry trace of blood on the bottom lip. His deep silence and mirthless look on his eyes despite the smile carved a deep wound in Harleen’s soul. He looked so destroyed and yet he managed to be polite enough to reply. She now paid attention to the adorable dimples embellishing his smile. The only thing she could do was smile back, not imagining the magnitude of the feelings she would unleash on him.

The bell rang. Harleen suddenly felt bad to leave for her flat, desiring just a few more seconds to appreciate his features. But she wasn’t willing to lose and her generosity gifted him an awkward but cute hand gesture, which Arthur took a long time to respond to. The absolute amazement in his eyes turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant shock. That smile… so distant from the serious expression that usually carved his features, lost inside his thoughts.

Once in her flat, Harleen was incapable to stop thinking about him. And that wasn’t the only problem. Thoughts replayed the charming smile over and over again and became particularly intrusive while undressing to take a hot shower. She wanted to know more about him by being subtle, to increase the thrill this stranger had caused to her.

Probably the premise of “opposites attract” took a special meaning for the two of them, causing an authentic interest over the loner’s magnetism, not imagining how much of a surprise he’d turn out to be. What Harleen would have never thought was that the loner was also immensely interested in her…

Through fleeting glimpses of a yellow hoodie, she learned she had a secret admirer (this being a soft epithet for what it was actually an stalker).

Harleen became aware of it after noticing there was always a tall, thin man lurking in the shadows of the buildings in front of the playground she was always in during nighttime. It also happened while she was jogging or hanging on a rope to avoid any further danger lately. The latter was more interesting for him, given she could notice him better: still, predacious, not missing any second of watching her involved in such graceful moves, like floating in the air.

Harleen was sly, of course. She knew she was gorgeous. And the notion of being unreachable was highlighted by adding more sensual moves in this effective way to attract him, assuming the unpleasant cost of being constantly catcalled by other men. But of course her efforts paid off: the long expected meeting would occur on September. She actually expected another day to play innocent and let him stare at her instead of an actual interaction. A few pedestrians passed by, following a series of unpleasant whistling and blatant sexual commentaries.

But she couldn’t care less now, noticing it took him longer for him to show himself up through the dim lights in comparison to other days.

Harleen kept doing her job, however, repeating and extending the same moves to maintain her anxiety at bay. This resulted in more pirouettes so she could catch the familiar glimpse of the yellow hoodie near the darkened corner he usually stopped by to stare. The exercise turned out to be so pleasant that almost made her forget her initial goal, her focus now being to make a risky but stylish twirl.

There were no whistles or any indecent comments this time. Just a soft chuckle that evidently showed his amazement at the pirouette broke the deaf car honks, far screams from angry people that shattered the already silent place. Her swinging form immediately got down while trying not to lose the composure, calling him.

But far from what she expected, the man reacted horrified just to run away. She wasn’t going to give up, quickly jogging towards the fence that separated them.

“Hey!” she extended one hand, clawing herself with the other one. The hooded shadow stood there, panicking. He couldn’t bring himself to disappear in the dark, which made him look like a malevolent spirit.

“Come back!” she yelled, waving her hand incessantly to convince him to return, daring him to answer for such tenebrous and creepy attraction for her. It seemed her call paid off, since the man had no intentions to keep running, choosing to walk his uncertainty away through disoriented circles. He suddenly stopped walking, standing completely still now. Harleen rose an eyebrow, honestly expecting what he would do now.

That man had issues for sure.

The idea soon morphed into a fact. Once she saw him coming closer to her to finally face her, she found herself unable to hold back a gasp to discover it was precisely her handsome but distant neighbor she had seen so many times and the reason why she had let him cross the line. She liked intense emotions, and something told her this man could give her a good thrill. The loner, for his part, turned around and almost tripped once realizing the short proximity between them.

It was certainly shocking to see an apparently cold, aloof individual who never talked with such searing lust in his eyes. Her hands now clawed at the fence, her icy blue eyes stared at him, feeling a shiver down her spine while she their glare revealed more things about him, one being his complete bewitch (or more like aroused) hearing his breath becoming more and more shortened. But there was also a glimpse of guilt, lips twitching as if he was repressing a word or even a kiss, she’d dared to say.

The darkness highlighted the odd yet irresistible attractiveness that stole her heart, tracing a smile on her lips. He set his eyes down her body, ending the visual enjoyment focusing on the striking, extravagant mane that reached the upper part of her hips.

“You’ve been enjoying my show, have you?”, she went straight to the point.

A reply came out ringing in a remorseful, broken whisper:

“Yeah”

His name was Arthur. Harleen couldn’t be happier to finally know it, repeating it while taking her time to savor it.

Arthur Fleck.

Nothing prepared her to witness the very thing he was known for, however: the pained, cursed laugh that now resounded through the air.

At first she thought it was genuine but the horrifying shameful look warned her about his desperate attempt to stop and to breathe. The cackles were frustrating and, worse yet, exhausting to the point it made him lose balance while trying his best to look for something inside his pocket. She climbed up the fence to finally make direct contact with him. That seemed to shock him enough to distract his features in a more skeptical expression at the first time someone showing him kindness rather than giving him the usual disgusted stare.

A plastic, worn out card explaining his condition came from his pocket. The fit diminished to painful hiccups to tired sobs, relieved by a few reassuring words to make the stranger stay. It followed with a small talk about Thomas Wayne, unemployment in Gotham City and revealing each other’s “do for a living” but the topic of conversation seemed off. She could tell Arthur wasn’t used to social interaction, noticing how much it took him to find a tone and words to reply coherently. He never lost a sight of her, never taking his gaze off her as she spoke. The blonde felt actual amazement on the intense lust she had awakened on him, motivating her to test him, to see what things he would do to her in a more intimate place.

They arrived to the building. Harleen led her guest to her humble flat. Arthur was fascinated by the pink neon lights that banished the darkness to plunge his senses in a pleasurable, dreamlike numbness. They continued talking. Her flirty attitude and smiles made Arthur feel he was living the best night of his life. The loner was too lost in her bicoloured mane. A small smirk traced his lips, forming those dimples she secretly admired so much.

“It looks like cotton candy”, his mutter rang through her mind, resounding like a small demeanor confessed with relief. The sweet compliment was rewarded, subsequently, with a short, noisy kiss on his forehead. The action quickly makes him recoil for a few seconds, as her memory remembered, just to feel confident enough now to unleash a furious, hungry kiss on her lips. This violent outburst of passion had her lips against his dry, cracked lips, shocking her at first to eventually surrender and responding to the kiss. His inexperience was clear from the beginning but she had more of a convincing proof that the vehemence of the touch starved was, sometimes, more arousing than the dexterity of an experienced lover.

The sound of their lips breaking the caress made the sexual tension even more unbearable. He apologized; covering his mouth like punishing himself for behaving like a deranged creep but Harleen was just too impressed and lost after the spontaneous gesture, praising him for his passion instead of screaming at him. She had already accepted she’d never yearn for another lips except his.

It wasn’t easy for him, however. His rigid posture put in evidence his shame at the (obvious) first intimate contact he held with an actual person. With her head tilting tenderly, Harleen put a rebel curl behind his ear. He shrugged, stepping back, maybe processing the word she chose to describe him. As if that wasn’t enough, Arthur was too self-absorbed in his visible fascination over her chest. There was more than mere lust in his gaze over his disturbing fixation on her bosom, a far cry for the abandonment and yearning for intimacy but being too afraid to show it. Harleen fought the persistent (and reckless, utterly reckless, she had to recognize) urge to grab his hand and let them knead her soft forms, getting him to know her more personally.

Instead, Harleen took his hands on hers, caressing them tenderly. A defeated sigh, at last, made him regain composure. His whisper sounded broken but clear, much to her joy.

“Can you please...?” Arthur wasn’t able to even to complete the plea as the blonde closed her eyes slowly as her face broke distance with his to once again experiment the clouding, soaring euphoria their careless closeness brought with it. The party clown had a hard time processing the warm and maddening sensation of her lips on his, convincing himself that this was no hallucination. They took their time, finding the perfect angle to get a better caress from each other: Harleen had the initiative throwing her arms to his neck, causing the loner to respond by locking his arms around her waist.

Intimacy became too overwhelming when her tongue tried to play with his. The lovers laughed the nervousness off as the kiss finished momentarily to recover from the numbness. But he went back to devouring her to memorize every little sensation, growing more and more confident, tilting his head now to obtain a better taste of her mouth. It proved to be too much for him, however. She sadly felt him distancing from the embrace, most probably because his old fashioned ways deemed improper to sleep with a woman he just had met.

She felt so many things that fateful night misting her senses to verbalize her thoughts. But one thing was for sure:

She would burn Gotham to see him smile.

*-*-*

It was 09:33 am according to the green bluish digits on the old clock, light drizzle falling over Gotham City. A disheveled, yawing Harleen woke up by herself. Laziness held her muscles still until her stomach made clear that breakfast was a must.

She put on black shorts and a grey, long sleeved-shirt, combing her hair to then make a couple pretty braids that fell over her torso. The combination of pink and electric blue was pleasant to the sight, as the mirror revealed. Soon after the observation, she contemplated the empty space left by her lover: Arthur Fleck. She closed her eyes.

That name sounded (or more like tasted) so different now. The memory of this lonely, sad man turned into a sex crazed lunatic still shocked her, as her facial expressions brought out. The fierce passion he had just loved her with turned out to be hard to be believed considering how deprived he was of human contact.

It wasn't just the thrill of surprise but the tenderness of his vulnerability, an aspect whose contrast between despite looking twice as older than her and being a late bloomer just highlighted their affair: Arthur was so different in intimacy, letting go of that repression that harmed his soul since he understood his needs as a man. She smiled, still thinking about what they had done. The thought led her to look for him while her vision became sharper, slowly overcoming the persistent need to go back to sleep.

When she stepped outside her room, a chuckle reverberated through the air, making her come to her senses. Eyes blinking, a pleasant feel of lightheadedness befogging her mind as the silence was broken by a familiar voice.

“Knock, knock”. Harleen was still too sleepy to catch a clear glimpse of the loner behind her who, in turn, locked her form as if she was a prey.

"Huh?" she hummed, confused. But there was no verbal response from him. Arthur reacted kissing her neck with ferocious passion, holding her figure possessively, absorbing her scent. The blonde made an instinctive futile attempt to free herself to recover from the scare the sudden grasp had caused on her. A breathy whisper in her ear dissuaded any intention to undo the embrace.

“You’re supposed to ask who's there”

Harleen turned around, her long blond hair tickling his face. He wasn't gone but by God, she was thankful for that. Arthur undid the hug, directing his hands to her face to press kisses on it repeatedly.

"Mr. Fleck--" the blonde murmured, "I thought you were back on the business making people smile". Arthur smirked. A high pitched giggle left his mouth. He now directed his fingers to feel those attention drawn to her gorgeous, full pink lips.

"I am right now" the loner leaned his forehead against hers. Now that her vision was slightly clearer, she noticed Arthur had left her flat for a moment, given he was wearing a red sweater he didn't bring before. The loner then proceeded to take a black wand off his sleeve, offering it to her. Harleen giggled and took it, deciding to play his game. The object lost its rigid shape, causing Arthur to laugh at her disappointed reaction. He demonstrated his aptitudes as a party clown taking back the wand just for it to regain rigidity once on his hand. He whistled, adding a funny sound as he shook it against his other hand, checking its stiffness.

"What are you doing?" Harleen seemed completely taken by the action, her smile encouraging him to finally offer her the aforementioned wand as a bunch of flowers while humming a song. A tender, excited scream made him chuckle as her hands stopped shaking to hold carefully the gift. It had plenty of feathers of different colors but she loved the simplicity of it.

"Thank you" she placed them in the table, along a small pot of flowers.

Harleen stared at him, tenderly. All Arthur could do was smile, holding her hands briefly on his to then slide one up her arm to reach her face. She suppressed a gasp, which seemed to change the course of the original touch in thought, as his hand recoiled for a moment to return with more intensity to her face.

"We had one hell of a good fuck, Mr. Fleck" Harleen whispered, intertwining her fingers with his. Arthur burst out laughing as her swearing manners still made a great impact against his older ways. But he liked her honesty, nonetheless.

"I think we woke up the whole building" Harleen laughed.

“I don’t see the problem with that”.

“I never said it was“, Arthur replied, cocky. A deep intake of breath then happened, “You know I—“he stammered, nervous. With a cute giggle, the blonde slid down her hands through the soft fabric of his half buttoned shirt that left a glimpse of his chest, invigorating him to keep on. Arthur stared at her, not a word from his mouth, enticingly.

“I-- was just wondering-- what else we can do", he kept on after seconds passed by, trying to catch her mouth with his, nuzzling her face, “’because-- I told my mother I had a call—“, he continued, “from work… so I'd stay away from my apartment for a while. I need some—“he took another deep breath, trying to find the courage to look at her in the eye to pronounce his intentions.

“I need some space, Harleen…” Arthur stared up and down at her figure, hands sliding up the collarbone to rub her shoulders, persuading her to be an accomplice of this reprehensible deed, "but not alone”. The words, though flawed in pronunciation, were perfect to keep her gaze lost as if Arthur had cast a spell on her.

“I plan to have you all for myself today and I'm--" he closed his eyes, hiding his face in her neck, sniffing her hair while trying to voice his intentions despite the nervousness that made him stammer, "I'm eager to know you more personally".

Harleen was actually shocked with what she just heard. A mixture of utter tenderness and searing lust made her blood boil. Did he lie to his own mom to spend more time with her?

"Well with the riots out there, bar is closed for a couple of days so consider it your lucky day” her voice chirped in joy. His eyes shone with modest but genuine happiness at the good news. Then he smiled, flaunting those crooked teeth Harleen loved so much.

The blonde felt she was about to kneel and unzip his pants to give him the reward he deserved for such gesture when her stomach claimed for some food, impeding the spontaneous sexual fantasy to become real, earning a disapproving look on his face. It took them time to regain calmness, as their laborious breaths tried to cool down the fire inside them.

“Why are you doing that?” his tone of voice revealed impatience, leading her to express the idea to have some good meal before any intimacy could take place, causing his displeased expression to turn into a wide smirk.

“Great!” Arthur chuckled, granting her some personal space.

They made their way to the kitchen. Arthur took a sit while waiting, taking a cigarette to light it. Harleen quickly prepared the table, taking the electric kettle to fill it with water to pour it on the coffee machine, putting bread on the toaster and turning the radio on in hopes to increase the domestic bliss. The smoke filled the room but she couldn't care less. The news announced a cold, rainy week while announcing a new episode of the Murray Franklin’s show presenting a famous actor as a guest next week given the release of the film he recently starred in the next week. The announcement ended with a shortened version of the groovy organ of Frank Sinatra’s anthem “That’s Life” which Arthur hummed along. But as soon as the theme song ended on a fade out, he silenced himself to hear, much to his annoyance according to the tired, throaty groan that followed the happy hum, a reporter pronouncing the news related to the continuation of the garbage strike.

Both stood completely silent as the report that exposed most of Gotham's slums to insalubrities. The fear of the possibility to catch a severe disease was reinforced by the citizens who claimed to have seen the rat population increase. The piece of news changed to the Mayoral election, which seemed difficult given the riots and general dissatisfaction of Gotham citizens with unemployment rate and apparent authority's indifference in the matter. The note ended with Thomas Wayne promising order and prosperity if elected. More announcements followed, but the lovers didn’t pay any attention to it. His great displeasure caused Harleen to turn off the device.

"I just can't understand how my mother thinks he's gonna help us" his hand took the cigarette back to his mouth, adding that just because she worked for him more than thirty years ago did not mean he had the obligation to run in aid for her. Arthur rolled his eyes, making clear his profound dislike for people like him and the insufferable infatuation Penny felt for him.

“I’ve told her so many times she doesn’t have to worry about money. Everyone is telling me my stand ups are ready to make it on the big clubs”.

Harleen nodded, enthusiastic at the possibility of Arthur getting a name for himself in the stage.

“I’m not the man of the house for nothing”.

Harleen took the toasted bread and coffee kettle to the table.

“Man of the house, huh?”

“Yes, since I can remember. But even I need a break” he took another long drag, his lost look causing a deep sorrow on Harleen.

She lamented the prolonged solitude that caused him to pronounce such wounded words, hoping (maybe in an unconscious way to cope with stress) to get out the pain it caused him. The blonde extended her hand towards his, in a sweet attempt to cure or, at least, relieve his pain.

His absent gaze combined with the smile caused Harleen to feel a shiver down her spine. She laughed nervously to later pour the coffee in his mug to fill her own later. He didn’t laugh, staring at her and rubbing his forehead with his thumb. This dark glint promised her so many things, and few of them were good. He wasn’t afraid anymore to hide his intentions from her, seeing the affection was mutual. She could also see a spark of pride, engulfing his mind in another deep state of absent thoughtfulness. He pronounced no words, looking now at the recently poured coffee, whose steam slowly diminished to long twirls to nearly invisible white lines. She slowly and carefully extended her hand to his arm to convince him to leave the cigarette aside just to grab the large plate full of breads.

“Aren’t you a cute, little pleaser?”

The tender name immediately washed the worry away from her face while a reddish hue colored her cheeks. Arthur finally gave it a bite, cigarette finally left on the ashtray. The crunchy sound gave Harleen almost a cathartic relief. Whenever the chance to nurture him showed up she didn’t think twice to do it. He left the half eaten piece of bread aside to divert his attention to her.

“You wanna hear a joke?” the playful tone of voice and mischievous smirk made his face adopt such a devilishly appeal Harleen was unable to resist.

“Yes!” she said it as if that could convince him to have one more toast.

“Why are poor people so confused?” his grin drew those adorable dimples in his face again.

“I don’t know” a frisky look gleamed in her eyes.

“Because they don’t have any cents” he answered, before his voice exploded in a loud cackle. Harleen laughed at the simplicity of it. He was actually a funny guy, if only life could have been more generous to him. Bless his soul for making people laugh in such hard times.

Harleen was too lost in his joyful expression beyond if the joke was funny or not. His green eyes shone with a special light in the rare moments he could be in tune with his surroundings. It was as magical as seeing a shooting star. How she wished to take away the pain from him just to see his beautiful smile more often.

Throwing a smoking puff to the air, Arthur leaned in as if to tell her a secret.

“This is the first time someone is so nice to me", the loner confessed, shaking his head. He looked so lost, eyes following the smoke elevating in a single line undone by the move to breathe in the last remains of the cigarette. His personal battle against his warped perception of reality still gnawed his trust on her. A tender pout formed in her lips.

“You’re the first person who doesn’t feel uncomfortable around me” he muttered.

Her thoughts drifted to a greater, sadder horror: to make a difference in such a dark, mirthless man’s life just for being kind barely managed to even imagine the inhuman hardships he had been through during all his life. She lowered her head, trying to resist the actual pain in her chest. How a sentence that was so heartbreaking could also be so beautiful?

“I’m sorry, Arthur”. Her eyebrows arch in a sad expression that seemed to make him reconnect with reality.

“For what?” he frowned, confused. She tightened her eyelids, trying not to embarrass herself in front of him with such an explosive display of emotions, silencing her sobs the best way she could allow herself.

“Everything” Harleen finished. His instinct ordered him to show distrust, unconsciously trying to find any trace of lies. Nobody ever had apologized or even shed a tear for him. As he realized her care was genuine, his mind replayed the phrase over and over again while trying to process these intense, new feelings blooming in his heart over the typical, negative thoughts ghosting around his mind.

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Don’t do that” Arthur reacted panicked, “please…” his fingers dried the watery creeks, “don’t make that face to me. I’m here to put a smile on your face”.

He inhaled deeply, before continuing:

“You know… a famous comedian used to say… uh –“ his troubled mind tried to remember the name but then opted to articulate a coherent word to elude anything that could ridicule him –‘a day without a smile is a wasted day’.

A soft hum left her mouth, though a far shadow of sadness still haunted the tender quote.

“You know what I like about you, Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he was genuinely intrigued to know.

“You could even put the fun in a funeral”

His wide and evil grin, made her put a loose lock of hair behind her ear as a result of an involuntary move to cope with the nervousness.

“Fun in a funeral?” he repeated, a loud and moved hum sounding like a purr, staring at her while a chuckle shook his shoulders, “How sweet”.

How didn’t he realize how attractive he actually was? She asked herself surprised.

“Come here” Arthur patted his thigh loud enough for her to listen to it for her to reply. After drying the creeks coming from her reddened eyes, Harleen calmly got up from the chair. Arthur took distance from the table to allow her a comfortable sit. His fingers held her cheeks to create a smile despite her watery eyes.

Harleen blinked, and a tear escaped. Arthur brushed it away once it ran over her face. He thought she looked pretty when she cried, though. She gave him a sad smile and soon found solace in his face, ruffling the fluffy hair to distract her mind from any unhappy thought. Arthur closed his eyes, slowly caressing her thighs in sensual payback for her little attentions.

Once their foreheads found each other, the blonde muttered:

“How’s that feel?”

“Feels… good” he hummed against her mouth. His lungs inhaled deep before adding:

“I thought I felt better when I was locked in the hospital”.

Harleen widened her eyes in surprise, taking a short distance from him, not knowing if it was another self deprecating joke or the truth, given the defeated tone the sentence was pronounced in.

“What?” but a castdown look was all she needed to figure out the sadness such place caused on him. It wasn’t a secret Arkham was a human dump, considering it held Gotham’s most demented and dangerous criminals and unfortunate souls who couldn’t go anywhere else. Harleen’s eyes widen in a horrified expression.

“Arthur” her hand caressed his cheek, worried about the lightness he seemed to take his life, she tenderly tilted her head, “why were you locked up in that place?”

His tone of voice revealed his annoyance mentioning that place. He shamelessly nuzzled her right breast, trying to avoid the subject:

“Who knows, maybe I lost it or tried to kill myself...I just didn't want to feel so bad”. Arthur gazed up to her. He had never been more honest in his life.

Her horrified reaction to be told being locked up, bashing his head against the wall almost everyday just reminded him how much worse was to have a significant other who made him feel alone. Months surrounded by people in white outfits, convincing him to take the pills to make him, at least, presentable to the world and also deprived of any loving contact from Penny’s part under the excuse of fright caused by doctor or anything related to hospitals. It reminded him how pathetic his life was. Sometimes he forgot how much forgiving he was with his mother’s recklessness concerning his own wellbeing.

Her kiss on his forehead, however, seemed to bring him back to reality. Arthur felt he had awakened of a bad dream, but found himself amazed as he noticed he wasn’t alone with a blanket on while an alarm buzzed, as it was his usual routine. The loner stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Her blue eyes, dilated pupils, body full given in to him. The loner blinked, eyes half closed, fighting the dissociation.

“Arthur” she called him. He looked dizzy. The blonde felt a pulsing heat making a place between her legs when the loner held her waist to lift her figure in order for it to adopt a riding position. She gasped, clawing to his shoulder once her figure obtains the desired position.

“What is it?” she whispered. But there was nothing except for a dead silence. Maybe it was another relapse of a dissociative episode, which made his mind to distract so any negative thought would fade. He panted, hiding his face against the silky platinum braid falling over her breast. The blonde didn’t move an inch, anxiously expecting to know what he would do now. He was so hard to read most of the times, leaving so many doubts and thoughts capable to drift anyone off sanity. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk. Maybe he just wanted to bond through touches.

Harleen felt a shiver once his mouth kissed the covered breast, playfully nuzzling with the erect nipple highlighted by the thin fabric. Blood boiled, as if her body demanded immediately to respond to such attentions.

She could tell Arthur was immensely pleased at her receptiveness concerning sex. His breath shortened, fighting the lightheadedness their suggestive position caused on him, loving how her body rode his hips, like a thrilling prelude before any intimate encounter could take place.

An impish, seductive smile must have given him the hint to keep on but he was way too shocked at first to react immediately. Harleen tugged on the shirt for it to loosen enough in order to offer him a privileged view of her bare breast, awaiting his mouth to finish what it just started, setting aside a few obstructing locks. Arthur’s jaw dropped, a line traced by pleasure soon contorted his lips. She hummed softly, admiring the sight of the loner hungrily lapping his tongue over the pink areola.

“You’re such a surprise for a late bloomer” the blonde leaves a beautiful, mischievous expression take over her face. Arthur detached his lips from her to ask:

“You calling me ‘old’, Harleen?”

“No!” she rushed to explain herself. The sassy tone of the question eased down any thought of annoyance, “I just—”

“I may look old, but I’m a fast learner” he cut her off, mouth back on the sensitive part. Harleen threw her head back, not showing any sign of opposition while Arthur clumsily undid the garment to leave her topless. This only ignited the fire inside of him, hanging on to her waist to sink his head between her breasts, rejoicing in the softness of her skin as his arms imprison her body. The elation wasn’t strong enough yet to stun her muscles entirely, gaining a little strength to make paused (or more like patient) undulatory moves against his body. His eyelashes flutter, causing tickles up her chest.

"I want you to put more than just a smile on my face" she caught his bottom lip to devour his mouth hungrily. He consented the kiss but didn’t respond to it, not even bothering to close his eyes.

"And what would that be, Harleen?" he looked genuinely puzzled, intense hue of green piercing her soul. She combed his hair back, sliding her hands down to hold his face in them. Arthur felt like a youngling in love for the first time. And having her covered intimacy grinding the growing bulge swept away all rational thoughts, making him listen to his needs as a man for the first time without overthinking ruining it.

Harleen supported on his shoulders, intensifying the sinful friction. Arthur groaned, relaxing when she generously offered his body another warm rub that was close to send him to heaven. On his face a deep feel of pride and complacency traces his lines given the arousing effects he had on her. Shuddered and impressed gasps left their mouths, until her voice sounds again:

“You’re so hard. That’s a very good thing” a secretive whisper kept him enchanted, her flirtatious glare invites him to get up. Arthur frowned but let himself guide by her when the steps were directed towards the wall, where Harleen didn't hesitate to corner him with famished kisses, feeling his chest underneath the red shirt.

The blonde slowly undid his shirt to obtain a proper look of his upper body to worship with her mouth, starting with the neck, nuzzling a few curls out of the way to brush her lips against the curve lining down his collarbone.

His whole form shrugged, writhing and panting. The dubious nature of this situation slowly dissipated to allow him to enjoy the treatment her mouth gifted now to the notorious prominence coming from his neck, not missing any inch of skin with her lips.

It didn’t take long for his pants to turn into needy groans as soon as his chest was blessed with kisses, then his abdomen, the blonde was careful to not overwhelm him, holding on a few seconds before continuing to reach her goal: Mouth waters at the sight of his the rigid manhood covered by his pants, giving it a tiny nibble.

The mood was immediately killed when Arthur jolted in shock when he finally realized what she was going to do.

The irruption visibly took her by surprise, facial expressions changing from excitement to disappointment.

“Did I…?” she stammered, shrugging in fear, “did I do something wrong?”

He sighed, sliding his hand on his hair in a nervous reflex. Harleen then remembered this was new for him, despite how much enthusiastic he was. How much violence had he faced during all his life, she would never know.

Arthur cleared his throat, inhaling deeply, still processing all those hands on his body with the sole purpose to pleasure him.

“No, no”, he rushed. His voice quavers, afraid a laughing fit could ruin a intimate moment he had longed for so much with a girl, trying to put his mind in order, “This is the first time someone does this to me... and that feels like a good thing to begin…”

A bright smile returned to her face when one hand held up her chin while the other one caressed her cheek in a tender approval of what she was going to perform on him.

“You want this…” she seductively stared up to him, while her hands unbuttoned his pants, obtaining what she just craved: the underwear contains the hardened member, which she frees with a quick fumble on the clothing.

Arthur stared at his private spectacle in hypnotized ecstasy, still trembling.

“Yes…” he hissed, “oh yes, I do”.

Harleen took a few seconds to admire the twitching, aching arousal held in her hand. She smiled as her eyes were up to look at him.

“Then feed me some candy, Arthur Fleck..." his jaw dropped, felt his legs tremble, lust slowly dissipating any other thought. Being addressed by his full name, certainly had an impact on him. The enticing image of a partially undressed Harleen between his legs surely made him forgot how vulnerable he was before her by exposing his almost completely bare body.

However there was not verbal response from Harleen’s part. Her firm hand caressed his erected intimacy for a delightful prolusion, keeping her lover completely in a trance, causing his nervous hands to grab in a contained, almost angry fistful of hair. Nothing prepared him for the next.

Her tongue, of course, did its wonders. First a few, paused licks to the tip while giving him sensual, playful looks to then leave wet traces down that soon derived to long, hungrier licks sent the loner in a desperate, ecstatic state.

“Godfuckingdamni--!” was all he could be capable of articulate, before any feeble attempt to form a word distorted into desirous gasps and screams, Harleen rejoices at his reactions. To be the first woman to see him free from inhibitions, given in to his instincts, shaking away his polite, silent manners felt like a privilege.

“Keep doing that” his demand was desperate, dealing with it by uncoiling a few locks. A wide smirk approved her tongue to explore and taste more of him, feasting now on the tip to absorb it, so he could become more familiar with her mouth. The explicit image gave him the confidence to stop repressing his desires for the sake of decency.

Her greed to have a different taste of him made her take turns between moistening the full erect manhood to partially engulf it later.

He now couldn’t even stand still, writhing like a dying animal, incapable now to look at her in the eye, believing the mere sight would make him unleash his climax, hands held on to his thighs, climbing up to his hips, looking to elicit more sounds out of his throat.

His chest heavily went up and down while Harleen kept on her voluptuous routine: first oiling him with her tongue to then make the tip disappear in her mouth.

His closed eyes, completely given in with an overjoyed expression on his face moved her to cause a greater gratification on him. She waited for the right moment to make Arthur look at her so he could cherish what she had in store for him. For a more dramatic reaction, she choose to disconnect her mouth from him, the sound of her lips detaching from the tip had him about to pass out.

“You’ll love this” were the only words she said. No further explanations. Her tongue gifted him another paused, devoted lick. It worked to make the full intake more enjoyable for him. Arthur’s body rears up violently. Raspy, loud groans and moans elicited by the tease tore the air.

Harleen placed her hands on his hips, helping herself to feel more of him between her lips, staring up to him as she received his swollen, overstimulated masculinity.

Arthur gathered enough oxygen to talk to her.

“Harleen—“ his eyes widened in awe, focusing on not passing out. His chest shook violently still recovering from the initial shock, “you nev-- you never cease to amaze me”.

She let a sweetly sinful smile trace around him, bobbing her head in a faster pace, muffled moans struggling to come out as she savored the stiffened sex with voracious appetite.

“That’s it… that’s better” he hissed, lip twitching, completely bewitched by the scene, “you’re such a good fucking girl for me”.

A happy hum vibrated through his skin.

“Am I, mister Fleck?” her squeaky voice in false innocence crowned an scene so obscenely explicit with a comic touch.

"Yeah… Like that... Just--" he gently slammed his back against the wall. Further vocal expressions of elation came from his mouth, trying to appease the urge to scream his lungs out for whole fucking Gotham to hear him. A shiver ran down his spine. It was so difficult to keep eyes open in that moment but the need to set his sight on her triumphed over any sense of exhaustion. His worn out hand slid down to hold her nape to obey the instinct to thrust into her mouth, just to better cope with the wet, narrow warmth Harleen welcomed his manliness with.

The blonde placed her hands over his hips, executing a very subtle move to contribute to deepen the intrusion that maddened Arthur so much. The slowness of this action made her push him away to then bring him back into her over and over again, gradually increasing the rhythm that turned the party clown into a noisy, urging mess. The rapturing and breathtaking routine of her mouth colliding with his unrelenting length sparked a merciless shiver that weakened his thighs, a stunning reminder of the glorious pinnacle he was about to reach.

“Stop”, his tortured plea was unexpected.

The mesmerizing image of a joyful Harleen with him appearing and disappearing from her lips right below him at incessant speed was more than he could take without going insane. The situation was getting out of his hands when Harleen also gave it firm caresses and long, rushed licks.

“Please”, he whined, voice too weak, covering his mouth in order to quieten the moans, “oh, God--Stop!”

His command finally made Harleen react, seeing it was actually too much. It took him a moment to catch his breath and recover his strength to pronounce about his intentions.

“Arthur? Is everything okay?” she muttered.

“Take that off” his instincts took over his mind, leaning to get her up and direct his hands towards her shorts, lowering them. She doesn’t oppose, unable to respond verbally, having the feeling the behest was actually told to himself. It didn’t matter anymore. She smiled as she saw the impatient hands lining her curves, fingers clutching at the cloth to whisper, “I like it how it looks but I want it off”.

Harleen eyes the action in fervid silence while he couldn’t stop staring down at her fascinating nudity, directing one hand in a sinuous move to part her intimacy to delicately rummage the silky smooth folds he wanted so much to be wrapped around.

Harleen jolted, lolling her head back, amazed vocal expression resounded in his ears. Her eyes gleamed with resolution about his intentions, and a shivering gasp follows the brash action. A vocal expression of mischievous complicity comes from her.

“I see… you want to fill up the tank?” she chirped with a frisky giggle.

Arthur nodded in impatient muteness, while crashing his lips on hers in such a reckless way their feet ended up nearly tripping on the way to the couch. At the same time, he got rid of his underwear, undoing her braids, bicolored mane perfectly lining her curves now.

A firm push to throw her to the couch was just the beginning. She almost landed completely on her back, if it weren’t for her arms avoiding it.

“Easy, clown man!” her expression turned out to be so funny for the loner to let a cackle loose. From her angle, Arthur looked so frighteningly dominant. It embellished his figure like a statue, his disheveled hair highlighting the hungry and desperate expression which his carnal urges claim to be sated.

The magnificent preface maintains him from a considerable distance from her, surrounding the blonde like a prey, unable to decide what to do to her first.

Harleen makes the first move. to fulfill her purpose, she held her legs with a provocative glare, limbs hardly exposed her undressed figure to him. The wavy moves made Arthur crawl his way to her like a starving beast.

Her receptive reaction to the kiss motivated his hands to roam over her thighs, directing them up to the knee to untangle her legs, eventually.

A devilish smile approves the suggestive image of her pressing now his waist, sensing they were so close yet so far of each other. He devoured her mouth avidly at the same time his sense of newfound dominance urged him to place himself above her.

Harleen slid her hands up his battered back, breaking the kiss to hold and scratch his scalp to mumble:

“I want you deep inside me”.

Arthur hid his face on her neck, wallowing in the gentleness of her touches. She clings to his arms, abandoning all defenses, letting him know she was totally his to possess.

His biceps accentuate by supporting himself. Long, brow curls fell over the curve of his neck, eyes on her when his hips moved even closer to her. Harleen diverted her attention to it, but she immediately crumpled her lungs for air as Arthur teased the burning folds with the tip, becoming familiar with the part he was going to invade soon.

“More… more, oh, please” her lewd smile, cute little hums and whines mixed with his own shortened breath and surprised but satisfied groans made them forget about the world for a short while. Arthur constantly rubbed his manhood against her moistened entrance, exulting at the furious grunts the sweet torture elicited.

In exchange, she pressed her legs as a slight punishment for such daring move. But she was loving every second of it. Her eyes appreciated the paused caress between their bodies.

Seconds passed when his prolonged absence began to cause her actual pain, wrapping her legs around his hips. He let his hands fell beside her head, to plant a last kiss before proceeding.

"Knock knock" he muttered against her lips.

"Who's there?" She replied with anxious anticipation.

"It’s the mailman, miss. I’ve got an special delivery. It can hardly wait for you to see it"

She widened her eyes in surprise before his boldness to even joke in a moment too intimate as this but ended up exploding in loud cackles that left her breathless. Her reaction caused an expression of fascinated disbelief to take over his face. Both laughed it off shortly to resume were they left off.

His stare, predacious and craving, petrified Harleen.

Once his bare sex perfectly fit her hot, silky intimacy, Harleen threw her head on the pink velvety pillow, dramatically panting as her body focuses on adhering to this desired invader. His name leaves her mouth as a desperate prayer, as if he was her only saviour, much to his delight.

"You like that, don't you?" he hissed while giving her body another brutal thrust so she could feel him inside her as intensely as possible.

“Yes!” Harleen replied, not giving a fuck if it sounded indecent, “Arthur, I want all of it, please! Please!”

“All of it?” he smirked, reinforcing his invasion, obtaining louder screams from Harleen, doing her best to deal with the urging length in, searing walls flexing around him.

“Allofit…” but it was unintelligible for him. Arthur was too busy indulging in a deeper intrusion, eyes closed for a better focus. His thrusts were taken over by an animalistic despair, not hesitating to harden the pace even more as the eventual natural need for release set aside any sense of self control.

Nothing could take the wide smile off her.

“You are so good at this, mister Fleck…” the playful praise sounded more like a helpless little whimper, arousing Arthur in ways he would have never imagined. It lead him to lean into her, but she quickly took advantage of it by captivating his form, legs pressing his hips to deepen the intrusion even more.

Arthur threw his head back, stopping for a moment to process the pleasure the abrupt move had caused on him. Harleen contemplated in silent joy how his arms had taken a more muscular shape, gifting him an evil, yet charming smile when she held his face with both hands to pepper it with kisses, holding to his back as if her life depends on it, body ready and eager to obtain more of him.

He slowly made his way out of her just to violently slam back in, causing soft sobs that ended in more desperate praises, which played an important part during the act.

“Keep fucking me like that… I beg you” he closed his eyes, ecstatic, lips parted.

“I will” he gasped.

As soon as she moans his name, Arthur sensed his last sense of self control disappear. He could feel her nails in the skin of his back, which doubled the joy of another brutal thrust into her, exhausted groans leaving his throat. Harleen squirmed while dealing with the intense pleasure his unmerciful pace caused on her.

“Arthurarthurarthurarthurarthur” the blonde called him before losing her own sense of reality, the last coherent word before a lovely, mellifluous mixture of moans, groans, grunts and sobs seized her lips.

Him.

It was all about him, she realized. She swore everything had lost into oblivion. There was nothing except the throbbing welcome her tight walls granted to his twitching gristle.

In that moment she finally comprehended his impact on her life, remembering all the good moments they had shared, everything that led them to this moment, so close to end the act with thunderous moans.

She wasn’t afraid to accept this man had become her entire life since she had lied eyes on him, the first and last person she thought about every time she woke up and certainly the reason why sudden smiles traced her lips during work.

However, her body warned them about the proximity of the peak when the pulsing grip around him intensified, interrupting the happy daydreaming about him, returning her to the raw reality she was protagonist of.

The gorgeous moaning mess he had done from her had encouraged the loner to fasten the rhythm, loving to bring her to the brink, frantic spasms whipping his nerves while her moans echoed louder and louder. Her features showed an agonizing expression, lips partly open but unable to utter anything, mind fogged by lightheadedness.

“Arthur, I can’t— I—” the violent, feverish orgasm caught her unprepared: a blaring, euphoric cry served as the glorious conclusion of their union.

Arthur found the strength to distance himself from her, far too weak to resist the temptation to earn a good vision of her naked body in that moment. Harleen was still numb, hair covering her face like a curtain, blue strands all over her chest, contrasting with her pale skin. He followed the long mane down, eyeing her quivering figure, so full of him. He stopped to stare at their sexes still caught in a sore and reddened embrace.

The loner eventually surrendered with a powerful groan, exploding inside of her. He exhaled in stunned relief and sexual bliss. His eyes behold such beauty so full of him, retaining him even when her moans indicate that it was too much for her to bear. This let an even wilder side of him to appear when pushing slightly deeper, thinking it would go unnoticed, but she was too immersed in her thoughts about the man who lied over her. The stillness helped her to put her mind in order, dimensioning this feelings blooming in her heart.

It was hard to stare at each other at this point, but she slowly turned her head to see him despite the blue mane hinders a proper sight of him. Sunlight shone brightly on his face, curls tousled, from what she could see. It was like a little light of happiness shining at last. For the others, he was a deranged creep, but in that moment, Harleen felt he was the most beautiful man she had ever met in her life.

The blurred image eventually became sharper when his face came closer to hers, oozing his seed inside Harleen through his spurred flesh. It felt like hours passed by.

Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his open mouthed expression was of pure astonishment and fascination. The slender fingers set aside her hair, touching her lips, probably to kiss her again.

But nothing happened. Instead, Arthur decided to break the contact, paying attention to the zone in question.

With slow vehemence, he was finally gone.

The action left a thin, niveous line dripping from the tip, leaking from her in small creeks in a beautiful way their bodies demanded to reconnect each other.

“Fuck” he muttered, grinning. Despite the exhaustion, Harleen mimicked it. They couldn’t say anything else, for words were unnecessary. He wouldn’t know it, but Harleen had already accepted a great truth about him.

She was madly in love with Arthur Fleck. _______________________________________

Weeks passed. It was raining in a cold Thursday on Gotham City when Harleen returned home from work. The garbage strike was worsening, rioters looting any store they could and the mayoral candidate being the focus of criticism and repudiation of people. The reason behind it? She would find it out soon.

A taxi honking distracted from her quest for an answer but that didn’t stop her for too long. She heard people talking about nowadays and what Thomas Wayne had said about people in Gotham after something horrible had happened in the filthy subway. The macabre part awakened her curiosity. Was there something she didn’t know about? She looked for a kiosk at the end of the every block to see if there were papers about the aforementioned topic.

It was near a telephone cabin when Harleen finally found what she was looking for… but she didn’t know where to start. Just a headline in bold was enough to freeze her:

KILLER CLOWN ON THE LOOSE

LATEST NEWS ON THE MURDERS

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Had to Give In (Couldn't Give Up) (Gottrosenali) - Writworm42, Fromthenorthernskies

A/N: Here it is, folks. Perhaps THE most iconic Franco-Anglo collab since the hit 2007 movie-I-haven't-seen Bon Cop/Bad Cop. This was incredibly fun to write, and Emerald and I had a blast bringing this fic together. We really hope you guys like it!!

Of course, it wouldn't be what it is at all without our lovely beta Holtzmanns, who single-handedly removed 43728497 commas for us. Your patience is legendary and appreciated, friend <3 <3 <3

Title from I Don't Do Drugs by Doja Cat ft Ariana Grande.

SYNOPSIS: A bad flight and surprise plans convince Denali that his birthday probably isn't going to be very happy; that is, until Mik and Rosé step in to give him the best present he could ask for.

Saying that the plane ride from Chicago to New York had been rough was, in Denali’s opinion, probably one of the biggest understatements someone could make. What was supposed to have been an hour and a half gravol-induced nap had turned into a six-hour nightmare, all thanks to an unexpected rainstorm that had turned up out of nowhere, delayed their flight, cancelled it, delayed the new one, then kept them grounded in the plane itself for an extra hour. Add a thousand gate changes, and by the time the crew had actually let them off at Kennedy, Denali had been regretting not going ham at the duty-free liquor counter back at O’Hare.

But it was all worth it when he walked into the passenger pickup area and saw Mik and Rosé waiting for him with wide smiles, birthday balloons, and lavishly-decorated WELCOME HOME signs.

He broke into the biggest grin of them all, outshining even the ones of his boyfriends, finally free after all the hurdles of the day. His pace picked up, but Denali didn’t even have time to fall into a comfortable fast walk before Mik jumped right into his arms, giggling. Denali wobbled on his feet for a moment, even though he had expected Mik to do exactly that, but he wouldn’t have changed it for anything. He was back with them, after such a long time, and for his birthday, too — nothing could top that, he was certain of it.

“Come on, let him go, he must be tired after all that happened today,” admonished Rosé, and Denali saw Mik pout but finally slide off, still refusing to let go of his hand. He didn’t mind at all, especially when Rosé gathered his long-lost forgotten luggage on one hand, and started to pick up all the things they had brought to welcome him.

He still found himself dragging down Rosé a bit, getting a soft kiss at last after his stupid stressful day. Denali also let a whiny Mik claim one as well, trying his best to keep it pretty tame since they were still in the middle of a big airport with lots of people moving past them. “I hope you two haven’t planned the biggest party of the year for tonight, because I’m exhausted,” started Denali with a chuckle, which quickly died down when he saw the sheepish looks his boyfriends shared. “Okay, what can I expect?”

“Let’s just say we might have gone a bit overboard with inviting people,” admitted Mik, rubbing the base of his neck with his free hand.

“In our defense, we didn’t know you were going to be stuck on a plane for six-ish hours.”

He barely kept in a sigh, even though Rosé was right. As they fell into their Uber, Denali was still stuck in his mind. He had wanted nothing more than to have his boyfriends for himself all evening and night; they could go celebrate his birthday with their friends in the next few days. After all, he was supposed to stay for almost a week, so what was the hurry?

That, and Denali had clearly underestimated how horny he was for them, now that he was stuck in the middle, pressed against them firmly. He knew they didn’t have too long to stay in the car, more or less thirty minutes, but it was plenty enough for him to feel the heat of them nearby — it was plenty enough time for him to go crazy with how Rosé’s hand was lingering on his thigh, and how Mik was all cuddled to him on the side, his warm breath hitting his neck.

It was a fact that didn’t slip past Mik, ever-observant as long as sex was potentially involved.

“Don’t worry, gorge,” the youngest’s whisper was low and teasing in Denali’s ear as he drawled, “Just a few hours, and then we’ll be back home to give you your real present.”

It was less reassuring than Denali was sure Mik meant to be, but at least Rosé hadn’t seemed to have heard them - if he had, Denali knew for a fact that he would have amped up his teasing by now, and Denali wasn’t sure he could survive that without damaging his Uber rating.

Luckily, they stopped briefly at Rosé’s apartment to put away Denali’s suitcase, and Denali couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he kicked his shoes off, the ache in his feet soothed by the familiar feeling of Rosé’s hardwood floors under them as he headed for the bedroom. Rosé and Mik both followed, and for a moment, Denali almost thought that he’d get a little relief — a cuddle maybe, a quick handjob if he was lucky. After all, they still had about half an hour before they’d have to head out for dinner. And things actually did look like they were coming up for Denali when Rosé told him to lie down with a quick kiss on the lips, both his boyfriends allowing him to rest as they put his clothes away for him.

Unfortunately, that was as far as it went; the minute his body melted into the mattress, Denali’s eyes couldn’t help but fall closed, and he was out like a light.

When he woke up again, Rosé and Mik were laid on either side of him, the former tracing lazy patterns on his arm as the latter spooned him from behind, holding him snugly as he nuzzled into Denali’s neck.

“Did you have a good nap, baby?” Rosé’s voice was soft, his smile gentle, and despite the way Denali was kicking himself for the missed opportunity, he couldn't help but nod as he let out a yawn.

“Do we have any time left before dinner?” The thought came to him as the sleep left his brain, unfogging his mind and making him painfully aware of where he was, what his boyfriends were doing. What else they might be able to do to him, if they had any time left.

But Rosé shook his head sadly, sitting up and gesturing for Mik and Denali to do the same. “We’re already late,” he sighed. “Sorry, baby, but we have to go, the others have been waiting for a while.”

Sure enough, when Denali checked his phone, their group chat was full of messages from Kandy, Jan, Lagoona, Joey, Kahmora, Utica, Olivia, and Symone demanding to know where they were, if they were alive, and if they could go ahead and start getting drunk without them.

Figures.

“Trust me, this hurts us as much as it hurts you, gorge,” Mik teased as he helped Denali up and off the bed. “You wanna change before we go, by the way? I mean, it’s your night, so you can go in stained sweats if you want, but the restaurant isn’t exactly a McDonalds…”

“He’s trying to tell you it’s fancy,” Rosé cut in, tossing Denali a button-up and neat pair of slacks. “Come on, get changed, I’ll call us a cab.”

Denali didn’t know what he’d expected, but in retrospect, he really should have guessed it was going to go this way. They had barely arrived, and he had barely taken a seat between his two grinning boyfriends when he felt not one, but two hands brushing against his clothes underneath the table. He was ready to bet all the money in the world that Mik had spilled the beans about how antsy he had been in the car earlier — because that was usually how they worked, even if he was usually the one plotting with either of his lovers instead. This was wildly different, and just thinking about it wasn’t helping him in any way.

Denali turned his head just in time to catch Rosé watching him with amusement, his typical smirk clearly playing on his lips, especially as his hand squeezed his upper thigh more firmly. He barely stopped a squeak from leaving his throat at this, and he knew with certainty that Rosé had caught on — and that usually meant he would be relentless. Denali didn’t know how long they were supposed to stay here, but it would be hellish at best. It couldn’t be any other way, not when he felt Mik’s lean fingers slide right under his button-up.

And he was expected to stay calm and keep on with everyone wishing him happy birthday and giving him gifts? Yeah, Denali wasn’t too convinced about that one. He wasn’t sure he could will his body to stay rooted to his chair, instead of ignoring the very public setting they were in and pouncing on the two of them.

Which is exactly why he escaped towards the bathroom the second he had his chance - their friends had been distracting his boyfriends while they took pity on him for a moment to let him eat without having their hands on him all the way through. It may have been the best of all sufferings, but Denali wasn’t equipped to deal with it right now, not until they took care of the mess they created.

Denali looked at his reddened cheeks in the mirror, knowing it wasn’t only because of the drinks he had downed so far this evening. He could only hope that their friends hadn’t noticed too much of this. He was well aware of the reputation they had amongst their friends circle, one that they could barely keep their hands to themselves whenever they were together, as duos or all three of them.

“Ah, so that’s what you’ve been doing. You okay, baby?”

“I told you, he was gone for way too long,” replied Mik with a wicked glint shining in his ocean eyes, locking the door behind him.

“As if you two didn’t plan to get me here,” Denali snorted in response, but he couldn’t say he was mad, not when his lovers were walking towards him, grabbing his wrists and pulling him in to close the distance between them all.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love it,” Rosé chuckled, reaching up to cradle Denali’s chin in his hand, swiping his thumb gently over Denali’s bottom lip and smirking when he swallowed hard.

“So what, my big birthday present is a romantic bathroom blowie?” Denali tried to make his voice sound sarcastic, but the waver in it betrayed that he was rapidly falling under his boyfriends’ spell, especially when Mik’s hand snaked around to grab his ass.

“Don’t be ridiculous, gorge,” Mik got up on his toes to bite at Denali’s earlobe, tugging it with his teeth as his grip on the other man’s ass got a little firmer. “We’re much meaner than that, aren’t we, Rosie?”

Rosé simply hummed, dropping his hand from Denali’s face down to his belt, undoing it swiftly and plunging a hand into his pants to palm Denali’s cock through his underwear.

“What’re you--”

“ Shh ,” Rosé cut off Denali’s question with a finger on his lips before his other hand slipped below the band of Denali’s underwear. “Why don’t we give you a little temporary relief, huh?”

“Just enough to get you through dinner,” Mik added, winking, and Denali swallowed hard, but melted into his boyfriends’ touches, unable to resist anymore.

—

As it turned out, Denali and his lovers had two very different definitions of ‘temporary relief.’ They edged him mercilessly for the next few minutes, and he came back to the table harder than he’d been when he left, struggling to act natural as he used Mik and Rosé as shields walking in front of him to hide his erection from his friends. Not that they didn’t all know exactly what had gone down; in fact, with the smug bemusement on their faces as he took his seat again, he wouldn’t be surprised if Rosé or Mik outright bragged about it before coming to torment him.

“Just think about how much better everything’ll be after we get home, baby,” Rosé comforted Denali with a wink and a hand tracing up his thigh as they took their seats again, and as much as Denali wanted to pout at the statement, his heartbeat quickened, and he found himself distracted for the rest of their outing. Luckily, his friends took pity on him after dessert was finally finished, all of them just-so-happening to decide they were ‘too tired’ to go to the club and that they should head home for the night. And not a moment too soon, either; Denali swore that Rosé wasn’t even finished telling the cab driver where to go before Mik was loosening Denali’s belt once again.

“When we get home, it’s gonna be all about you, angel,” maintaining at least a modicum of decency, Rosé slipped his hand into Denali’s pants without undoing them completely, Denali’s dick straining against the fabric of his underwear as Rosé got him worked up with deft, teasing fingers. “Anything you want, we’ll give to you.”

“That’s right, it’s your turn to use us ,” Mik threw Denali’s often-used plea back on him with a nip to his neck, smirking against Denali’s skin when the older man whimpered at the sensation.

“Just a few minutes longer, baby boy,” Rosé promised. “Can you be good for us until then?”

Denali was too far gone to do anything but hiss out a needy yes.

—

He wasn't too sure how he managed to get inside Rosé’s apartment without begging them pitifully to take care of the mess they’d created and entertained all night long.

But still, they at least made it all inside, the door duly closed and locked behind them. It was better than some of the times they’d fallen into a passionate embrace right in the middle of the hallways or in the elevator; Denali was sure they had traumatized at least half their neighbors in their respective cities.

He stopped thinking altogether when Rosé firmly pushed him against the door, and Denali felt the sheer need to wipe off his stupid smirk from his face. His wrists were pushed down, restraining his movements and he whined, trying to fight against the hold to no avail.

"Come on, what happened to giving me what I want?"

Rosé merely chuckled, gently deepening one of the marks they had left earlier in the bathroom. Denali bared his neck more, letting his boyfriend do whatever he wanted.

"Baby, I said we'd give you whatever you want, but I know this is what you want, isn't it? Don't you want to use us and guide us in whatever way you want, but only after you're turned on enough?"

Denali hated how right Rosé was, and clashed their mouths together to avoid answering. He was deeply pleased by the soft groan he got in response, finally freeing his wrists while Rosé was distracted.

But that didn't last — while they had both moved a bit farther away from their front door, still kissing, Denali felt soft hands take hold of his wrists again, a warm body pressing itself on his back. Even through his button-up, Denali could feel the heat of bare skin against his spine, shivering and breaking the kiss to turn his head over his shoulder.

He had been wondering where his other boyfriend had gone, and now he had his answer, as Denali saw the mischievousness play in Mik's darkened ocean eyes. "Whatever you want, baby," he murmured softly, relaxing his hold after a moment to let Denali decide what he wanted to do next.

Denali turned around fully, fascinated by how the youngest had taken his time away to remove most of his clothes already, his hands touching his chest almost reverently. Denali felt Rosé push himself against his back, effectively taking Mik’s previous place, and mouthed at his throat.

He sighed contently, bringing Mik closer to him, but raised an eyebrow when he felt something hard push against his thigh. "Baby, did you get all ready for little old me? Bold of you to assume that's what I'd want," Denali snarked with a breathless laugh, feeling Rosé’s hands unbuttoning his shirt with dexterity.

"It's not bold if I know that's what you want in the end, even if you play hard to get," retorted Mik simply, his hands dropping to help Rosé finish undressing their lover.

Denali has seen Mik wearing a strap-on a countless number of times at this point, witnessed firsthand the change in confidence and demeanor simply having the harness fastened onto the younger man’s hips could bring. How Mik’s jaw became set and the mischievous twinkle always in his eyes turned up just an inkling more, and how the planes of his abdomen always framed whatever cock he was wearing in a way that was so tantalizing, Denali almost couldn’t take it. But it didn’t matter how often Mik’s strap brought Denali to his knees; each time was like the first, and tonight was no exception.

“D’you like my new toy, angel?” Mik cooed, stroking along the shaft of the dick waiting between his legs.

It was one Denali felt like he’d seen before, but didn’t remember Mik having - long and thick, with more ridges and a steeper curve than most of the toys Mik had in his collection. In fact, it wasn’t the kind of strap-on Mik usually went for at all. So then…

The memory clicked in Denali’s mind suddenly, his breath catching in his throat as he thought back to about a month ago, remembering just where he’d seen Mik’s new cock before.

Michelada: bbies SOS im dying for a new dick

Michelada: help me pick?

The texts had been followed by three links, different sex stores that were usually their go-tos for toys. Denali remembered perusing each site leisurely, trying to imagine what Mik would look like with each dildo he saw, until finally reaching one that he just couldn’t move on from, one that had looked absolutely perfect and that he’d just known Mik had to have.

One which, perhaps not so coincidentally, was now right in front of him, close enough to touch. And before he could stop himself, he found himself doing just that, reaching forward to wrap his hand around it, feel over its ridges and imagine what they’ll feel like inside of him--

“No,” Rosé slapped Denali’s hand away, coming up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist as he clicked his tongue in disapproval. “What’s the rule, baby boy?”

“Come on ,” Denali groaned impatiently, unhappy with having been cockblocked for the umpteenth time tonight. “Isn’t this supposed to be my gift? Just let me--”

“Gifts can be taken away, sweetheart,” Rosé reminded Denali with a low growl, his grip around the younger queen’s waist tightening. “When you want something, what do you have to do?”

As if to hammer in his point, Rosé wrapped his other hand to rest on Denali’s throat, and Denali swore he could hear Rosé’s breath hitch when he swallowed hard against the older man’s palm.

“Please, Mik, please can I touch your cock?”

Mik smiled, taking Denali’s hand and bringing it to his lips to plant a chaste kiss on it before looking back up at Denali. “Wouldn’t you rather put something other than your hand on it, doll?”

Denali’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and before Mik or Rosé could say anything else, he found himself dropping to his knees, grabbing the toy to hold it steady as he licked his lips. “Whatever you say, daddy .”

Seeing Mik shiver at the title was worth every bit of teasing, and Denali couldn’t help but feel a flash of amusement as he finally wrapped his tongue around the head of Mik’s strap.

Denali suddenly remembered how much he enjoyed doing this when he felt his boyfriend’s hips twitch lightly underneath his fingertips, which were resting on Mik's lower body. Nothing but pleasure shot through his veins at feeling his knees press harshly to the cold floor; Mik's hand pulling on his dark hair the more he took him in; and seeing Rosé palming himself from the corner of his eyes.

He wanted a lot of things from them for his birthday, but right now he didn't want to be anywhere else. He didn't want to do anything other than please his youngest boyfriend while their lover watched them, absolutely enraptured. Rosé seemed on the edge of acting up, barely holding back, and Denali didn't want him to.

Rosé had been right earlier, not that he would admit it out loud. Denali wanted to get riled up until he couldn't think of anything else, and only then have the permission to use them without breaking any rules.

He wanted Rosé to make him beg and Denali knew exactly how to handle it so it would happen. "Daddy," he whined, "wanna feel you too…"

Rosé hummed, coming closer to them and ruffled Mik's hair softly, pulling him forward to bite down on his bottom lip. Denali revelled in the groan that Rosé got from their lover, tilting his head in curiosity when he saw the oldest whisper something in Mik's ear. Denali wasn't too sure of what the other two had talked about, but the mirth he witnessed shining in both their eyes as they turned to him was enough. He stayed still, knowing better than to disobey them so clearly.

He’d only let himself be pulled up to his feet when Rosé grabbed his hand, winked, and dragged them both towards his bedroom. Denali didn't know what he was in for, but he trusted them. He knew he'd have a good time, as long as they were all together, the three of them.

—

Denali was eager to know just how far he could stretch the lines of their rules for the sake of being a birthday boy, and that's exactly what he tried — he escaped Rosé's firm hold on his waist to push an unsuspecting Mik down the large bed, watching his ocean eyes widen. Denali knew he needed to take advantage of their position while he still had the upper hand, and shrugged off his button-up and pants in the same breath. He wasn’t surprised to have Mik’s full attention, gaze riveted on how Denali’s dick fully strained against his underwear, picture completed with the wet spot already there. It wasn't surprising with how teasing his boyfriends had been all damn evening, edging him without any care.

Denali let one thigh slide over, effectively straddling a dazed Mik and watching him intently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosé come closer, a warning playing on his traits, and Denali channeled all his inner strength to turn around. He wiggled his finger in what he hoped was a threatening way.

"Stop," Denali said in a rough, low voice. He was pleased to see Rosé freeze, and continued with a smirk, "Sit. Let me have my fun."

As his boyfriend did what he wished, Denali added on to it, "Y'know what? Why don't you take off your clothes, too, you're a bit overdressed between us three."

Even if Rosé’s hazel eyes narrowed dangerously, he still did what was asked of him, and Denali almost got off on that power alone. "Come here," he mumbled, just as awestruck as Mik had been watching him earlier.

To have Rosé so pliant now clearly meant that he would pay for it eventually, but he didn't mind — he barely got to play with them like this, usually more at ease with being at the entire mercy of their whims.

But it was his birthday, and he could still feel the hot shiver running down his spine when Mik had said Denali could use them. Even if his body wanted to get pushed between them as they ravaged him until the night ended, his mind still wanted to enjoy this rare opportunity.

Obsidian and hazel eyes met like a storm, and eventually, Denali won the stare-down, bringing his free hand to push Rosé down his bed too, the older man going willingly. Their eyes never broke contact, and Denali felt the same need to touch him, make him scream his name endlessly, in whichever way he could.

He had all the power now, both of his lovers down under him, with Denali straddling one and loosely pressing the other one down into the mattress. They were watching him with such love and trust, Denali knew all these weeks away were worth it in the end — just so he could be with them. His heart fluttered when Rosé covered his hand with his own warm one, and when Mik gently stroked along his thick thighs.

Now Denali just needed to get to work, having them both waiting eagerly for his next move.

“I think you should go get the lube," he leaned down until his nose was inches away from Mik’s, the urge to kiss him only spurred on by the way Mik was clearly thinking the same thing. The younger queen was angling his face up, slowly and hesitantly craning to try and close the distance between himself and Denali. But Denali wouldn’t let him, stopping him instead with a hand on his throat, a gentle reminder of the task at hand.

“Earn it,” he challenged, and it was both the right and wrong move.

A fire lit up in Mik’s eyes, and he could feel Rosé shift under his hand. He barely had to process it all--Rosé’s hand on his wrist, Mik’s hands on his shoulders, firm pushes and pulls flipping their positions entirely to pin Denali down again.

“Isn’t he cute, Rosie?” Mik chuckled as he began to work his hands over Denali’s body again, trusting Rosé to pin Denali’s wrists down firmly as he continued to tease him. “He still thinks he’s in charge.”

“Silly thing,” Rosé clicked his tongue, though his smile stayed affectionate as he leaned down to nip at Denali’s jaw. “I said we’d spoil you, baby, but that doesn’t mean you’re the boss here.”

“Please—“

“So bad with manners today,” Rosé cut off Denali's would-be protest with another bite to his jaw, a little harder this time. “Please what, baby boy?”

“Please, daddy, please fuck me, open me up for you, fuck, it’s been so long…”

“Good boy.”

With that, Mik slid away to grab lube and a condom, leaving Rosé alone to attend to Denali.

“What do you need from me?” Rosé landed one more soft bite over Denali’s pulse-point before continuing to travel along the line of his neck, kissing and sucking and teasing with little kitten-licks as Denali squirmed underneath him, savouring each and every sensation.

“Your mouth, daddy, please,” he panted breathlessly as Rosé moved to his collarbone, then down over his chest. “Need you on me.”

“You wanna fuck my face, baby?” Rosé raised his head to look up at Denali, but his teasing didn’t stop; he brought a hand to one of Denali’s nipples, tracing over it with his thumb as Denali nodded resolutely. The tension hardly lasted though; as if right on cue, Mik crawled back onto the bed, eyebrows knit in equal parts curiosity and amusement.

“Who’s fucking whose face now?”

"Well, I think Nali wants me to go down on him and use me, but I'm not sure if he’s earned it," chuckled Rosé, letting one of his hands still roam along Denali's upper chest, teasing the base of his throat. "What do you think, baby?"

"I think… and only because it's his birthday, we can entertain some of his demands. Maybe. If he remembers some manners," smirked Mik, sitting cross-legged and watching them.

"Please, I'll be good, I promise," Denali whined pitifully, trying to get back their attention to him. He watched as his boyfriends traded a gaze, and shivered helplessly underneath it.

"Okay, baby — you'll get my mouth, but if I see you trying to fuck it before you get permission, you can be damn sure it's the only thing you're gonna get tonight, birthday or not," Rosé said in a rough, stern voice. "Do you understand?" he asked, starting his descent, hazel eyes focused on Denali's face.

"Yes, daddy, I do," Denali barely managed to get out, as Rosé had started to trail his lips along his aching dick.

He bit down on his tongue, trying to avoid giving them the satisfaction of seeing how far gone he already was, especially after having them rile him up all evening. He took in a large gulp of air, willing his hips to stay down and not buck wildly, knowing Mik would easily call him out from his position. His ocean eyes were focused on them, trailing down from Denali's face to how Rosé was working him — and he knew his boyfriend. He knew Mik was enjoying the show more than he let on; Denali could see it in the tightening of his jaw and the way his fingers flexed on his own thighs.

Almost against his will, Denali let out a loud moan as he caught Mik's eyes at the same time that Rosé firmly took his cock inside his wet mouth, instantly hollowing his cheeks. He felt his hips twitch, and grasped at the blankets to avoid the temptation of guiding Rosé himself. He needed to be good if he wanted to have his rewards, after all.

"Rosie, fuck , don't stop, please, please," he blurted out, and he caught the mischievousness clear in his lover’s eyes.

Denali was sure Rosé would have been smirking if he could have, without a doubt pleased with himself. Conscient that he had slipped earlier, his self-control waning by the minute, Denali turned to Mik with dazed eyes. "Daddy, please, please , can I just guide him? I'm so close and I've been so good, please!"

He watched as Mik came closer to him, dragging his chin upwards, his fingertips lingering gently along his jaw. His boyfriend seemed deep in thought for a second, but he finally nodded after seeing his clear desperation. "You've been good, baby boy; ask him if he still wants to, but you can."

Denali was about to actually ask Rosé when his boyfriend only took Denali’s hands and brought them to his own head and shoulder, winking. Denali groaned as he felt a stronger suck, and he harshly pulled on Rosé strands of hair, his nails scraping along his scalp. His hips canted up, so close as he was, and when Denali felt Rosé's throat relax around his length, he moaned hoarsely. His head fell back on the pillows, and his back arched, absolutely drained. Denali was left a panting mess as Mik slowly stroked along his forearm. Rosé, on the other hand, was watching him with amusement, making a whole show of wiping off his mouth.

“How do you feel, gorgeous?” Rosé came up beside Denali, kissing him gently on the cheek as the other man tried to catch his breath. It was a good question, given just how much Denali was feeling in that moment--spent, happy, relieved, excited. Calm.

“Like I’m ready for more,” he finally said, unable to help the wry smile that curled at the corners of his mouth, and he could tell by the way both his boyfriends hummed in satisfaction that that was exactly what they were hoping to hear.

“Was hoping you’d say that,” Mik winked as he popped open the bottle of lube, squirting some onto his fingers to coat them. “Now scoot up the bed a little and open your legs.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Denali shivered as slick fingers started to circle his hole, then sighed contentedly when Mik finally eased his fingertips in, leaning down to kiss the discomfort away. He’d missed the warmth of Mik’s tongue against his, along with the soft moans he always let out into his mouth. He felt Rosé’s eyes lingering as he watched them make out, his fingers stroking through Denali’s hair to get him to relax even more.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Mik pushed in a little farther, pumping in and out smoothly while he watched Denali’s face for any signs of discomfort.

But Denali was fine; in fact, he was more than fine. He felt amazing, each rock of Mik’s hand and crook of his fingers sending pleasure that’s almost electric coursing through Denali’s body. But the best part of it all, the sexiest thing Mik was doing?

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” Mik’s eyes shone with love, his voice almost reverent as he scissored his fingers, smiling when Denali let out a mewl. “Taking my fingers so well, so good for me. I love seeing you like this, Nali. Wish I could keep you like this forever.”

God, was that feeling ever mutual.

But Denali was known to be hasty, sometimes even too much for his own good — he wanted more, so much more. He had waited all night for it and yes , coming once already had helped, but not so much when there was something so tantalizing and new he couldn't wait to experience. Denali knew he was supposed to let Mik tease him and play by their rules, but he was struggling to let it play out without doing something. Rosé was far from helping his restraint, too, when he was watching them so intently and letting both his fingertips and his lips roam along their bodies wherever he could reach.

And then Mik crooked his fingers just right, making him whimper loudly, his back arching and hands trying to hold himself steady on his shoulders. "Please," he started, but finished on a breathless moan, as Mik pushed back harsher, and Rosé’s hand brushed against his cock.

"What do you think, Rosie, is he ready for this?"

Denali watched as his two boyfriends eyed each other, seemingly pondering on their next action — if they wanted to take pity on him or make him beg even more. Denali really hoped it would be the first one, because he remembered how Mik’s dick had felt earlier, on his hand and in his mouth. He felt it push against his inner thigh, causing him to tremble lightly. He wanted, no, needed to have him inside, making him see stars as he'd clench around him—

"Look at him, baby. I think he'll snap if we don't give him something soon," smirked Rosé, turning Mik's face to kiss him too, but they didn't have time to deepen it as Denali whined pitifully to get their attention back.

"So needy," cooed Mik, pulling back his fingers finally, kissing the frown off Denali when he suddenly felt empty. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"If you don't fuck me with the dick that I've thought about ever since you fucking bought it in the next thirty seconds, I will never let you touch me again," Denali threatened, hissing in warning when he heard the warm chuckle of Rosé next to him. The older one seemed quite skeptical of what he had said, too. "Don't try me," Denali warned once more, whacking at Rosé's forearm. "Else I'll extend this to you too."

"You're the worst out of us, Nali. Your love language is literally touch. You wouldn't make it," teased Rosé, with that typical smugness.

"Yeah? Wanna see me try it, starting now?!"

However, his threat fell short when he saw Mik hover above him once more, eyes sparkling with mischievousness. "I don't think you wanna start now, this is just starting to get interesting," he advised, his warm hands moving thick thighs farther apart, and Denali lost his breath for a moment. His heart was hammering in his chest with anticipation of Mik's next move.

But it wasn’t Mik who acted first - rather, Rosé reached out to graze his hand down the planes of Denali’s abdomen, fingers scratching down Denali’s stomach and stopping at his pubic bone and lingering there.

“One more time, baby,” he whispered, winking over to Mik before looking down and locking eyes with Denali again. “Be polite, take back your little threat, then we’ll make you feel good.”

There was no way around it; if Denali wanted to be taken care of, he’d have to swallow his pride and do what he was told.

“Touch me. Please ,” he whispered hoarsely, finally giving in to what he’s wanted this entire time. “Touch me. Use me. Ruin me.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt the air in the room change, becoming just a little lighter.

“Let me know if I’m going too fast,” Mik’s voice was gentle, his lips soft and fingers light as he stroked Denali’s cheek, gave him one last kiss. They all knew it was just a gesture--Denali liked it rough, after all, the whole world knew that now--but it was one that meant a lot to Denali just the same.

“Don’t hold back,” he half-ordered, half-pled, and apparently it was all the permission both Mik and Rosé needed.

Denali let out a shaky sigh of relief as Mik finally eased his way in, each ridge and curve of the strap making him shiver as Mik pushed deeper. Meanwhile, Rosé’s hand continued its way down Denali’s body, finally sliding home between his legs to wrap his fingers around Denali’s already-aching cock.

“My, my,” Rosé teased when Denali bucked into the feeling of his lover’s hand on his shaft, only to gasp when Mik began to thrust into him experimentally. “Already excited, are we? Look, Mik, he’s already half-hard again!”

Denali blushed fiercely when Mik looked up and broke into a grin, the sight of his boyfriend’s semi spurring on the rhythm of his thrusts. It was too much, especially when Rosé started to stroke up and down his dick, Mik snapping his hips a little harder to go a little deeper. Denali tried to shy away, tried to hide his face in his hands so that his lovers wouldn't see, but of course neither of them were willing to make it that easy.

“No baby, no being shy,” Mik bit down hard at the juncture of Denali’s neck. “Rosie, make sure he doesn’t get too bashful, yeah?”

It was entirely too easy. Rosé didn’t even break his rhythm stroking Denali’s dick as he grabbed his wrists and brought them up over his head, pinning them down firmly and making it impossible for Denali to wriggle free.

“There we go,” Mik timed his kiss with another thrust and giggled when Denali moaned, trying to squirm for more. “So pretty like this, all blushy and helpless. Doesn’t that feel so much better, angel?”

Denali opened his mouth to answer but Mik picked up speed again, changing his angle slightly, and he found himself lost for words, unable to do anything but mewl as Mik hit up against his spot at a relentless pace.

Stuck between Rosé holding his wrists tightly while he continued stroking him without any trouble even if he squirmed around and Mik still hovering above him and smiling wickedly as he kept his rhythm steady, he wasn't too sure he could last long. Denali could feel the strength of the grasp the youngest had on his hips, knowing that if he kept it up, it would eventually bruise — not that he minded. He enjoyed it. Denali enjoyed it when they left the gentleness behind for a moment, only to rough him up.

He fought vainly against Rosé's hold on his wrist and only got a hum in return, nails digging into his skin. His chest heaved and he arched his back when both his boyfriends decided to go all out at the same time - Rosé twisting his hand just right on his length, lingering on the head to tease him more, and Mik thrusting harshly, his head falling into his neck to moan right against his ear.

"Please," Denali keened, the high-pitched sound resonating against the walls of the otherwise silent apartment.

"Are you gonna come already? Oh baby no, no, that won't do," cooed Rosé, slowing his movements much to the dismay of Denali. He looked desperately at his boyfriend, pleading silently for his cause, but he knew Rosé wouldn't relent, not right now.

"You can hold on a bit longer, no? We just started," Mik smirked, punctuating his statement with a deeper snap of his hips and Denali's head fell back to his pillow. "It will feel better if you let us build it up. Can you do that, baby boy?"

Denali inhaled sharply, trying to recenter himself and not focus entirely on them making him feel so good, on the pleasure building up, but even if he had already come once, the entire night had been enough to rile him up for a good while still.

"Yes, daddy," he answered breathlessly, and he saw the appreciation shine in both his lovers' eyes.

Mik slowed his movements enough for it to feel only teasing inside him, just short of brushing against his spot everytime, and it was driving him absolutely crazy. Added to how he couldn't move his arms, and the lazy strokes of Rosé’s hand against his dick, he just wanted to disobey for once and come now, not later like they wanted.

Denali also knew how it would please them to watch him go wild, trying to keep from misbehaving the best he could. He turned to the only solution he could think of: talking and telling them how he felt, and hopefully it would be enough to distract them from their quest of leading him right into pure madness.

"You feel so good, both of you. Don't want you to ever stop making me feel like this," he started with a hoarse voice, already seeing the effect of it on them. "You’re driving me absolutely insane, please…"

“Tell us just a couple more things,” Mik winked, not breaking his stride, and Denali swallowed hard, waiting to hear whatever idea the youngest had come up with.

“Who’s a pretty boy?”

Fuck. So they were playing this game—not only giving Denali praise but making him praise himself, adding just that touch of humiliation that always put him right on the edge. It was downright cruel, but he was too far gone to fight now. So instead, he played along.

“I am,” he whimpered, earning some faster thrusts and a few flicks of Rosé’s thumb over the head of his cock.

“And who makes the cutest sounds when he’s close?” Rosé followed up, grin positively evil as he quickened his pace a little, making Denali cry out at the overwhelming feeling.

“I do!”

“And who do you belong to, baby, who’re the only ones who can make you feel like this?” Mik was returning to his previous pace now, a fact that was so relieving, Denali almost forgot to answer.

“You, daddy, you and Rosé, only you two make me feel this good, you make me crazy, God, please let me come please—“

“Tell us what you are, sweetheart,” Mik leaned down to whisper in Denali’s ear, his voice taking on a soothing tone when Denali sobbed in response.

“I’m—I—“

Another flick of Rosé’s wrist, a change in Mik’s angle, and Denali couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m a good boy, your good boy, please daddy, I need to come so bad, please— oh, oh, fuck, fuck—“

Rosé and Mik must have known he was at his limit, because they didn't ask anymore of him. They just kissed him and praised him and finally, finally told him he could come. Rosé’s hand was painted white with come as Mik continued to fuck Denali through his orgasm, milking out every bit of pleasure they could possibly give him. And by the time he could finally see straight again he didn’t care how tired he was, or how sore, or how much his lovers had tormented him. He was happy and sated, high on pleasure, and he wouldn’t take the feeling back for the world.

He was ready to call it a night, especially after the hectic start of his day, but somehow Denali knew his boyfriends wouldn't stay restless for that long. He just wasn't too sure if he could handle having them all over him for the third time in such a short period, no matter how much he wanted to please them. He felt pleasantly sore all over, and he knew he'd have trouble moving in the next few minutes.

Denali was about to tell Mik and Rosé just that when he heard the rustling of the sheets on the bed, followed quickly by heavy breathing and soft groans. He opened blurry eyes, turning his head towards the side of the mattress.

He was only half surprised to see Rosé hovering above Mik, with the oldest keeping his wrists firmly pinned above his head. Unlike him before, Mik wasn't even trying to squirm underneath their boyfriend, merely trying to kiss him instead, whining when Rosé moved away slightly.

Denali's eyes widened when he caught the free hand of Rosé moving down to Mik's hips, already untying the strap with practiced ease and smirking while doing so. Denali already knew what would happen — he had witnessed it happen so often before with different variations maybe, but it still stayed the same: his boyfriends taking care of each other after he was left fully sated.

He loved to watch them play together and seeing it unfold in front of his curious eyes. They traded roles so easily according to their moods, often without even a need to actually ask out loud. Denali was always eager to know what would happen and this time wasn't an exception.

He had just started to come down to earth, slowly moving himself to sit against the headboard, now with an even better view of his lovers kissing fervently. Rosé was already making a mess out of Mik, and Denali could hear him moan, even if it was slightly muffled.

Denali's dark eyes followed the way Rosé’s arm flexed, relentless with his pacing; he watched as the oldest broke the kiss to tease Mik’s burning skin. When Rosé firmly bit down on his pulse point, Denali could hear Mik pant, finally putting some struggle to the grasp Rosé had on his wrists.

Rosé tutted gently at this, slowing his movements enough to have Mik complain, but Denali figured Rosé was already riled up enough by having taken care of him with Mik earlier, and Rosé promptly picked up back his former speed. From the wicked glint in his eyes, Denali knew Rosé wouldn't stop there and make Mik come just like this, and he sat up straighter against the headboard more than ready to watch them. He wasn't going to miss a single second of it if he had his way.

Denali could feel his body reacting to all he was seeing and hearing, and he hesitantly trailed a hand down his chest, not quite ready to have direct stimulation but also wanting to bank on the warmth he still felt lingering in his lower stomach. And it only increased when Rosé turned a hungry look towards him, licking his lips as he cocked his head towards the youngest.

“Go wild.”

Denali didn’t need to be told twice. They worked in a smooth motion, Denali taking Rosé’s place without so much as a moment gone to waste, kneeling over Mik and boxing him in.

“Can I go down on you?” Denali took his time kissing over Mik’s body, voice full of hope as he whispered the question against his skin. Mik swallowed hard in response, and Denali could practically hear the younger man’s throat as he nodded.

“Need to be opened up, but want your tongue first…”

“Why not both?” Denali winked, and Mik rolled his eyes, but laughed nonetheless.

“Just fuck me already,” he shook his head, still laughing a little.

Denali didn’t have it in him to deny his baby any longer. He began kissing his way down Mik’s body, taking time to explore the places he knew made Mik go wild. And of course it worked—by the time Denali finally made his way to the apex of Mik’s thighs he was nothing but a puddle beneath him, squirming and sighing and very clearly putting effort into keeping his arms on the bed, not grabbing at Denali and pulling his hair like Denali knew he wanted.

“Spread your legs a little wider, angel.”

Denali looked up with wide eyes to see Rosé hovering beside them, hand stroking along his cock as he watched the sight in front of him. With a wink, he tossed Denali their bottle of lube before sitting back on his heels, still stroking himself and waiting.

“I’m not going to deprive you,” Rosé shrugged. “Play with him as much as you’d like, darling. He’ll let us know when he’s ready for me.”

“Please,” Mik added breathlessly, and Denali decided right then and there that he couldn’t wait anymore. He coated his fingers in lube and turned his attention back to Mik, finally setting to work.

Up until then, Denali hadn’t realized just how much he’d taken eating Mik out for granted. How much he’d missed the taste of his boyfriend on his tongue, missed feeling the twitch of his thighs and the buck of his hips under his ministrations. How he’d missed the way Mik’s little sighs and moans clued Denali into exactly what he was feeling as he circled his entrance with wet fingers, easing inside of him slowly and pulling out whimpers that were music to Denali’s ears. He could do this forever, he really could--but he knew that right now, he needed to control himself. Rosé was watching and waiting for Denali’s permission to take over, and Denali wanted nothing more than to see the older man make their boyfriend come undone.

Then again, taking his time meant torture for both of the other men, and after all the shit they’d pulled this evening, didn’t they deserve it?

So he kept going relentlessly, pulling out every move he knew and even trying out some new stuff, until both his boyfriends looked like they were right on the edge of losing control.

Perfect. He had them right where he wanted them — and while he kind of wanted to continue riling them up just for the sheer pettiness of it. For how they had acted all day, Denali also wanted to see them have their moment.

He pulled himself away abruptly, watching with a smirk as his boyfriend helplessly tried to bring him back but to no avail. Denali had already moved back to his original place, easily trading his position with an overly eager Rosé, who had never seemed more ready before. He let one of his hands trail softly along the length of the older one’s arm, their eyes meeting for a few seconds. They shared everything in that simple gaze to be enough that words were unnecessary, but Denali still needed to push through in the near silence of the room, apart from heavy breathing and soft rustling of the sheets. “Take care of him.”

Denali broke into a small grin when he heard the chuckle his boyfriend let out. “You know I always do, but is he really ready?”

“Yes I am, now come on,” Mik loudly whined, grabbing Rosé’s body closer to his own. “And don’t say I’m impatient, just do something!”

Denali watched amusement unfold on Rosé’s expression but he still kept quiet, probably only because he was just as close to losing all his self-control. Denali was well aware that otherwise, Rosé would have just held back to see how much he could get away with before actually fucking him. While neither of them were the best at denying what Mik wanted, both in bed or not, Rosé usually had a better handle on it — especially if the youngest was acting up a bit.

Denali was startled out of his thoughts when he felt a hand squeeze his leg, and he caught smoldering blue eyes watching him. He held his gaze, not wavering when blunt nails dug almost painfully into his skin. Denali only dared to move his eyes away when Mik himself broke their stare down, taking the whole scene in for the first time.

It didn’t matter that he had seen similar scenes so many times before. Something was always fascinating in witnessing his two lovers move so fluidly together, both of them grunting and moaning and whispering sweet nothings at each other between kisses — only for them to enjoy; only for him to see it. Denali watched with rapt attention as one of Rosé’s hands clutched the wrinkled up sheets near Mik’s face, while the other held on to one of his thighs. He was pretty certain that it would come to bruise on his pale skin, but it wasn’t something that bothered any of them.

He watched as one of Mik’s legs hooked around Rosé’s hip, wordlessly encouraging him to continue his actions, as if he would even dare to stop like that. They both were way past the stage of teasing, having taken it out mostly on him before. Denali could see it in how Rosé’s thrusts were already wild and uncontrolled, paces away from the way Mik had controlled his own when Denali had been in his place. He could see it in the thin layer of sweat shining on both their bodies, with how they were both shaking. He could see it in how Mik’s back was arching off the bed, his nails dragging along his leg, only making him more involved in what was happening in front of him — not that Denali wasn’t already with how he was biting down on his already bruised bottom lip, dark eyes focused on them and a hand lazily touching himself.

He had been more or less trying to keep silent and not distract them from their time together, but it was difficult with the kind of show they were putting on for him. Every moan dragged out longer and sounded louder. They purposely exaggerated the deep rocking of their hips so he could clearly see what was happening. It was almost a blessing that Denali had already come twice in a row because otherwise, it would have been a problem. He was more than happy to just give himself a bit of pleasure without any pressure of coming again.

Denali barely caught the rough, low voice of Rosé saying he was close, and his eyes fell to a bright eyed and deeply flustered Mik, knowing without him saying anything that it wouldn’t take that long for him to come either. Not that he needed the indication, with how the indents of his boyfriend’s nails were littered around his leg. Denali was sure he had avoided a few scratches on Rosé’s shoulders and back because of it.

And then he got an idea, a wicked one, and smirked.

“You think you two can come just like this? No, I’m not done watching you yet — it’s still my birthday gift, yeah?”

Denali had to give it to Rosé, he did slow down once his brain caught his words, even if he groaned in displeasure at his intervention. Mik, on the other hand…

“I hate you,” the youngest grumbled, still letting his leg fall off for a second, his head falling back to the pillow now that Rosé was only slowly and shallowly pushing into him. Denali laughed at his misery and shrugged.

“What happened to the ‘we just started’ from earlier? Doesn't that apply to you two as well?”

“Come on, you’re evil,” retorted Rosé, huffing through both annoyance and the strength he needed to keep from bucking wildly as he had been doing before.

“Keep it up and you’re not coming,” he warned in a sickly sweet tone.

“You don’t make the rules —”

“It’s my birthday, I kinda do,” Denali argued, “you two had fun torturing me, so let me do it, too. I’m not that evil, I’m gonna let you come… eventually.”

While neither Mik nor Rosé looked particularly happy about the situation, they didn’t fight Denali any further. He suspected that they couldn’t, not while distracted like this. Their self-inflicted teasing was getting to them both, and Denali felt a spark of smug satisfaction as he watched both of them get closer and closer to cracking. Mik’s cheeks had practically set ablaze with effort and his hips twitched just the slightest bit, clearly unable to lie still completely. That was okay; Denali would give him that at least. After all, the clear effort the younger man was making was surprisingly cute. The fact that he wasn’t quite able to be good, and was unable to control himself completely was even better. Couple that with Rosé’s panting breaths, little whines of need just barely audible underneath that, and it was almost enough to get Denali going again too.

“You both look so precious like this,” he teased a little further as he let his hand wander down slowly between his own legs, beginning to play with himself lazily. “All needy and desperate. Bet it doesn’t feel so good when you’re on the receiving end of it, huh?”

“You like it and you know it,” Rosé retorted, but Mik’s whimper at the taunt betrayed that maybe, just maybe, Denali’s boyfriends were enjoying it just as much.

“Oh, I’m having fun, that’s for sure,” he grinned. “Tell you what, Mik, baby, you’re getting pretty vocal--tell me how you feel, and maybe I’ll let Rosé go a little faster, yeah? It’s only fair, after all.”

He knew he was going to get it the next time they did this, that neither Rosé nor Mik would forget the kind of shit he’d pulled tonight. But he could worry about that tomorrow. Right now, he was set on just enjoying the way Mik was struggling to find his words.

“What, you don’t want more?” he prodded again, grin widening. “Aw, how disappointing. I guess you really can come this way. Okay, Rosie, looks like you’re stuck like this--”

“No, please, fuck , feels so good, but I need more, please, Nali, let me have more?”

Denali couldn’t tell what was hotter--the desperation in Mik’s voice, or the way Rosé looked caught between betrayal and a plea of his own as he looked from Mik back up to Denali, checking for his next move.

“Good boy,” Denali hummed. “Alright, you can fuck for real now. But ,” he added, chest swelling with giddy excitement as he warned, “You both still need to ask to come, and if you don’t come together, then whichever of you would wind up coming last won’t be coming tonight.”

It was a false threat, in reality; Denali planned on pretending to take mercy, to enjoy hearing one of them grovel before he revealed the ruse, if it came to that. But he wasn’t going to let them know that. And in any case, the idea of them coming together?

He couldn’t help but stroke himself a little faster at the thought.

Denali didn't have to wait long to see them fall into action, Rosé instantly picked up back the speed he had from before, while Mik pulled at his hair, getting him closer, almost sobbing in relief. Rosé hummed appreciatively, leaning down even more to capture Mik's little whimpers into his mouth.

Denali let his eyes focus on his two lovers, knowing how close they still were, even when he had interrupted them for a moment. His hand brushed against the head of his cock as he picked up speed, and Denali moaned hoarsely, getting a look from Rosé, and a whimper of his name by Mik.

Denali didn't know if he was going to come once more just by watching them, but he didn't mind. It was enjoyable, and there was almost nothing more satisfying than to witness his two lovers fall off the edge.

He almost lost it himself when Rosé brought a hand down on their boyfriend’s hip, squeezing his bruised inner thigh and making him moan — and Denali might not have had the best point of view with how Mik's raised thigh was hiding it, but he knew what Rosé was doing, and it was more than enough. Especially when the sheer idea of it was mixed up with the high-pitched sounds Mik was letting out now. Denali felt a shiver running down his spine, his chest heaving. Hearing them taking pleasure was always making him crazy, and tonight was no exception. His hips canted up into his tight fist, and he fought to keep his eyes open to watch the scene in front of him unfold until the end.

Denali heard Mik’s scream first, but in his defense, Rosé's moan resonated only a few seconds after, and he stopped stroking himself instantly to the sound, wanting to take it all in without distraction. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, a voice told him they’d disobeyed, hadn’t asked like he’d told them to, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was too satisfying to see them both in such pleasure, enjoying each other, enjoying him watching. He didn’t want it any other way.

Both Mik and Rosé were panting loudly, and Mik had his eyes firmly shut, an arm now flung across his eyes as he tried catching his breath under the strength of the orgasm. Rosé on the other hand had more or less no more strength left in his body, falling halfway on top of their boyfriend.

Denali got closer to them, gently stroking along Rosé's spine, the older one arching his back to get more of his touch. He leaned down to push back a few strands of dark hair from Mik's forehead, his boyfriend mumbling something he couldn't pick up. He dropped his body on the bed, staying slightly up on his elbow and waiting for them to come back down fully.

“Hi,” he turned a soft smile towards Mik, who was the first to look up again, the fuzzy, sated bliss in his eyes making Denali’s heart warm.

“ Fuck, that was good, ” Mik let out a breathy laugh in response, wiping the sweat from his brow as a tired smile broke onto his face.

“You definitely put me through the works, I’ll say that,” Denali teased, stooping down to give the younger man a kiss.

“I think you still aren’t done, though.”

Denali and Mik both turn to Rosé, who in the time since Denali had shifted his focus away had pushed himself up onto his elbow, looking them both up and down with a bemused twinkle in his eye. And for a second, Denali isn’t really sure what he means, until he looks down and--

Oh .

“Huh,” Mik looks down at Denali’s semi, eyes wide with half-shock, half-satisfaction at what he and Rosé had done to their boyfriend. “I gotta say, I knew you were pent up, but three times? I’m impressed.”

Denali blushed fiercely, the heat in his face only intensifying when Mik and Rosé both tittered at his reaction.

“Don’t be embarrassed, baby,” Rosé teased, scooting closer and running a hand up Denali’s thigh. “It’s okay. Here, I know you’re tired--let us take care of you one last time, then we can relax, yeah? How does that sound?”

Denali weighed his options for a moment, but shook his head, unable to stifle a yawn as he did. The truth of the matter was, he already knew he’d be sore tomorrow, especially after everything he’d been through today. He didn’t need to add a broken dick on top of that, since he knew how relentless his boyfriends could be. He’d need to be in tip-top shape for the next week, otherwise he’d never survive.

Besides, there was a part of him that kind of felt like he didn’t actually need anything more, no matter how much his boner tried to say to the contrary. He’d been lavished with attention all evening, every need met for him, and even watching his boyfriends just now--sure, it turned him on, but his satisfaction with the display had gone beyond that. Because it wasn’t just sexy seeing Rosé and Mik fuck, it was also just plain nice for lack of a better word. Hearing Mik’s moans, seeing Rosé’s hips buck in such a wild, yet measured way--it filled Denali with a sense of contentment that was second to none. After all, there was nothing better than seeing Mik and Rosé happy, engaged with and enjoying each other as they played together. In Denali’s mind, that was the real treat of seeing them fuck, so really, did he even need anything else?

“I’m good,” he shrugged, moving up the bed to lie back against the pillow and making grabby-hands at both his boyfriends. “Now c’mere and cuddle me, will you?”

Rosé and Mik both obliged happily without another word.

#rpdr fanfiction #s13 #gottmik #rosé #denali foxx #denali x gottmik x rosé #smut #canon compliant #poly #trans character #writworm42 #fromthenorthernskies #tw daddy kink

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op-sheepy · 3 years

Note

ok so I'm particularly interested in

Bellamy Law

Law and Bible stuff

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

shichibukai applications

reverse hanahaki disease (?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

if you feel like elaborating on any of these!

This is gonna get long and I actually contemplated posting them separately but would that have been more work? Yeah, that felt like more work so for anyone interested, check under the cut. :D

---------------------------------o

Bellamy Law

Hm… This would be an attempt to explore the parallels and contrasts between Bellamy and Law. I've always found it fascinating that the former was a foil to the latter.

They both come from well-off towns in the North Blue.

Bellamy left because of boredom. Law had no choice because Flevance.

Both ended up seeking Doflamingo because of his notoriety as a pirate. Both admired him initially

Doffy favored one over the other though. Bellamy always sought his approval but was never really part of the inner circle Doflamingo cared about.

Law got the dubious privilege of being part of the family despite being absent for so long. Even offered one of the highest seats by Doffy's side for seemingly nothing.

Law had no trouble turning his back on Doffy once he realized the man's nature. Bellamy tried to stick to his principles until the end despite admitting that he new he was wrong.

Bellamy can (and did) quit piracy after his ordeal with Doflamingo. Having the option to live peacefully, perhaps a return to his previous life (the one he considered boring). Law can't do that quite as easily what with his Devil fruit and his reputation.

I thought it would be interesting trying to explore what Bellamy was thinking. Did he hear the Donquixote Pirates talk about their missing 'family'? Did he get to see Doffy be amused at Law's rise as a Supernova while he kept being reminded of his own status? Did Law save Bellamy partially because he also saw what he could have been had Corazon not saved him?

On principle, Bellamy should have hated Trafalgar Law. Does. Bastard even saved him without him wanting it. But there was something about the shadows haunting those eyes and Bellamy started to wonder.

He had heard the family talk about Law before. The child personally taught by Doflamingo, chosen to be his right hand. Never was he compared to the man because Law was just obviously better. Smarter. Stronger. Bellamy was ever just an uncouth thug.

He was allowed to 'borrow' Doflamingo's symbol while Law had an empty seat waiting for his return–a seat Bellamy had wanted enough to risk everything for.

Maybe he had resented, Trafalgar Law for carelessly rejecting the things he had that Bellamy had always desired. In the end too, Trafalgar Law did prove to be better. He'd done as a child what Bellamy had trouble doing even as he was now.

But having been given the chance to observe the other man as they all recovered, he wondered, perhaps for the first time, whether despite Law being better than Bellamy, Bellamy had had it better–barring the poor life choices.

---------------------------------o

Law and Bible stuff

This is just me wanting to know how many biblical parallels and themes I can draw from Law, the Donquixote brothers, the characters associated with them, and his backstory. Honestly not sure whether this would become a fic and in what style or I'm gonna give up and just make it a post.

Not gonna elaborate on them much but here are the ideas in more bullet points (yay):

Law gets familiar with all four horsemen of the apocalypse: conquest, war, famine, and death. He even survives them.

Law is like the son in the parable of the prodigal son to the Donquixote pirates. Except the themes are inverted.

Doflamingo and Rocinante -> Cain and Abel

Ope Ope no Mi -> Granting eternal life by sacrificing one's own life

Gods descending or living among humans. Also, Homing and his family being prosecuted for other people's sins.

That scene where they were hanged by their arms outstretched looks like a crucifixion. Also, Rocinante was on the right while Doflamingo was on the left. Similar to how the penitent thief was on the right and the unrepentant one to the left.

Flevance being considered a paradise with walls/fences/gates and somewhere Law cannot return to.

In the panel where the Donquixote pirates are seated at the table, there were thirteen of them with Doffy at the center. Same as The Last Supper

There are a lot more of these (David and Goliath, Solomon, Jonah, Job, etc.) but I kinda lost the notes and some are more visual so I can't really explain it too well. This would is a drabble series to emphasize or highlight the parallels so no proper snippet for this one.

---------------------------------o

Law is a substitute kindergarten teacher

Originally an idea to get around most of the Heart Pirates being nameless but evolved to include other characters as kids. Chopper is a kindergarten teacher and he convinces Law to take over his class for a week because somehow Law has the qualifications to and free time. Naturally, he wasn't able to say no.

Unfortunately, despite not being terrible at handling children, Chopper's class is filled with menaces. Also, despite not being terrible, Law can still be awkward so...

"Mr. Trofao–fargar—"

"Trafalgar."

The kid—which one was this one again? Shit, he should really get them name plates or something—scrunched up his face and tried harder, "Tar-pal—"

"Law. Just call me Law."

"Mr. Low"—eh, close enough—"can I go to the bathroom?" Wide imploring eyes stared up at him.

"Sure, go ahead." Law gestured towards the exit of the classroom with his head.

The kid just stared expectantly at him and he tried to suppress the need to narrow his eyes.

"Is there… anything else?"

"Mr. Chopper always comes with me to hold my hand."

Really?

"Mr. Chopper isn't here. You should practice doing it on your own now." He said after a deep inhale.

"But the monsters might get me…"

"No, they won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." Before the kid could open his mouth again to argue, he added, "Besides, children taste terrible so you're safe."

The kid looked stricken and took a step back from him. Uh oh. Glistening eyes, wobbling lower lip… "Alright! I'll go with you." The kid did not look reassured. In fact he looked like going alone with Law was the last thing he wanted to do. Guess, he kinda implied that he ate children didn't he? Oops.

Well, the kid needs to go and he's not going to be cleaning up after him if he wets himself.

Law glanced at the rest of the children. It was Arts and Craft time and they seemed preoccupied enough. Still, Law doubted Chopper ever left these kids alone–already he could see some of them glancing up at him, waiting for him to leave no doubt to cause trouble. That Monkey kid in particular looked extremely suspicious.

He stood up from his crouch and clapped twice to get everyone's attention.

"Alright. Fall in line. Single file."

There was some grumbling and questioning directed at him. "What's going on?"

Law shrugged. "You're all going to the bathroom."

---------------------------------o

Shichibukai Application Forms

Crackfic where the World Government and relevant parties review various Shichbukai Applications. Most submitted by the pirates applying themselves, some produced by their own staff. They discuss and debate. As well as judge pirate resumes.

She scanned the document. Terrible format, really. If you fail to impress within the first page, you've failed entirely. There just wasn't anyone promising enough in this batch of applications or any of the other ones before. The last one had been that clown. "Apprentice to the Pirate King," was a pretty hefty credential.

"Oh, how about this one? Three years experience pillaging, and they even listed all the towns they looted." One of the newly transferred administrative staff said.

"None of these are worth considering at all. You know, when Mihawk was asked to submit his application, he hadn't bothered with all of this. He just sent us a card with his name on it and the title "World's Strongest Swordsman," underneath."

The staff perked up. "Oh, there was an application like that." There was scramble and some shuffling before a plain white card was produced. "Here."

"'From Trafalgar Law'. What does this even mean?"

"Well, it did come with a big box..."

---------------------------------o

Reverse Hanahaki Disease

(?? do u spit out flowers when your nemesis walks by?)

Haha. At first it was going to be that way (because it is hilarious) but the inflicted would probably choke to death too soon. Or if both enemies had it, they'd end up just coughing flowers at each other until they stopped being enemies.

The version I ended up going with was that this variant of Hanahaki, instead of afflicting those with unrequited love, affected those in denial instead. The reverse part comes from the original idea that this would usually happen if you somehow fell in love with your nemesis (someone you originally hated). So it's not the thought that the other person can't love you, it's that you can't accept that you love that other person. You get cured by confessing to the person sincerely.

This is actually another KidLaw (surprise!). And the flower coughed up directly represents the person they're in love with (I went with Oda's flower representation for them because I found it funny for plot)

So the idea is that, you get sick but you don't automatically know (maybe) who it is because that's part of being in denial. Kid and Law have many enemies after all. In this story they both get it though not exactly at the same time and not known to the other.

He survived Amber Lead Syndrome only to be killed off by a stupid flower disease that apparently knows more about his own feelings than he does.

He glared at the petals. Tulips. Red.

An image of a cocky grin and a shock of red hair flashed through his mind and—nope. That's not right.

He coughed harder, tears stinging his eyes with the effort. More flowers. Now he has enough for a bouquet.

Alright, he was a doctor. He could do this. Differential time.

First, which variant does he have. He doesn't particularly feel unloved or hopeless. There wasn't anyone he wanted in particular to love him. Ok, nothing. It was maybe safe to say he had that other variant.

Which was stupid because Law had many enemies and he hated all of them.

And cue the racking coughs. More red. He was very familiar with that particular shade.

New theory. This was a new variant that somehow makes you sick when you think of the person you hated the most.

Yes, that had to be it. He thought as he all but collapsed on the floor from the sudden paroxysm.

I knew this was gonna get long. :) Oh well...

Thank you for playing. :D

#One Piece #One piece fanfiction #wip game #trafalgar law #donquixote brothers #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote roci #donquixote homing #donquixote pirates #one piece bellamy #bellamy the hyena #eustass kid #kidlaw #trafalgar d water law

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richiettozier · 3 years

Text

mal amour

Richie counted to one hundred before pushing against the fancy intercom. Passerby didn't mind his stalling, they just threw a curious glance at him, probably asking themselves why he stood immobile like that for almost two minutes straight before doing anything – he didn't even notice those looks. His eyes are too busy in reading over and over the Kaspbrak tag written elegantly besides the intercom's button.

“Yes?” answered the robotic voice of a woman, and something from his chest fell into the bottom of his stomach. Romantically, his heart. Truthfully, he'd say just bile.

Richie cleared his throat, “Pizza man!” he half–joked. He hoped that she would let him enter with that blatant excuse, but he didn't feel so lucky so he didn't expect anything more of a click and the deaf sound of the silent intercom.

“We never order pizza.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I was kidding, obviously.” Richie sighed and tapped once against the wall of the apartment building, also leaning to get closer to the device. He was tired from the trip from Los Angeles to here in New York, so he didn't want to raise his voice. He was lacking of sleep, but it wasn't because of the flight he took in the middle of the night. “I am a... friend of Eddie? I believe he lives here. You know, it's his name on the intercom.”

“A friend of my Eddie?” she seemed to gasp. Richie didn't like the sound she was making, the incredulity he was hearing from the metallic noises coming out the device.

“That's what I said.”

“And what you are called?”

The fuck. “Eddie's mom–” he bristled, stopping himself. He glanced down at his bags abandoned by his feet, and grudgingly he decided that he shouldn't make mom's jokes right now, if he didn't wish to go sleep under a bridge tonight – not that he would sleep in any other place, but it was surely more uncomfortable than a couch. “I mean, Eddie calls me Richie, sometimes Rich, and when he's particularly mad at me he even calls me Richard. But actually, everyone calls me Richie, because that's my name. It's a...” he gulped, “A pleasure. Or it would be, if we weren't talking through an intercom.”

The intercom clicked, in the end, and the silence Richie was expecting finally arrived. He leaned his forehead against the cold marble of the building door's edge and closed his stinging eyes, shunning them from the midday New York sun. Shit. He grabbed his two bags and threw them over his shoulders – half himself wanted to go, just go away, because evidently he wasn't welcomed between the lovebirds; but the other half wanted to ring the intercom again and again, until Eddie himself, obviously annoyed, jumped down the stairs to kick him away from there.

The latter seemed to be the best of the two options. At least Richie would see him, angry and alive, before going fuck himself. His finger stopped mid hair, though, when a long bip came from the building's door, signaling that someone – Richie guessed Eddie, at this point – finally fucking let him enter.

Richie didn't know which floor Eddie's apartment was, so he chose to walk up the stairs instead of use the elevator – a grave mistake, but necessary. He started with a quick step regardless of the tiredness he was feeling in his very bones, but just after a single flight of stairs he already was wheezing. “Thank the fucking God,” he huffed, when he reached the third floor and there was Eddie waiting for him in front of the door of his apartment.

Eddie was clearly looking at the elevator, expecting him to come out of it, that was why he almost jumped when he heard his heavy steps stumbling on the stairs. “Why the fuck you didn't use the elevator, Rich?” It was Eddie's greeting, and Richie almost cried hearing it. “I think I never used the stairs in three years, maybe more.”

“I didn't know where your apartment was, dickwad.” Richie inhaled deeply when he arrived in front of Eddie, and he felt his fingers twitch around the straps of his bags. He tightened his grip, “Hey, Eds.”

Eddie's expression melted, and dimples appeared at the sides of his mouth as he smiled and walked towards him, with warm eyes and open arms. “You fucker.” Eddie hugged him, patting his shoulders. Richie's arms almost circled his waist in the hug, but then he decided to just pat his back the same way. He felt eyes looking through him, but Richie tried not to look up and see who the stare belonged to. He had some ideas, though. “What are you doing here? Are you on tour? You didn't tell you were about to start one so soon.”

Eddie ended the hug, and Richie finally felt enough himself to take a good look at him without feeling jelly legs. He was in a suit, so he must have come back from whatever office he was working in to have lunch – with his wife – and he was so good looking that Richie thought it to be very unfair. He tried not to think much about his own state, worse than he was even before getting up the plane, and he wasn't decent then either. “Well, uh,” Richie sniffed, “No, I'm not on tour. I am still in that sabbatical time, or whatever Steve called my doing absolutely nothing.”

Eddie ushered him inside, and only then Richie forced himself not to look at his ass and stare straight ahead. There is no one, no woman watching at him with a frown, no plus–sized wife sending daggers with her eyes. Only Eddie, and the terrible smell of disinfectant lingering in the too white and aseptic apartment.

“Want a drink?” asked Eddie, gesturing at him to go sit on the couch.

“The strongest you have.” Richie knew that he probably just had, like, lame wine, but he was not going to complain, as he sat on the strangely comfortable cushions of the couch, throwing his bags on the floor without much care.

Eddie put a plain glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. Richie didn't even felt surprised. He should have expected it. Had he really married his fucking mother? “I just have water,” Eddie said, defensively.

“I can see that. It's fine,” Richie waved a hand, “So.”

“So.” Eddie sat next to him, closer than expected, but still too far. “Not that I'm not happy to see you, don't get me wrong here, man. But...” Eddie's warm eyes fell on his bags on the floor, “You should have, you know, gone to the hotel before coming here. So you didn't have to bring your things around the city.”

Richie shrugged, “Haven't booked a room.”

Eddie blinked, then sighed. His eyebrows were scrunched in an adorable frown, “I don't know why, but I'm not surprised.”

“I just, got on a plan and came here, you know? Without much thought. I–” Richie lowered his voice and leaned towards him, fidgeting slightly with his own fingers. He didn't want to look around and see if his wife was eavesdropping their conversation, so he just... let it all out. Who fucking cared. “I wanted to see you.”

Make sure you're still breathing, make sure your chest isn't pierced through, make sure that you're not bleeding on the sewers' dirty floor.

Eddie looked contrite, “Rich–”

“Just for a couple of days? I just need to, to stay with you for a couple of days, not much more. Is it too much to ask? You know, this couch is the most confortable couch my ass has ever put his glorious form on, I'm serious!” Eddie laughed, and Richie took it as a victory, “I wouldn't invite myself if I really didn't need it. I really, really need you. Er, I mean, it. Oh, fuck, alright, you! I need you!”

Eddie lowered his eyes, pointing them on the floor. Richie felt the silence stretching for almost thirty seconds before feeling a bubble of idiotic chatter raising from his throat, but he didn't have the time to splutter out a joke – he just wanted Eddie to laugh, after all – because a snort came out of Eddie's nose, “Rich, you idiot, you can stay as long as you want. No one will kick you out of here.” Eddie's mouth clicked shut, as if he said something he shouldn't, something unforgiving. But at the same time, the determination into his big eyes was saying that he wouldn't change his mind no matter what. “But you really have to sleep on the couch, I have no spare room.”

“Damn, Spaghetti boy, such a luxurious apartment and you didn't even have a spare room? You are the worst rich man I've ever met.”

“Shut up and fuck you.” Eddie shoved him, cackling with a tense laugh that Richie didn't really like, but it was better than nothing, he guessed. “Well, I think introductions are in order, considering that you have to stay here for a while.” he sighed, passing a nervous hand through his neatly hair, ruffling it. Richie's fingers twitched. He felt a pang of guilt for causing Eddie's discomfort, and for thinking of how he longed to do the same with his own hand. When he got up, Richie followed him, “I will take some time off from work, so we can... talk, yeah?”

“You don't need to do that.”

“Yeah, I do. You need me, you said.” Eddie threw him a glance through his long lashes, “And you look like shit, Richie. You look like you went to hell and back.”

I did, Richie thought. He desperately tried to come up with a joke, but all the things roaming into his mind in that moment weren't really funny. So he shrugged, “Yeah, the flight killed me.”

“Later we can go eat something,” Eddie was saying, as he walked into a room that Richie thought to be the kitchen, but it was so clean and neat that maybe he put his feet into an exhibition of furniture without noticing it. “We can talk... freely with a slice of pizza in front of us, how about that?”

“That sounds very good, if you add some ice cream right after.”

“What kind of guy do you think I am now?” Eddie snorted. One that doesn't order pizza anymore, Richie almost said, but the words got stuck in his throat at the sight of the woman he found sitting by an island, cleaning the already shiny marble of the furniture.

That woman was... was Eddie's mother. “I'm having a dé–jà vu.” choked out Richie, leaning against the doorframe, passing a hand on his forehead. “Mrs. K?!”

Eddie hissed, cursed and elbowed him in the ribs.

The woman was huge. Usually there wouldn't be anything wrong about this, but the fucked up similarities to Eddie's mother were making the impact way too traumatizing – Richie would say that only the straight, blonde mid long hair falling over her broad shoulders is the real difference that convinced him that she was not really the late Mrs. Kaspbrak.

“Richie, she's my wife, Myra.” Eddie was saying, ignoring the tumultuous whirlwind fucking Richie's mind. Well, Richie knew, from Eddie's words and confessions back in Derry, that he didn't get over the shadow of his mother, that he completely forgot fighting against her abuses when they were teenagers, but – Richie didn't think it was that bad. Jesus. “Myra, this is Richie, one of my childhood friends. I told you about them, you remember?”

“Yes, you did.” she snarled, “They caused you that scar! And you still have contact with them? You bring them here, in our house? They are dangerous! They will cause you harm, dear!” she said, her light eyebrows knitted together in a worried expression that twisted in rage when her eyes fell on Richie.

Richie, as Eddie just ignored her words as if he'd heard them so many times that they have no meaning anymore to him, grimaced slightly though at her outburst. He felt bad, the lingering uneasiness he had in his bones and insides since they all left Derry spiked up suddenly like an old burn sliding against a hot surface again. He eyed at the silver scar on Eddie's cheek, almost invisible but definitely still there. That scar wasn't Richie's fault, even if guilt squeezed his insides nonetheless, even if he always claimed to love him and then he left him alone right when that scar was made; still it could have been so much worse not much later, and at in that occasion it would have been all his fault.

“I'm wounded,” Richie said, pressing a hand against his chest, “Eddie talked so well about you, Mrs. K, I can't believe he didn't do the same to you!”

She narrowed her eyes even more, and Eddie tugged at his shirtsleeve. “Rich, drop it.”

Richie did. He didn't like the tight lines around his eyes, making him older – still hot, but older. More tired. It was the same expression he wore at sixteen every night Richie had found him in front of his front door, with a backpack and a beg on his lips. God, Eddie didn't deserve this shit again.

Later that day, after a hurried lunch with a slice of pizza – Eddie couldn't take immediately time off, so their talk had been delayed – and a more tense too early dinner with Eddie's wife, Eddie went to talk with his boss on the phone, demanding a vacancy for family matters. He made him rest on the couch, gave him a blanket even if there was a fucking terrible heat outside, while he disappeared in what it should have been his and his wife's bedroom.

His wife was with him, and Richie immediately heard when Eddie stopped talking to his boss and started arguing with her. He didn't catch all of their words, but then she shouted something like, “Is it his fault that you are treating me like this for weeks, Eddie?”, and really, call him a son of a bitch, but he really didn't care that they are at loggerheads because of him. He would gladly take the blame – the merit – of Eddie's blown up marriage. And actually, hearing Eddie's voice coming angry and skittish, screaming that “Richie needs me, I am his best friend!” and groaning when she cried and said to him with a teared up voice “and I am your wife!” from the other side of the apartment was easing his nerves, lulling him into a sleep that for weeks wasn't coming to him at all.

❀ read the rest on ao3!

#reddie #it fanfiction #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #mine:fyccina #reddie fic #it fic

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jae-canikeepyou · 4 years

Text

| closer | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: au + idol!jae & choreographer/dancer!yn

a/n: this request is long overdue but here it is! :) i’m sorry for the long wait ;-; it’s challenging to write since i’m not a dancer so my explanation’s a lil’ suckish. also! i had to edit a song remix for this oneshot, so the dance and imagination’s clearly up to you *wink wink* enjoy reading! ~j

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though you lost count of the frequent, unexplainable somersaults you experienced in your stomach, you weren’t sure whether this always happen whenever you were told to join other dancers to monitor a routine for a group. perhaps it was just you, that today felt entirely different compared to when you first started.

as far as your career went, this was the only time you felt so stressed. and by ‘stressed’, it didn’t mean that the boys’ couldn’t get the steps right— they were fast learners and the choreography you helped co-create wouldn’t be a problem to them.

nct 127’s rehearsals were at a spacious backstage for straight two days now. in those short days, there was a certain air that lingered and you couldn’t fathom it properly. with you around, the boys would suddenly crowd in a circle, anywhere in the area, and began to utter out whispers you hoped your ears were able to hear. maybe if you were reincarnated, you’d choose an animal with great hearing to be able to hear what they were saying.

and honestly it got you wanting to pull your hair out because.. what if?

what if they disliked how you were a person of few words during practice? or that they preferred if you gave more feedbacks toward their dance like other choreographers who came before you? there weren’t any hints leading to the source of action and really, if this was an actual investigation you’d be removed from the team for not having quick-wits.

taeyong immediately became your close friend right when you were introduced to them by your seniors. he had this you-can-tell-me-anything aura all over him and was the only person you always conversed with among the boys. given that you were part of the choreo team since kick-it era, the boys welcomed you; like so much. but in those greetings, a gut feeling kept bothering you that you would be pulled into something.. perhaps something you might not be able to handle? you wouldn’t know. it was a gut feeling anyway, fifty percent of your intuition were always proven wrong.

you stared at the widespread mirror, arms up to record them while examining their moves and rhythms to the beat. they were tired, you could tell with the way they swayed and continuously wipe off the sweat rolling down their temples. so you decided to give them a break after three hours of practice.

replaying the video over and over to check if they got the timing right, taeyong went to sit by your side gulping and squeezing the water bottle. “relax y/n. you’ll get more wrinkles if you keep doing that.” he nudged you gently to catch your full atttention from the phone.

“do what, exactly?” you looked at him, eyebrows furrowed tiredly above your death-gazing eyes.

he poked you with the butt of the cold bottle he held, where beads from it soaked your forehead. “this.” he lectured you again, almost annoying to the ears. “it’s not at all attractive.”

“we both agreed you have better brows than me but ouch that’s rude. i think i’m quite pretty and you know it.” you return a playful poke that had him nearly trampling backwards, a slight sting felt by your ankle once you regained balance.

per usual, you disregarded his innocent comment and continued to monitor the practice via phone. he didn’t mean it and you knew that. taeyong kept bugging you to cool off from work and hang out with them since you were all good friends to begin with. of course that development happened in a span of few months to be able for you all to reach that certain relationship.

however, was it possible to attain the level of intimacy when recently, all you felt from the other guys was the weird gap? you couldn’t even describe the awkward distance. taeyong shook both of his sleeves into sweaterpaws to rub the droplets on your forehead.

“quite pretty? you’re beautiful! you’re like a cool princess every guy wants and i’d honestly date you if what we are isn’t platonic.” he danced in a wave effect with his arm. you gently hit his chest for being very vocal even if it just was the two of you.

“aww, you always know how to make me feel better! thanks.” you sweetly compliment him for a second before your smile turned into a frown.

at the corners of your peripheral, johnny, jungwoo, mark, donghyuck and yuta all averted your scrutiny. the action was obvious and quick, but what made it more suspicious was that it happened respectively like falling dominos. although they did typical and cliché gestures of escapism from your response, still they pretended to ignore you either with their hands shoved in pockets or whistles of their own song.

a surrendering huff caught taeyong’s attention. you never sighed nor show any emotions of distress before and this was a little concerning to him. “what’s wrong y/n?” he turned around to see the others minding their own business despite taeyong already realising the edginess they showed.

“can you help me figure something out with them?” you begged as you tilted your gently slightly to the side. “it’s been weeks and i have no idea why they’re acting this way. am i that unapproachable compared to my seniors?”

taeyong suddenly pursed his lips to a small circle as if he was hiding some top secret information that was ‘exclusive for members only’. “oh- y’know.” he nodded quite repetitively but with hesitating breaks in between. he knew what you were going to ask him since it hasn’t been the first time. he usually could dodge your curiosity and wondered why he couldn’t now. “they’re p-probably just chilling.. like always.. yep.” he popped the ‘p’ and stood. “i’m sure it’s because they’re tired from rehearsals!”

things couldn’t just get any weirder. you squinted your eyes as you scooted in closer to him. “you’re stuttering. you never do that.” you pointed out, observing his wavering eyes. “do you know something-”

he stammered and gently pushed you away a little like it would stop you from asking further. “i-i don’t know what you’re talking a-about.”

“hm you sure about that?” you hummed and he mouthed a ‘yes’. “you don’t know what’s coming after you if i figure it out buddy.”

“i’m sure, y/n. stop being a worrywart.” taeyong pinched your cheeks. “i’ll let know you right away if i hear anything out of the ordinary.”

“uh-huh. jaehyun’s the one i think who’s ’out of the ordinary’. we never talked. just hi’s and bye’s and he doesn’t smile at me.” you commented as you spotted him at the entrance door. “bummer, i really find him good-looking..” your phone buzzed a message from your leader. technically he wasn’t, but a person in-charge of your schedules to teach other idol groups.

somehow you felt a wave of relief that you would be out of the venue for the day. it would be assuring to not be around 127 for a while when they behaved like they did. who knew thinking too much would bring exhaustion? this was more tiring than dancing. a lot more. you swung your phone to taeyong, telling him that you were going to leave. “i gotta go, see you.”

“oh, alright. take care.” taeyong waved subtly, confused as to why you suddenly spoke of jaehyun out of the blue.

you let out a long sigh and exited the venue with thoughts of wonder; they were good people and most definitely you were the approachable type, so why were they keeping distance besides taeyong? johnny, yuta and donghyuck were super friendly, and it’s unlike them to suddenly keep quiet. mark and jungwoo were fun to tease; seeing the expressions they usually don’t put on around you was really fishy. taeil and doyoung have similar affection for you because you were like a little sister and.. jaehyun?

well.. jaehyun’s jaehyun, and among them, he was the far-fetched one. that was what you felt from him,

from the beginning.

because every single time you crossed paths, he would look away right when you locked eyes with him. there was no smile, no expression.

nothing at all.

maybe it pinched your heart a little. and maybe there would be a right time for this. just maybe not today. hopefully that wouldn’t extend for another month. hopefully you would get to talk to him like you did with the rest of them. it was a challenging to be patient when you’ve kind of taken a liking on jaehyun despite the inexplainable treatment. he was.. cute.

once you were out of the group’s sight, jaehyun came in with a duffle bag and a beanie— that basically made his hair in a frenzy- along with taeil & doyoung. he had his arms frantically shaking as if he was trying to reason out. “i can’t hold a normal conversation without tensing up.” he dropped his belongings and joined the crowd, not noticing the growing smirks slowly coming into view from his friends.

“and you think choosing to freeze and stare would make her talk to you?” taeil asked straight up. “that’s called cowardice bro.”

jaehyun combed his hair back and wore his beanie again when the focus was shifted to him. “no it’s not. it’s called being shy.. i guess.” he crossed his arm, unsure of his answer as well.

mark took a sip of watermelon juice, later eyeing a bowl sitting peacefully on one side of the table for seconds. “hyung, do you expect to get closer to y/n if you act like that though?” he gave johnny a side-eye as he hid his smile behind the cup, to whom the latter responded the same.

“all of us are trying to keep quiet of your ecstasy towards her like you asked us to.” jungwoo implored because what was done has to be said eventually. “and now she thinks we’re hiding something from her, i can feel her suspicions for the past weeks.”

“did you make it obvious?” jaehyun hissed a little. “i warned you to act natural-”

johnny wrapped the young man in his arms, earning laughs from the others. “the one who’s not acting natural is you. i thought you’re a straight-forward kind of guy. this should be a piece of cake for you.”

“everyone, please come to the center.” their manager called them to gather up, informing details regarding the next schedule for the week.

sm town concert was just a week away and they’ve been practicing nonstop for it. the exhaustion on their faces fled when the manager said something that would make the fans see them in a different light. some staff giggled at their reactions, some told them to go with it, the rest just wanted to see how it would turn out to be. the boys weren’t expecting it, not at a sudden time like this when they’ve gotten the rundown memorised already.

normally they complied and no arguments were brought forwards. now they managed to scream all vocabularies to reason out that another dance routine would make them more exhausted than before. “we’re not pulling a prank nor a hidden camera if that’s what you’re thinking. anyway, the added part is around a minute interlude.. it’s before the actual track. only one of you will dance it.”

yeses and cheers of relief made majority of the staff exchange looks because they weren’t finish with the information they received. “this interlude is by volunteer, so whoever wants to do it just raise your hand or come up front.” the manager instructed as he wrote down the minutes, later both of his brows arched high forasmuch to his surprise, the decision was quickly decided; it would usually take the boys a while. “oh! thanks for being cooperative, jaehyun! the rehearsal starts tomorrow...”

jaehyun’s head never shot up as fast as it did just now. he didn’t pay attention to the short meeting and since all of the voices were indistinct to him, he was astonished with hearing his name being said. he wondered why they concluded with him doing the interlude. in his head a second ago, he was coming up with plans to finally— and normally— conversate with you. and upon turning around, his friends failed to keep their snickers in. they all simultaneously took a step back, leaving the dimpled boy remain standing in his position.

“...and take ten, then we’ll proceed to the last two songs for today.” the manager left the boys for a break.

wheezing breaths and heavy falls on the floor were soon followed by exploding laughters. they were like fireworks, jolting the nerves out of jaehyun and he rolled his eyes at his friends’ intentions to tease him. “that’s not fair, you guys plotted against me.” he pinched the bridge of his nose when a flush of betrayal finally covered his entire conscience.

they laughed since it was a reaction they expected, but more so when he missed out the most crucial information. “oh my g- he doesn’t know! hahaha!” haechan and jungwoo clung onto each other for support. it was too much to handle.

yuta scooted close to johnny, who had his phone up the whole time. “that was on record, yeah?” he asked and the latter grinned devilishly.

“rgha!” jaehyun growled, soon accepting the role that was predestined to him. “i swear john if you-”

“he didn’t really hear it!” mark cut him off and joined the younger ones, hitting each other and as they couldn’t believe that jaehyun, could be this dense. “wow this is insane!”

jaehyun’s ears turned faint pink. he didn’t like the excessive attention he was getting from his friends, and he has no idea what the sudden outbursts were all about. “hear what, exactly?” he had a petulant expression and shifted his weight on one leg as he waited for the answer.

taeyong choked a giggle at his question. it was similar with yours when you innocently asked earlier. “jaehyun, he said the other half of the remix duet is y/n. you’ll dance with her tomorrow, and until the concert.”

his heart pumped so fast that he didn’t know how to react; whether it was due to obvious fact that he would see you again for the third time this week, or it was your name and his.. in the same sentence.

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if there was something you didn’t like to experience again in your life, that would be spraying your nose in public. good grief, and it had to happen nearby the boys. you shut your eyes closed at the sprinkly yet piercing shock rising up from the nostrils to your head. after few seconds of calming down, youngjoon pat your head as if that would bring you comfort. not really.

“i thought hana’s doing the nct dance duet?” you rubbed the small tears from the corners of your eyes, the striking pain still lingered around your senses a little.

he shrugged that his shoulders the action made you think he has something to do with the sudden change of plans. but assuming too much would ruin your mood and affect the way you dance later, so you let it slide for today.

“i’m your senior. you’ll do what i decided on,” he gave you his phone; the title of the track was one that you were told to choreograph. “it’s about time your monitoring days are over. anyway, you’ll dance with..” youngjoon trailed off himself.

you scanned the spacious venue to figure who he was referring to. none came into your mind until jaehyun walked past by you, and youngjoon pulled him close. “ah! with him!”

oh great, i’m dancing with mr. far-fetched.

staring off into space, taeyong appeared briefly in your peripheral, mouthing that jaehyun ‘volunteered’ for the interlude— which didn’t really add up why he would decide to do this performance when he hasn’t talked to you at all.

it was funny how friendly and warm jaehyun was to your fellow choreographers. he would smile freely and offer spare bottles or snacks. however, he looked stiff now and you craved for answers for strange his behaviour. still, you would be lying to yourself if you said he somehow made you.. squirmy, in a good way.

“let’s work well.” he heard you speak as you began to walk to the centre of the venue, jaehyun soon following you from behind.

he noticed the boys sitting on bleachers for a break, secretly snapping pictures to tease him later on. they mouthed and told him to talk— he was leaving you hanging and making a lady wait for a response was not a gentleman thing to do. he was stunned with your natural beauty and to think you were before him, just made him realise that this was the chance,

to get closer.

because remembering what taeyong told him yesterday, his friends told him to step up his game after it was revealed you found him good-looking. that alone should be enough for jaehyun to have the courage to hold a conversation with you. soon jaehyun cleared his throat, pulled his t-shirt collar and bit his inner gums. “yeah, likewise.” jaehyun cleared his throat. “this should be easy. where should we begin?”

“this is the track we’re dancing to.” you fished out your phone to let him listen to the new version, noticing how youngjoon nod at you.

the said man approached, whispering words that had you wanting to facepalm. a gasp escaped your lips and jaehyun raised a brow in curiosity. “i’m gonna kill her-” your face bubbled up in subtle anger.

jaehyun couldn’t hear much, the volume of the interlude was loud enough to make your voices inaudible. he wasn’t good at lip reading too, but he felt different when his eyes met with yours. a smile you wore earlier flattened, your positivity was still there, yet little did he know the changes made on the spot. youngjoon walked back to the mixer and made jaehyun’s hair a mess.

oh how the gods and goddesses of love must’ve liked shooting arrows continuously at his barely-comprehending mind. he almost ran out of breath hearing those words come out of your mouth and he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy for him.

because to him you were a beautiful distraction.

he recalled how you first met in the practice room during kick-it era; comfy clothes, a chill person with light make-up colours and pretty much his friends instantly introduced themselves. he wished that he was close to you as taeyong was. hopefully by the time the whole concert video was out, fans wouldn’t make a meme out of him given the fact that they did when mc-ing for broadcasts, he unknowingly created a gap between himself and other girl groups.

half an hour had passed and perhaps at this minute, you decided to take back what you said; that they were fast learners. proven you wrong, again. some of them were but jaehyun kept messing up and you were close to losing your patience. he couldn’t get things right. whenever you asked him if he was alright, he claimed to have gotten the hang of the steps taught earlier.

what a lie that was. so far he has stepped your shoes, bumped you though they were minor, and missed some moves. what made you teeth grit was that he looked like he wasn’t aware he did those at all.

ugh look at him. he can do better than this. if he doesn’t catch up, i’m requesting for another member to dance with me.

although he quickly memorised his solo part before dancing with you, the one second break in between have already made him forget the next step. he wasn’t in the right mind, he knew that much and was continuously questioned himself why he lost concentration. dancing with naeun was an exemption. she was a fellow mc, and even then he was shy to hold her hand. but this? this was different. this was more than just holding hands. this included skinship he has never done before, let alone executing intimate movements.

“pretend you’re pulling a lever as she flicks her hips side and back the second time. your hands should be by her hips.” youngjoon instructed, observing jaehyun’s shaky movements at the mirror reflection with reference from the video you sent him before. “good. jae, body wave to the left. y/n to the right and both swing your shoulders outwards..”

but if he wasn’t in the right mind, you were slowly getting there too. the more you were faced with jaehyun, the more you head became fuzzy. you could feel yourself heating up and this wasn’t due to the dance at all. “y/n, caress his jaw and grab him close.”

jaehyun gulped, trying not mind his friends and focus on the routine. “oi, step in closer.” your senior said, nudging the boy at the back. “i said closer like you’re hugging her- ah.” youngjoon realised he made a mistake. the boy froze again and his figure hovered you, the lights above blocked by his shocked expression.

you were falling back.

at this rate, both of you might cause the other an embarrassment of a lifetime. you braced for impact and it was written on your face. jaehyun saw how you shut your eyes. he was afraid of injuring you and somehow did the unthinkable; not even his friends expected that from him and were worried the big guy might crush you. he flipped you around the moment you both were inches above the ground, landing on him instead. “mfgh. ow.” you heard him groan, followed by few gasps and shocked voices.

hesitantly, you opened an eye and felt his palms around your torso. he too had a sour face from the fall. “that was close.” jaehyun squinted you take a peek of you and let out a sigh, which already brought guilt showering over you. “glad you’re not injured-”

“are you two alright?” hana with concern, asked as others repeated the same question.

you got up to sit on your calves in apology but soon spotted hana and youngjoon grinning like their plan worked. so they did have something to do with this. “are you an idiot??” you sighed with a drumming heart, taking jaehyun aback. “you’re performing in two days and it’s best if i’m injured than you are.”

“hey, you’re dancing too..” jaehyun chuckled though was surprised with your sudden fits and tone of your voice, standing up to lend a hand. “..so it’s best if you’re not injured.”

he waited for you to respond to his offer and as you took it, you felt a painful throb at the left ankle. tsk, must’ve twisted a bit it when we fell. dammit jaehyun. you cleared your throat loudly. it came out more of a growl in an annoyed tone. “look, i don’t think you get it. you have two days to practice and there‘s only one you. there are many dancers who can replace me-”

“no, i don’t think you get it. you’re the only one who knows the choreography. you’re basically irreplaceable.”

perhaps if this was told to you in a different sight, you would be squirmy and walking on flowers now. but this was nothing of it. you had to remain professional and set your personal feelings aside.

“not unless if another dancer perfects the dance in two days..” you trailed off.

“okay okay, stop the talking and continue where you both left off. a fall like that shouldn’t be a reason why you’re quarrelling.” youngjoon clapped his hands, moving you in front of jaehyun to start from the top.

when you said that, jaehyun was unsure why you were suddenly irritated. he held his position for the duet before speaking words that had you all fluttery again. “well, i’m dancing with you and staff said it’s final.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the following day, your ankle swelled overnight and informed that you would teach jaehyun and yeri, whom you’ve chosen to be his dance partner— the only idol available prior to nct 127’s performance. you crossed arms, observing how she got the steps quicker than jaehyun. “i want you to pop your hips a little more and match the timing with jaehyun. look at him intently before he holds your hand and you letting go.”

a pout then was seen on her face, hesitant and shy to do what you instructed. “i know it’s weird but i’d like you to think what you’re doing is art..” you tried to sound encouraging and later saw jaehyun taking a break at the far end of the stage. “just expressed in forms of movements.”

yeri stifled a laugh, feeling a lot better now she saw how you looked at her fellow label-mate. “yeah that’s not how jaehyun sees it-” she hushed immediately for speaking her thoughts. “y/n, how has he not learned his part yet? didn’t you teach him yesterday?”

“trust me i did! jaehyun’s a great artist but he just doesn’t seemed focused like i imagined him to be.” you took a bite from your sandwich, and yeri giggled that you unconsciously ignored the first half of her sentence. “i mean his solo was a 15-second one. i don’t see why he would forget the rest of the 35-seconds.”

she pursed her lips and took sight of taeyong winking at her, hinting your density with these situations. “well i think he actually got the steps now.” she arched her brows, pointing at the direction where jaehyun was at. “i heard he works hard alone- not that i’m offending you! you’re a great teacher and dancer!”

you smiled as you crumpled the plastic wrap and tossed it in the bin. “none taken, i kinda understand why he would be nervous around me.”

her ears perked up and pulled you to the side. “ooh ooh you do? what is it? i’m in for the tea!”

“i pull a resting face while i monitor them. probably why he found it hard to approach me. he thinks i’m the kind who doesn’t want to be disturbed.” you and yeri walked further off the stage to sit at the very front.

she held her chest hearing how awful you might’ve felt from him. “aw that’s bitter tea! y/n i’m sure he doesn’t think that way! it just takes time, might be longer than the other guys but you’ll get there.”

“get to where?”

“to being friends, and not only the professional level.”

at another side of it, taeyong and the rest heard the whole conversation. they shared looks knowing that they had to relay the news to jaehyun, who was staring at you giggling away with yeri. he met eyes with them and had a thin lipped smile, walking towards his friends. “you guys are weird, quit the creepy smiles.”

doyoung smacked the boy’s head for the density his currently possessed. “do you know the impression she has on you?”

“who? yeri?”

now it was taeil’s turn to smack his head. “y/n, you dimwit.” he sighed, looking at your silhouette under dimmed light then onto jaehyun. “she thinks you’re great..”

“but what you do around her seems to have shown you’re not interested in her.” jungwoo completed his sentence.

jaehyun never felt so attacked by both from them and the facts thrown upon him. “what? no! i am interested in her!”

“then tell her that. it isn’t that hard to say you’re interested in being friends.” haechan bent to release the tension in his muscles.

they wanted to encourage him a little more yet were then called to stand-by for another practice, with the interlude as the beginning. the signal from the staff have ordered for the lightings and music to be queued and readied.

mark nudged him in a strength that nearly made him fall. “hey, it’s about the right time you get closer to her,” he said in a low voice, highkey referring to your ruptured ligament on your ankle yet jaehyun seemed to have missed the point. “or else there’ll be no development.”

jaehyun chugged on his bottle in silence. “what do you mean?”

“youngjoon hyung said she’ll be on leave for weeks. i don’t know how long but if you don’t do anything now, you’ll continue to live up to the impression without even talking to her.” he explained and cringed afterwards feeling taeyong and johnny’s presence among them.

“show her that what she choreographed for us is not in vain, okay?” johnny made his hair a mess, before leaving the stage to go to where you were. the stage director said his count down. you cheered on yeri with a thumbs up and the music started its tune.

a/n: can’t seem to add song in between texts, so here’s a link instead ;-; let me know if it doesn’t work :3

it was your choreography up there, that was soon to be shown to the world, recorded to be part of the rundown and later burnt in c.d’s. you felt nervous at the fact if they would really execute what you wanted to show— the form of art you put your sweat upon even if it were just 50 seconds. when jaehyun began taking yeri’s hand after his solo part, leading her then mirroring her movements, your heart squeezed for no reason. they should be able to nail this part until the last beat of the song.

but as you clenched your chest to prevent your hands from shaking, taeyong saw your expression, convincing him enough that your reaction towards this said otherwise.

the boys usually held a small dinner a day prior to the concert, for a good show and performance. yuta decided to invite you to a japanese restaurant nearby so you wouldn’t feel left out or feel a lot distant than you already were with them.

you prepared your essentials before meeting them, the tapes of your ankle band came loose and you reached to adjust it as discomfort was all you felt for a while. jaehyun knelt down to sit across you, licking his dry lips to simmer the nervousness he felt inside. “do you need help?” he asked when you looked up to notice his presence. “or is there anything i can do to help?”

“y-yeah. it needs a proper tightness to it.” you gave a faint nod. he smiled and held your left leg to rest it on his thigh.

silence was slowly killing him, he had to admit that at least. now that you both conversed, what then? would this just be another acquaintance talk like yesterday, where it was only a mere one? nothing else to it? nothing happened?

jaehyun wanted to set the professionalism to the side, heed to his friends’ words and actually become close to you. perhaps put his feelings for you behind him for the meantime. “sorry.” he conceded, which made you confused for a second. “i’m sorry.”

“from the fall yesterday?” you stretched back that your palms were your support as he taped the band around. jaehyun shook his head, making you more confused. “then what are you apologising for?”

“for making you feel like i didn’t want to talk to you since you arrived.”

you stared at him, lips parting when you finally grasped his purpose. “oh.. that! it’s okay. i’m not expecting to be that level of friends immediately.” you chuckled awkwardly because it was a bit of a lie. i mean it took a while to be good friends with the others-”

“i’m sorry that i chose not to talk to you and it might have given you a bad impression of me.” he took your shoe so you could wear and head to the restaurant. “i guess it really is difficult to when i admire you a lot. heck i even asked my groupmates to tone down their knowledge about that because they have plans to embarrass-”

he jolted at the drop of your phone and your sigh, eyes wandering and wavering at it then looking to you. he helped you stand up and when he did too, you sighed heavier, flattened lips and a smile. “my anxiety convinced me that you hated me.” you confessed, finally letting out the worry that has been bothering you for months.

you shyly looked back at him and noticed how he was fidgety as you were. you couldn’t handle the visuals he has— even more now that he was close to you. so ethereal and magnetising.

maybe this was what the somersaults you’ve been feeling all the time. the unexplainable gut feeling that you’d be pulled into something you couldn’t handle?

it was him.

jaehyun panicked at the word. “h-hate? i don’t! not even a bit. i really like you!” he sputtered, then waving his hands to deny his feelings. “i mean like as in like you as person and your dedication to all this.”

“heh..” you both turned to the voice and taeyong smirked what he heard. “just tell her already, jae.” he pointed out, and you were left clueless as they shared the same brain cell. jaehyun’s eyes grew, hoping that his friend wouldn’t expose him, but taeyong answered him with his eyes, as if his voice was almost telepathic.

‘not confessing! you’re not at that intimacy level yet! tell y/n that you wanna hang with her!’

“i-i just wanna get closer to you?” he pondered, scratching his neck from the tornado of feelings whirling inside. “as friends, not as workmates or anything.” he waited for your response, staring in your magnetising orbs that lured him into something deeper.

“we would’ve been if we talked earlier on.” you smiled, hinting that you didn’t mind taking that step with him too. “but yeah, same here, jaehyun.”

jaehyun smiled genuinely at you for the first time, no awkwardness nor forcing himself to. “yes!” he had his fists up with ecstasy that you said his name, only to panic at the time. the dinner was already starting.

taeyong exhaled and swung his arms to let the blood flow normally. “ah, now that’s settled. let’s get to the restaurant too.”

you punched his arm and he flinched at the impact and hissed that it came out more of a question than a reaction you expected. “what you get for lying that you didn’t know anything.” you stuck a tongue out.

“and i’m supposed to pay the price for it?” he rubbed to sooth the pain. “not fair.”

walking to the backstage, you slowly lifted your foot to head down the stairs. “don’t worry, they’ll get their punches from me real soon.” you whistled.

jaehyun took your hand, supporting your weight at the same time. he couldn’t rush you in the state you’re in.

“what about jaehyun? he’s the one who did all this, and had the rest of us included.” taeyong jut his lips to point to the boy, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jackets. “he should get a punch too.”

“i’m not punching someone who wants to be closer to me. it’s not a good.. first impression.” you hid a laugh with flattened lips, jaehyun mirrored you and gave a flirty wink.

with that, he managed to magnetise you, just to make his gap with you,

closer.

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