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gureumz · 8 months

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liar, sweetheart

rating: explicit

member: sunghoon

premise: your best friend, benj, is a twin but he's the complete opposite of his brother. his brother, sunghoon, is all kinds of sleazy, or so you've heard. knowing about your big fat crush on your best friend, this sorry excuse of a twin brother agrees to put in a good word, in exchange for a good fuck, of course.

notes: fem!reader, dom!sunghoon, sort of rivals-to-lovers, unprotected sex, slight breeding, dacryphilia, dirty talk, degradation, praise, clothed sex, accidental voyeurism, sunghoon is two people here lmao, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: fifth entry for my 1k follower special! we're in the endgame now, people. one last after this and my 1k event is ending. how did that happen :') anyways, i really got back into my writing groove for this one so i hope you all enjoy!

"what do you think of sunghoon?"

your ears perk up as you turn your head to give your best friend a look.

oh, benj. sweet, sweet benjamin park.

awkward but in a cute, boyish sort of way, tall almost to the point of gangly, but handsome in the way supermodels were.

benj is a figure skater, a very good one at that. he's at the level where if he did well enough, he'd be international news tomorrow. you've seen him skate and to you, it was nothing short of mesmerizing.

oh, you. clueless, utterly clueless you.

honestly, it was all so predictable.

a situation right out of booktok's latest favorite friends-to-lovers novel by some up-and-coming author. the comfortable silence, the memorized starbucks orders, the pining, oh, the pining. booktok lives for the pining.

sitting here in benj's room as he casually games, fingers lazily moving over his ps5 controller, you realize just how utterly shortsighted you were.

of course you'd fall in love with your best friend. it's law. it's fate. a canon event, as the kids say.

but, you're getting out of topic here. right now, benj is asking you about his twin brother.

"what do you mean?" you ask, swiveling around in the office chair by benj's desk. benj is perched on his bed, leaned up against his headboard as he plays.

"like...what do you think of him...?" benj repeats, as if in an attempt to rephrase his question but ultimately failing.

your forehead creases even more.

"you have to be more specific than that," you chuckle.

benj pauses the game, setting the controller down. he shifts on his side so he can get a better look at you.

"do you like him?" benj deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

you nearly choke on your own saliva.

sunghoon. benj's twin brother.

the younger twin, as benj always reminded. your thoughts drift to the other park brother, complete in all his dark clothes and equally dark hair.

while benj afforded himself the preference of dying his hair an icy blonde, sunghoon kept his own hair jet black. benj wore sweaters and cardigans and loose-fitting shirts, but sunghoon wore button-ups, with the first three buttons popped open, paired with jeans ripped to the heavens.

benj is the shining star in this family, a star figure skater, an overachiever. sunghoon battles his way around ice hockey, dabbles in dance, keeps his triumphs to himself.

benj is the sun, while sunghoon is the moon. yin and yang.

you get the picture.

oh, and sunghoon is a complete asshole. benj is not.

"he's okay," you finally answer. benj looks at you like he's waiting for more.

"that's it?" benj asks after a second.

you roll your eyes. "i don't know what you want me to say. i barely talk to him since i spend most of my time with you."

benj cocks his head to the side, as if curious.

"weird," he says. "he asks about you all the time."

this piques your interest.

"he does?"

benj shrugs, returning his attention to the tv. he picks the forgotten controller back up, resuming his game.

"yeah. asks if and when you'll be coming over," benj explains. he shoots you a quick side glance.

"you're not hooking up behind my back, are you?"

you physically recoil at benj's words, the idea initially repulsive to you.

"absolutely not," you practically spit out. "he's not my type."

benj bursts out laughing, his eyes forming cute crescents as he does so.

"you basically just called me ugly with that," benj points out, eyes unmoving from the tv screen.

you stutter for a second. "that's not what i meant. it's just—well we're not close, at least not like how we are and—"

you sigh, cutting yourself off. you've embarrassed yourself enough, you think.

benj shakes his head, one side of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

"okay, no need to explain, ______. i was just asking," benj says. "but the way you're so defensive about it is raising a few questions, not gonna lie."

you rub exasperatedly at your temples.

"i am not sleeping with your brother."

---

"hey."

you nearly jump a foot back in surprise. looking up, you're met with the stern gaze of sunghoon, black hair falling over his eyes. he's wearing one of those compression shirts, ridiculously tight against his toned upper body.

you turn away before it gets weird.

"oh, sorry, is benj home?" you ask, peeking momentarily past sunghoon.

"he's at training," sunghoon informs. "didn't he tell you?"

you glance at your watch. "he said he'd be done by now."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "well, he's not."

your mouth falls open, your mind momentarily going blank. you shift your expression to one of stony resolve.

"you know what, i'll just come back. sorry to bother you," you say, already turning away.

"i didn't tell you to leave, did i?"

you turn back, giving sunghoon a look. you stare hard, noticing just how much he resembles benj. but some things differ, naturally.

an extra beauty mark. the slightly sharper upturn of his nose. the seemingly eternal frown on his face.

"you can come in," sunghoon says with a sigh, stepping aside. you duck your head as you cross the threshold.

"and don't be so uptight next time," he adds. you can practically hear the smirk as he says this.

you glare daggers at sunghoon and he's still smiling as he closes the door behind him. he crosses his arms and studies you.

he leans back against the door and you straighten yourself up as much as you could.

"what's your problem, sunghoon?" you ask, planting your hands on your hips.

"what's yours?" sunghoon replies. you feel a twinge of annoyance spark in your chest.

"nothing," you emphasize. "and that's exactly it. i don't have a problem but if you don't stop acting like that, i might just have one soon enough."

"acting like what?" sunghoon questions, tilting his head to the side.

you swallow. you rack your brain for something to say, and don't be mistaken, you have a lot, but it's like your train of thought has halted altogether.

"like...that," you say, gesticulating vaguely with your hands.

sunghoon laughs, a hand coming up to run through his hair. you watch him, observe as his muscles shift beneath that stupidly tight, stupidly attractive shirt.

...what?

"are you this jumpy with my brother?" sunghoon asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

"i don't follow," you say, taking a step back. being close to sunghoon seems suffocating now, as if the air is stuffy with something you can't quite put your finger on.

"of course, you don't," sunghoon mutters under his breath.

it takes everything in you not to punch him square in the jaw.

"you like benj, don't you?" it's more of a statement rather than a question and it's so unexpected to you, you nearly stumble back in surprise.

"what?" is all you can say.

sunghoon snorts as if your confusion is oh-so-amusing.

"no need to deny it, _______," sunghoon reassures. "everyone with one working eye can see it."

you decide to stay silent. maybe if you don't react, sunghoon would drop the subject.

sunghoon seems satisfied with himself as he grins, nodding to himself, probably mentally patting himself on the back for his 'detective work'. he brushes past you and you get a whiff of his perfume and what you can assume is his body wash.

fresh. powdery. clean.

you wait a second before you hear his bedroom door close.

you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

your phone vibrates with a notification and you're relieved to see it's a message from benj.

'are you at my place yet? i'll be home in a few. sunghoon will let you in. sorry, love u!'

you smile to yourself as you lock your phone.

---

you couldn't stop thinking about it.

were you really that obvious? or is it just some twin telepathy that's why sunghoon could tell? could benj tell?

you sit up, careful not to jostle anything in your immediate vicinity. you peer up at benj's sleeping figure from where you're situated on his spare mattress, positioned on the floor right next to his bed.

he seems to be deep in slumber, shoulders rising and falling steadily. you swallow, realizing how parched your throat has gotten. you get up on your feet, treading carefully around benj's room to get to the door.

you exit, walking down the hallway of the parks' penthouse apartment, trying to make as minimal sound as you can. you round the corner to where you know the kitchen is and you immediately stop in your tracks.

"shit—" you curse, startled by the figure standing by the kitchen island.

your eyes adjust to the dim lighting and you realize you've come face to face with sunghoon.

"hi, _______," sunghoon greets. "fancy seeing you here."

you huff, approaching the refrigerator. "ha ha. you scared the shit out of me."

you hear sunghoon laugh quietly from behind you.

you take the ice-cold pitcher out of the fridge, setting it on the counter before walking over to the cupboards where the parks keep their glasses.

you can feel sunghoon watching you, aware of the burning attention. you can feel your neck prickle with it.

you pull the cupboard door open and it's only now that you realize you can barely see. afraid to just reach in and possibly knock over and break something, you pause, willing your vision to adjust even more to the low lighting.

"hey, can you turn on the—"

your words are cut off when you feel warmth press up against your back. you flinch, watching with wide eyes as sunghoon's arm braces itself against the countertop in front of you. he reaches over you, his breath tickling the top of your head.

you shiver involuntarily.

you turn to face him, pressing yourself fully against the granite behind you. sunghoon pulls a glass down from the cupboard, handing it to you. his arm is still planted firmly to your side, half caging you in.

"here," sunghoon says.

you can just make out his face in the low light, his scent invading your senses once more. you take the glass from him and he steps away, freeing you.

you wordlessly return to the center of the kitchen, pouring yourself the water you desperately need. and boy, do you need it.

you gulp down mouthfuls of it, unsure why your legs are suddenly weak, your knees threatening to give out.

"hey," sunghoon calls out. you pause, turning to where he's still standing by the cupboards.

he has the same easy stance he had earlier in the day. leaned back, arms crossed. even in the dark, you can feel him staring.

"what?" it comes out a little more harshly than you'd like and you wince.

"do you hate me or something?" sunghoon asks brusquely.

once again, you find yourself rendered speechless by sunghoon.

"no," you answer simply, setting your glass down.

"then why don't you hang out with me like you do with benj?" sunghoon asks, approaching you.

"because benj is my best friend, you're not," you respond. sunghoon stops right in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet where you think his eyes are.

"your best friend that you're in love with," sunghoon says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"that's not true," you deny.

sunghoon snickers. "sure, keep lying to yourself, sweetheart."

you inhale at the term of endearment.

"you know, i never understood why you got closer to him but you stopped spending time with me altogether," sunghoon muses. "the three of us grew up together, remember?"

you do.

the afternoons spent in the local playground. you and benj sat on the swings while sunghoon pushed. you and sunghoon on the seesaw while benj attempted to balance in the middle (much to their mother's horror). the twins hiding while you played seeker.

a smile tugs at your lips at the memory. and then it falters just as quick.

"you were the one who stopped hanging out with us," you say, a little accusatory in the way you did. "you had newer ice hockey friends and when middle school rolled around, you decided those girls were worth your time more than us."

'more than me,' is what you wanted to say. but you swallow it down.

sunghoon stays silent at this. after what you estimate is a minute, he sighs.

"sorry," is all he says.

you shake your head. "it's okay, we all drift apart from our childhood friends at one point."

sunghoon steps even closer. you can feel him now. a strange crackle of electricity tickles your fingertips.

"that's not the case with you and benj," sunghoon observes.

it's your turn to say nothing.

"i can help you," sunghoon suggests. your head snaps up as you try to process sunghoon's words.

you can see him now, illuminated by the faint hallway lights behind you. sunghoon's looking at you, expression unreadable.

"help me?" you parrot back. sunghoon nods.

"i can help you get with benj, if that's what you want. plant the seeds, so to speak," sunghoon explains. "he is my twin brother, after all."

you consider this for a moment. there's no denying the giddy feeling you get in benj's presence. the comfort it gives you when you spend the whole day together. the butterflies in your stomach when he beams at you, all bright and shining.

this should be an offer you can't refuse.

"i just have one thing to ask of you," sunghoon cuts through your thoughts.

"what?" you ask.

sunghoon pauses, turning away as if gathering his own words.

"do you ever feel that there's this weird...thing between us?" sunghoon asks.

your whole body seems to stiffen. your hands turn cold, clammy.

"like tension," sunghoon elaborates. "something you can't really explain."

"no," you answer a little too quickly.

sunghoon chuckles. "there you go again, lying."

you avoid sunghoon's gaze, staring hard at a spot behind him where his shadow dances against the cabinets.

"if you agree to...try this thing with me just this once, i'll help you get together with benj," sunghoon concludes, bending lower so he's in your line of sight.

unable to avoid him any longer, you look into sunghoon's eyes. he's much clearer now, your eyes well-adjusted to the dark. he's looking at you, expression soft, unlike the other times you've come face-to-face with him.

"so, you're offering to be my wingman, but only if i let you fuck me?" you string your words out carefully. "is that it?"

sunghoon sighs, shrugging. "basically, yeah. sounds fucking weird but you can always say no."

"it is weird," you confirm. you cross your arms as you narrow your eyes at sunghoon.

"can't we just skip the part where we fuck and go straight to the part where you help me?"

sunghoon grins down at you, dipping even lower so you're eye level with him.

"it's as if you don't know me at all, _______," sunghoon says lowly. "that hardly seems fair, sweetheart."

you grit your teeth.

"besides, do you want to skip the part where we fuck?" sunghoon presses on the last word, holding your gaze as he said it. you feel a warmth spread all over your body.

you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. your mind is at war with itself, warning you that this is a bad idea. if you get together with benj after, what then? take the secret that you fucked his brother to your grave?

"just this once, and when we're done, you'll help me, correct?" you say, raising a brow at sunghoon.

sunghoon nods. "exactly."

you pause. you want it. what 'it' is, you're not so sure.

you reach your hand out.

"deal."

sunghoon grasps your hand in his, squeezing firmly. his fingers envelop yours easily, your palm almost cartoonishly smaller than his.

and he's warm. so warm.

your eyes meet his and it's like something snaps.

you feel sunghoon grasp at your waist and your own arms come flying up to wrap around sunghoon's neck. he kisses you fervently, harshly, desperately. you respond with the same enthusiasm, pulling him closer to you.

sunghoon pushes you against the fridge, the contents rattling within. you gasp as the cold metal presses through your thin pajamas, but sunghoon drinks in any noise from you with his mouth.

"fuck," sunghoon mutters softly.

"god, ______," sunghoon continues, hands splayed against your back, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck.

"sunghoon," you whisper, clutching onto his wide frame. you mewl softly when you feel him suckle on a spot just above your collarbone.

you pull sunghoon away from your neck, guiding his face back to level with yours. you kiss him some more, a strange feeling bubbling within you.

it's making you want more of sunghoon, as if your whole being craved him.

you hear a soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall and your eyes fly open, your hands forcing sunghoon off you. he jumps back as well, a panicked look on his face.

footsteps echo in the hallway and a voice immediately follows after.

"_______?"

benj. it's benj. his voice is thick with sleep and you look over at sunghoon, eyes wide with alarm.

"i-i'm in the kitchen," you call out. "just needed a drink."

you rush out of the kitchen and into the hall, running right into benj's firm chest. he catches you before you stumble and he holds you at arm's length, looking at you through half-closed eyes.

"there you are," benj says with a laugh.

you let out a nervous giggle of your own, gently pushing benj back towards his room.

"i'm right here," you assure him. benj rambles on about hearing noises from his room and you quickly dismiss it as you just messing around in their kitchen.

just as you herd benj back into his room, you look back down the hall and see sunghoon sauntering casually towards his own door. he catches your eye and winks, stepping quietly into his room.

---

"i know what you were doing last night."

you stop dead in your tracks, hand frozen in midair just as you're unwrapping your hair from your towel.

you had just stepped out of the bathroom adjacent to benj's room, dressed in his shirt and your shorts from yesterday. it's the morning after your little tryst with sunghoon and you were nearly a hundred percent sure you had successfully lied your way out of an explanation to benj.

it turns out, you haven't.

"you were hooking up with sunghoon, weren't you?" benj says, looking at you expectantly.

you put on your best attempt at an appalled expression, eyes wide an lips turning down into a frown.

"no, i wasn't," you muster up with as much disgust as you can.

benj just laughs. "i've lived here for nearly half my life, ____. i know the sounds of this house better than you."

"well, you thought wrong," you argue, busying yourself with brushing through your hair. you keep your eyes trained on the full body mirror in front of you, setting your sight on your own face.

benj comes up behind you, looking at you as if he could see right through you.

you think maybe he can.

"you're such a bad liar," benj accuses.

"i would never hook up with your brother," you protest, raking through your hair aggressively. you're getting antsy and you pray that benj would just drop the subject.

"why not?" benj questions.

you look at his reflection, scowling. "i don't like him like that, benj."

"hooking up with him would feel like hooking up with you," you add. 'a red herring, yes,' you think. 'distract him, make him feel weird for even asking.'

benj gives you a look. "what's so bad about that?"

you stare open-mouthed at benj. a million thoughts are flying through your head and something pinches at your chest.

"you're my best friend, benj," you try to reason. "that's weird."

"and hooking up with my brother isn't?"

you groan, letting your head fall into your hands.

"i didn't hook up with sunghoon!"

benj nods, pouting as if not fully convinced. "okay, whatever you say."

he steps out through the door, leaving you in his eerily quiet room.

you sigh, turning back to your reflection.

"not yet," you whisper to yourself.

---

"aren't you leaving yet?"

you look up from your phone and you're met with sunghoon peeking through benj's door. his hair is damp and you can smell his aftershave from where you're sprawled out on benj's bed.

"nope," you reply curtly, turning back to your phone.

"you've been here two days," sunghoon points out, stepping into the room. you ignore the jolt of excitement in your gut.

"i'll leave once benj comes back from training," you say.

"oh sure, then the two of you will get caught up again in whatever nerd things you do, and then it's the evening and you'll stay another night, walking around in your skimpy pajamas," sunghoon rambles sarcastically.

you narrow your eyes him as you sit up. "what's wrong with my pajamas?"

"they make me impossibly hard, _______. that's what's wrong," sunghoon admits, expression unchanging.

your eyebrows shoot up in mild surprise. "that down bad, huh?"

"nah," sunghoon replies nonchalantly.

"whatever you say, sweetheart," you say, throwing the pet name back at sunghoon.

sunghoon lets his eyes travel over your body, expression darkening, and you feel every hair on your skin stand up under his unrelenting gaze. you shift around, unsure of what to do with sunghoon's undivided attention.

you watch as sunghoon approaches, his jaw set as he pauses right before benj's bed. he meets your eyes and before you know it, sunghoon is crawling over you, stopping once he has you caged in between his arms.

"you're seriously not thinking of fucking me on your twin brother's bed, are you?" you whisper. you're nearly nose to nose with sunghoon now.

"i am," sunghoon answers simply before kissing you, effectively driving you back against the plush mattress.

the same bubbling feeling reappears and you grab at any part of sunghoon that you can, hooking your legs around his waist. he grunts against your mouth and you feel him harden against your core.

"this is my shirt by the way," sunghoon grins against your lips. "benj stole it from me a while back."

you moan at the thought of it. you feel sunghoon reach under your—his—shirt, chuckling when he feels the absence of a bra. he cups one of your breasts in his hand, kneading as he continues his assault on your lips.

"lose this," sunghoon commands, his other hand tugging your shorts down harshly. you oblige, reaching down to discard the piece of clothing along with your underwear.

"but keep this on," sunghoon adds as he kisses along your jaw, referring to the large shirt swallowing your frame.

you kick off your shorts and underwear the same time sunghoon pulls back to undo his own joggers. he throws them off to the side unceremoniously before hovering back over you, his eyes scanning every feature of your face.

"if you're so in love with benj, why are you about to sleep with me on his bed?" sunghoon asks, his fingers trailing down delicately from your chest down to your stomach. you flinch, fighting the urge to curl into yourself at the ticklish feeling.

sunghoon continues down towards the space between your legs, wasting no time swiping through your folds. you gasp, back arching as sunghoon rubs up and down, finger circling teasingly around your entrance.

"you talk too much," you counter, voice shaking. "are you gonna fuck my brains out or what?"

sunghoon sneers, shoving two fingers in without warning. you yelp, turning to bury your face in benj's pillow. it smells like him, but you barely register that, seeing as his twin's fingers are knuckles deep in you.

"go on, run your mouth like you always do, slut," sunghoon taunts. you involuntarily clench down at his use of such a degrading word and sunghoon notices, of course, his mouth curling into a smirk.

"should have known you were into that," sunghoon wonders out loud. he moves his fingers in and out of you, pumping his thick digits into your wanting hole.

you clamp a hand down on your mouth, suppressing every noise that threatens to escape you.

"let me hear you, pretty, come on," sunghoon coos, prying your hand off your face. "it's just the two of us here."

you bite your lip but let yourself be heard as sunghoon continues to fuck you with his fingers. he curls them up inside you and you thrash about, the pressure building within your abdomen.

"gonna cum already? you're so fucking easy," sunghoon comments, leveling his face with your cunt. he blows softly against your clit and you cry out in pleasure.

you feel the wet heat of his tongue press against your bundle of nerves and coupled with sunghoon's fingers, you can't help but curse loudly at the sensations.

"shit, sunghoon!" you whine. "yes, just like that, please."

sunghoon wraps his lips around your clit, sucking and running his tongue over it alternately. you feel like you're about to lose your mind. you're seconds away from orgasm and you barely have any time to warn sunghoon.

"i'm gonna cum, sunghoon i'm gonna—"

you're cut short by your own loud moans as you feel yourself come undone, your whole body seizing up. you grip at the sheets beneath you with one hand while the other reaches down to thread through sunghoon's hair. you hear him grunt against your pussy as you tug at the strands.

eventually, you relax, easing up on sunghoon's hair. he comes up to face you, his mouth glistening with your release. he licks his lips, smirking at the way you watch him with awe.

"you still with me?" sunghoon asks with a raise of his brow. you nod weakly, hands coming up to cup at his face.

sunghoon leans down to kiss you tenderly and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. he moves his lips against yours slowly, savoring each pass of your tongue over each other's, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he pulls away.

you peek down and see that sunghoon's cock stands red and angry against the black of his shirt.

"fuck me raw," you say before you can stop yourself.

sunghoon's eyebrows shoot up.

"are you sure?" he asks.

you nod, angling your hips up. restraint be damned, you want sunghoon and you want him now.

sunghoon chews down on his bottom lip as he lines himself up against your dripping hole. he coats his tip with your juices and you throw your head back as he teases you with his leaking cock.

"please," you whisper.

sunghoon presses a kiss on your cheek. "i got you, angel."

you feel him push in, stretching you out more than you anticipated. your mouth falls open in a silent moan as sunghoon slowly but surely bottoms out. your heart races and your mind loses all coherent thought. all you can register is that sunghoon feels like he's splitting you open with his dick.

"fuuuuck," sunghoon drawls into your ear.

"so fucking tight and so fucking good," he continues, bracing himself on either side of you. he moves his hips experimentally, pulling out then thrusting in and the two of you moan at the same time.

"give it to me," you pant, pulling sunghoon closer. "don't you dare hold back."

sunghoon grunts as he snaps his hips forward. you whine and moan like a whore as sunghoon fucks into you with reckless abandon. he keeps his eyes on your face, observing every expression that passes over your features.

"look at me," sunghoon orders as you let your eyes flutter close. "i said, look at me."

you obey, peering up at sunghoon through your lashes. he grabs your jaw as he hammers even harder into you. you cry out brokenly as you feel him deep within you. he's like a man starved, eyes wild as he takes you like this. rough and uncaring and oh so desperate.

"waited so long for this," sunghoon grunts. "to have you moaning and begging under me."

you feel tears prickle in your eyes, half from sunghoon's sharp nails digging into your cheek and half from the way his cock repeatedly punches against your cervix. it hurts but it's a pain you'd like to savor.

"god," sunghoon says, his face scrunching up in pleasure. he momentarily closes his eyes as he moves his hips even faster. he turns back to you, and by this time, your tears have escaped, streaking your face.

"fuck yeah, cry for me," sunghoon curses. "my pretty slut, weeping over my dick."

"oh, fuck—"

it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly that you can physically feel your body jolt. your second orgasm of the day rips through you, brought about by the filthy words escaping sunghoon's mouth. you hear him practically growl above you as he stills, your cunt clenching down so hard he's unable to move. you feel him twitch inside you and a second later, the warmth of his cum follows, shooting deep inside.

you're full-on crying now, mind hazy from pleasure as sunghoon catches himself before completely crushing you with his weight.

you wrap your shaky arms around sunghoon's shoulders, stroking his hair as the two of you calm yourselves down. sunghoon pulls out a minute later and you wince, immediately clamping your legs together to keep all of him inside you.

sunghoon plops down next to you, breathing heavy as his eyes stare at the ceiling. you hug your knees to your chest, hoping that nothing stains benj's sheets.

"fuck, that's a good girl, keeping all my cum in," sunghoon says through breathless chuckles. you groan, swatting at his chest.

"get tissues or something," you demand weakly, rolling over to your side. sunghoon pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"later," he murmurs, kissing you on the forehead. "just wanna hold you."

you hum in agreement, letting your eyes droop close. the two of you lay there, unmoving for a few minutes.

you initially think it's your imagination but you can hear faint footsteps coming down the hallway from outside benj's room. just as your eyes fly open, a loud knock thunders against the door.

"are you done?" comes benj's muffled voice from the other side.

"as much as i wanted to stay and watch, that might not be something you guys are into, so i gave you your privacy," he continues.

you and sunghoon look at each other, clearly panicking.

"but please, for the love of god, don't do it on my goddamn bed next time!"

#enhypen smut #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon smut #sunghoon scenarios #w: sunghoon

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nariism · 3 months

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*ੈ✩ LAST WORDS OF A SHOOTING STAR

pair. itadori yuji x reader

synopsis. in the 3 days following the shibuya incident, itadori yuji emerges as a husk of his former self. with his immediate execution resumed, you both grapple with the feelings you have for each other and come to terms with his impending death.

content. hurt/comfort (lots of comfort, thank art because i was gonna be mean about this and they convinced me not to), slightly canon divergent (taking place between shibuya and the culling games), fluff and minor angst, yuta is the best wingman

wc. ~4.4k

NOVEMBER 1 2018

You imagine that your face was rather ghastly when you received the news.

"Execution?" You repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. No, that was the wrong description. It tasted of death—like iron and the depths of Hell filling your mouth until you were gurgling on it.

Unlike the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers from Tokyo, you had been ordered to stay back with Shoko in case of an emergency. You remember your exile from battle had left a similar rotten flavour in your mouth.

You vanished off the face of the earth after the incident was over. Most probably presumed you died in the aftermath. Devoured by a curse, they would say and shake their heads. You were always troublesome. And then they would move on with the rest of the world, all the same.

Lives were only temporary in the world of curses. Focus on who you can save, not who is already gone. They'll only end up a curse in your sleep. What a horrible notion to have.

The truth is that you'd been whisked away with Yuta, who seemed to be scheming a plan of his own. Perhaps as a middle finger to the higher ups he hated so much, or perhaps just for his own selfish reasons. You wouldn't know until he was finished carrying it through—he's too good at keeping secrets.

He wanted your reverse cursed technique, you knew that much for sure, even though he could do it himself. You were useful by his side, fitting into his plot in a way you could not in Shibuya. Feeling some sort of obligation and satisfaction, you followed him like a lost puppy.

And now here you are, seated by a dimming fire in the abandoned part of the city. Yuta was too clever for his own good. You suppose Gojo taught him some things well. This was their plan after all.

Yuji was safe, if only for this moment in time.

"Now with Gojo gone, it would have been easy for the higher ups to send assassins your way."

Ruthless and truthful, you flinch, but Yuji does not. He remains perfectly still in your hold, with your hands rotating his face around to get a better look at his wounds. You pour your cursed energy into him, hoping to breathe life back into his eyes, but they stay dull and empty.

"We'll find a way to stop this," you assure, reaching over to take a sanitizing wipe to clean an open cut. Yuta was too rough on him, but it was at least believable that Yuji was dead. He doesn't even recoil from the alcohol stinging his flesh, too engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Why?" He asks weakly. You gawk at him, but then it melts away into a softness that finally makes him blink up at you. "I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Yuji."

"I am. I killed those people. I did." His voice comes flat and defeated, nothing like the one you used to listen to over dinner while he reenacted shitty western films.

You never realize what you'll miss until it's gone. It's hollow, the ache in your heart.

"You don't understand. How could you? All this blood on my hands—"

"It was Sukuna," you quickly refute.

"And Sukuna only lives because I do!"

His voice raises at you, causing the flames behind you to flicker and crack. It's enough for Yuta to step in, acting as a barrier between your tense bodies. Yuji seems to shrink at this, realizing his emotions have run amok and that he has yelled at you.

You only stare back at him in bewilderment, like a frightened animal. Your upperclassman shakes his head.

"Enough of this. We need to start making plans."

You lay awake that night, alone and anxious. Yuta has taken the first shift of watching and patrolling while the two of you rest, though hesitant to leave you alone. He told you it’s another reason he dragged you along: having three people to rotate shifts instead of just two would be easier on your bodies and minds. The city is not what it used to be, now overrun with curses of all grades.

You reassured him it would be fine, that you would fall asleep quickly and so would Yuji—his body has to run out of steam eventually, right? Oh, what a fool you were.

The tension is so heavy that it's awkward, even though you're sleeping on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"Sleep," you demand as if you were Inumaki, like you have the power to curse him.

His eyes flutter open. Even in the firelight, you don't see any shine in them, seeming as if they had been extinguished of life. "Why don't you?"

"I can't until you do."

"That's stupid," he tells you.

It's not the first time you've argued like this. Back when the world felt right, you would sneak in through his dorm window well into the hours of the night. Platonic, you had convinced yourself. You snuck into his bed seeking companionship as a friend. That's the lie you gorged on.

A piece of you knew, and you're sure he did too, that the way your hands explored his arms was unnatural for two friends, and that friends wouldn't sneak into each other's rooms like this with such severe punishment on the line.

It was safe in his arms, with the dull hum of his television running an old horror film in the background. You didn't have to think about much other than his warmth when you sat between his legs with your back to his chest. Or when his arm was draped over your shoulder and you were pressed into his side—actually, you think you preferred this one though you felt sorry for his sore arm.

You would bicker about dumb, pointless things. Which movie is better, or which character deserved to be mutilated more. It would go on for so long that Megumi would bang his fist on their shared wall to get the two of you to shut up.

There was no curse strong enough to change time itself, so you keep your thoughts and memories to yourself when you respond.

"You'll be too tired to function on your shift," you reason.

"You both will be fine without me." Better off without me, you know he means. You've gotten good at reading between his lines.

You slowly sit up in your sleeping bag, eyes never leaving Yuji. He seems so frail right now, even though he looks more adult than he ever has before.

"Human Earthworm 4 was better than 2," you suddenly say. His eyes peer open again in confusion.

"Huh? 2 was way better."

"I liked the love story in 4," you argue, slowly getting out of your bag to shuffle to his side of the concrete tunnel. He looks at you as if you've said something outlandish, too preoccupied with his thoughts to wonder why you've come so close.

"2 had the best special effects though."

Your body shifts under his blanket.

"But 4 had a happier ending." (As far as 'happy' goes in the Human Earthworm series, at least.)

His arm falls around your waist as it has a hundred times, pulling you into his chest.

"Whatever," he huffs. The next topic comes fast and you're thrown into a full blown conversation with him. If you concentrate enough, you can imagine your bodies being tangled together in his bed, safe and sound.

Concrete and fire and the stench of curses melt away until he's all you can focus on.

"You have weird taste in movies," he concludes with his eyes drifting shut.

NOVEMBER 2 2018

You think you know how to fix broken people until you find that they are more than skin and bones.

You learn one thing after the Shibuya Incident: there are wounds residing within Yuji just as much as there are marking his flesh.

Yuta, you realize, had left the two of you alone to sleep and has protected you all night. You'll make it up to him, you reason. Yuji deserved to sleep.

When you wake up to his sleeping face, you think his cuts are healing nicely. But then his expression twists up in terror—a nightmare, if he even had enough energy left in him to conjure up dreams. He murmurs in his sleep, shakes his head a few times and thrashes around so much you're surprised you slept through the night by his side.

"Sukuna," he's whispering. Sukuna, Sukuna, Sukuna. King of Curses. The second voice tormenting him that lives in his own brain like a parasite. You bury yourself into his chest and hold him as tight as you can. He relaxes, body releasing its rigid form, but the murmurs continue.

He is shattered beyond repair. No amount of cursed energy could fix that, even if you tried.

You had once watched Yuji electrocute himself trying to set up the janky old television in his dorm room.

He fell back onto the floor with a loud crash, head hitting the wood so hard you thought he might have a concussion. It caused such a racket that Megumi came running into the room asking what happened, demon dog ready behind him in case of an ambush.

You rushed to the floor, discarding all the food you had settled in your lap and crumbled beside him to scoop him into your arms.

"Yuji!" You called him. People rarely used his first name. You felt special, like you knew him better than others did and for some reason that was a privilege. "Are you okay?"

He laughed in your arms, seeming unfazed by the fact that electricity had run through every vein in his body. "I'm fine, see? My finger just slipped."

You and Megumi both sighed in relief, though you always thought it was strange when you reflected on it. Yuji was a funny guy, yes. He was equal parts humour and destruction but not a klutz. Mistakes happen, so you let it slide until now, but some part of you was nagging to ask.

"That day," you start while rolling up your sleeping bag. "You electrocuted yourself. Remember?"

He looks at you funny over his shoulder. Yuta has already started cracking open cans of food for breakfast, embers of your dead fire cracking.

"Hmm, yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I just thought..." you trail off. "Well, Sukuna makes you tough to a lot of things. I'm surprised small electric shocks aren't one of them."

Sukuna. A name you'd been avoiding since this morning. Sickening silence settles between you. It's so heavy that you pause in your cleaning to look at him, brow raised.

"Yeah," he coughs. "Well, maybe I exaggerated."

"Huh?" You sound annoyed now. "You scared us half to death!"

Yuji only falters in his own chores. When he looks at you again, there's a longing in his gaze that you don't know how you could have missed. Or perhaps it was never there until now.

"It was nice to have you fawning over me," he admits.

The day goes on and all you feel is a terrible grief.

You become painfully aware of each millimeter the sun glides across the sky, from one horizon to the other. Time slips through your fingers fast as sand.

Horrifically, you can't find anything to talk about to fill the emptiness—Nobara and Megumi feel off the table considering the extent of their injuries. You don't even dare to breathe Gojo's name, let alone speak of him so boldly as Yuta is.

You're afraid that Yuji will spiral again, confused and unwilling to cooperate with his judgement clouded by loss. It's not your fault, you would say. It is, he would argue. It would do neither of you good, so you idle around while he and Yuta devise plans to tiptoe around the higher ups.

A part of you knows that if either of you told him to submit and die, he would. He's already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

On the outside, he seems perfectly indifferent. Gaze steady, face stone and unchanging as he speaks. He's doomed, ill-fated, someone full of misfortune. He looks so lonely that the air itself parts for him where he stands.

To shoulder so much responsibility, so much death, maybe he truly is alone. Some fraction of him, at least—a piece of himself only he would ever understand.

Your hand snakes into his without a second thought. You don't know why you did it, nor do you have any reasoning that he doesn't yank away from you. His hand trembles, and it's then that you realize his whole body is wracked with tremors that don't match his distant disposition.

The second thing you learn is this: when Yuji self-destructs, he does it from the inside-out.

Itadori Yuji loves chocolate cake.

He loves all food, really, acting like your friend group's personal food dumpster whenever any of you were full. But chocolate cake you knew he had a sweet tooth for.

You used to bring it with you to his dorm, stopping by the convenience stores on the way home to grab a pre-packaged slice from the fridge for him to eat.

"You're making a mess," you would tell him with a frown, using your thumb to wipe up frosting from the corner of his mouth. You would lick the pad of your finger clean after that, and he would watch almost in a trance.

It's the reason why you stop on one of your patrols, poking through the fridge section of a convenience store. The power has been out for a long time in this part of the city, all the food is already room temperature, but you figure this is fine as long as it smells okay.

The way Yuji's face lights up when he sees you is all it takes for the worry to go away.

It briefly feels as though nothing has ever gone wrong—that after this slice of cake the two of you will tumble back onto his mattress and turn on another showing of Titanic. (He groaned about it once, saying he got KO'd too many times during this film. You only laughed in confusion.)

At the end of the day, you know those days will never come back to you, lost forever in the wind.

Fire dances before you and you watch, enchanted by the flames. You remember last night, how not even the firelight could make Yuji look the same as he did before. You turn your head to look at him, to see if it's any different tonight, just for your cheek to be caught in his palm.

His thumb traces your lip, the way you used to do to him. You recognize the pull of his finger against your flesh, the swipe of it to get frosting off, but he still seems dissatisfied.

"What?" You ask.

"It didn't come off," he mutters, leaning in dangerously close to observe. Heat rises all the way to your cheeks and makes your hairs stand on end. His touch is like molten lava. You wonder if it has something to do with the monster living inside of him.

"I can't see it," you whine without a mirror.

He draws a little closer, until he's inches from your face. "Let me..."

You've suddenly been dropped into cold, unknown waters. This is all unfamiliar. He's rushing this, as if making up for all the time the two of you lost pretending you were only friends. As if he can cram all the things he's wanted to tell you into one night.

Recoiling away, you find yourself hesitating. If he kisses you, this all becomes too real. It's an acknowledgment of his impending death. That the thread of his life is finer and further stretched than yours is.

An unpleasant thought rings through your mind. What if I become a curse on him?

"This only ends badly for us," you whisper, but the conviction is missing from your voice.

He doesn't care. At least, it doesn't look like he does. Who knows what he's thinking right now?

"Who cares?" He says. "We're Jujutsu Sorcerers. Everything bad happens to us no matter what."

You don't have any rebuttal to that, no argument that forms in your mind that could challenge his words. He was right. Only disaster befalls Sorcerers. Disaster and grief.

For a while you had forgotten, living these idyllic months watching the days pass by. You feel like you wasted that precious time worrying about stupid things, like what to have for breakfast or what kind of snacks you should pick up for movie night.

(It ended up being popcorn every time. He liked to piss off Sukuna with it, saying the King of Curses would never get to experience the pleasure of picking out kernels from his teeth. You scoffed but bought it anyway.)

Another thought crosses your mind: Yuji is more fit to be in a rom-com, or a television series where the good guys always win. Not this tragedy. Not this massacre.

You wonder if he's ever felt the same way. If he ever wished he could reach into the sky and turn the sun back to a time before he even knew what a curse was.

If you’d met each other under different circumstances, would this have been a different story? The thought makes your heart ache, a part of you so deep that even if you reached into your chest and plucked it, you'd still wail.

"Can I?" He asks you, eager but quiet. Had this been a few months ago, you imagine that he would have had this spark in his eye. That his lips would be crashing into yours with no inhibition.

But Yuji has always been selfless, you think he always will be. He doesn't want to drag you down if you don't want to—an out, they call it. An escape route just before he careens into a ditch.

Hope has drained from every inch of his expression. This is his loneliness talking.

Despite the dread that licks up your spine, you cup his face. You swear he jolts slightly beneath your touch, as if you've reached out to strike him down. A retribution he believes he deserves.

He kisses you like it's his last day on earth.

You learn one last thing: Itadori Yuji tastes familiarly of death.

Yuta decides to leave you alone for a second night in a row. His presence is so crushing that you know he's alive, but he stalks off somewhere else, leaving just you and Yuji huddled by the pitiful fire you've built.

He once claimed himself jokingly to be a love expert, and then ran off to Kenya for so long that you lost track of how much time passed. You wish you'd asked him before he left what he meant, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. Insignificant. The name Itadori Yuji had not yet been impressed into your heart like a seal.

You're busy setting up the sleeping bags, this time pushing them flush together. They're so close you can barely see the seam between them. Yuji stands on the other side of the fire, watching.

It reminds him of all the times you'd ever scolded him for not making his bed in the morning. I'm gonna crawl back in tonight anyway, he said. Who cares if it's messy?

Idiot, you would call him. But there was no malice behind it. He treated it like a pet name, a badge of honour to be your idiot.

Life felt so simple back then. He was full of determination and life and stuck to his morals as best he could. When he wavered he would text you to come over so you could fall asleep on his chest and suffocate any other thoughts out of his head.

"I've never felt so powerful before," he admits quietly. You turn to look at him, curious. "Like I could do anything in the world."

There's a negative connotation to that, you know. He could do anything. The world would crumble at his feet and there he would stand, laughing at it all. It isn't his will, not even slightly, but the demon taking refuge in his body would love to see the blood pool.

"Like I could just... reach out and—"

"Yuji!" You hiss, lurching forward to take his hand into yours and retreat from the flame. The skin is already pink and blistering, scorched by the embers. You twist his wrist around, observing where the fire licked the deepest, and pour your energy into him.

When you look up to see if he's crying, or at least grimacing in pain, you find only his smiling face—warm and adoring. For a second it feels like the world isn't burning around you.

It was nice to have you fawning over me.

You wipe that stupid smirk off his face, leaning in to smear a kiss along the scar on his lip.

"Idiot," you say, and he laughs for the first time in so long that it sounds foreign in your ears.

(He doesn't fall asleep that night. He would rather savour the sound of your soft snores, memorize the form of your body in his hold, and try his hardest to burn this into his brain.

So be it if you come to curse him one day. He would welcome you with open arms.)

NOVEMBER 3 2018

The day comes when Megumi sneaks into your hideout, asking for help.

His sister, he explains. He needs help saving Tsumiki. For some reason, resentment boils in your stomach, but then it's snuffed just as fast.

Two days and two nights you've spent pretending Japan isn't collapsing, content with sitting idly by as curses overran Tokyo. You're sure Megumi thought you to be cowards, that you were all hiding under this bridge to wait out the hellstorm that was raining down on your homes.

It was true to some extent. Once Yuji stepped out into battle again, that was that. You're not sure things would ever be the same again, though you suppose you lost the privilege of routine days ago.

"Let me come too," you urge. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"No," Yuji pushes. "It's dangerous."

"I can fight!"

"You can't," he pauses, then corrects himself, "You won't."

Awkward silence settles over your encampment. Yuta stirs, standing to hold you steady by the shoulders.

"If we need help... if one of us is hurt, we'll need you unharmed. Do you understand?"

Ah, ever so wise, your upperclassman. So easy to persuade you. There's a reason why he's the chosen one only second to Gojo.

You swallow the bile that fights up your throat. "What if you don't come back?"

Yuji steps in this time, knocking away Yuta to hold you by the face. Get a grip, this means. Pull yourself together, don't you dare fall apart in front of me.

"We will."

You once considered telling him how you felt, letting it eat away at you until Nobara groaned in disgust.

“If Itadori starts dating before I do, I’ll puke.”

You remember that you laughed, thinking she was so dramatic. You loved that about her. “I think you would do worse.”

She glared at you, foot lightly kicking at your shin under the table. Still, she made sure to push equal amounts of rice to your side of the plate. “I might burn a village down,” she huffed, placing her chin on her palm.

“You’re fine. Even if I told him how I feel, I don’t think he’d accept.”

“Huh?” Nobara sounded genuinely confused, raising a brow at you. “What makes you think that?”

You didn't know how to answer that. Maybe you were just afraid that you had misinterpreted everything, that the way he held you was protective in a familial manner and that he would slam his door in your face when you tried.

Looking back on it, you can imagine him in the next room ranting about the same things to Megumi.

“He still has posters of Jennifer Lawrence on his wall,” you argued weakly while shoveling rice into your spoon. She watched you take your bite with her lips parted in disbelief.

You wish you had told him, then. Not that it would have changed where you both ended up.

You watch as they pack up their things.

Megumi's demon dog keeps you quiet company, tail thrashing against the ground as you slick back its fur. They talk around the dying flames, devising plan after plan. None seem safe. None would be.

Yuta and Megumi leave first, taking the lead in front of the pack. His dog melts into the shadows and disappears, leaving you sitting alone.

"I want to take you back, but..." Yuji glances over his shoulder toward his death sentence. "Will you make it okay on your own?"

You get up slowly, as if to draw out the time he stands before you. A thousand questions run through your head: what if you never see him again? What if this kills him, not by body, but by his already damaged soul?

He must sense the racing of your mind, so he leans in to engulf you in his arms. In an instant, memories of those days spent lounging in his bed, shoveling your food onto his plate, and purposefully talking louder to tease Megumi come flooding.

A year you would never forget. You're sure it'll become a curse if you dwell, so you tell him: "I'll make it. You go on, they need you."

I need you, too. Stay. If only it were so simple.

He smiles at you, warm like the sun that's hidden behind the barrier. Itadori Yuji looks like a ghost of his former self, battle-worn and covered in scars where his skin used to be smooth. He kisses you again for good measure, making sure he remembers the way you sigh into his mouth.

When he pulls away, there's life gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's watch Human Earthworm 5 when I come back."

Your thumb brushes the corner of his lip. You open your mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth after all this time. You'd rather not die regretting you never said it, after all.

But you stop.

"I prefer Titanic," you confess. He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. Then he’s gone, taking all the warmth with him.

You'll make up for lost time one day. It won’t be today. You can tell him all about your feelings when he comes back to you.

910 notes · View notes

mikanotes · 4 months

Text

live a little!

hyunsu ? x gn!reader

genre: ‘idont knowww he likes you’ that’s the genre

warnings: mentions of death, blood and injuries, cursing, monster hyunsu jumpscare, attempting to work with the “monster hyunsu does what hyunsu desires” thing except it takes place in season one and i’m trying to make it as fitting to canon as possible, this is a badly written mess Sorry!

synopsis: The day Hyunsu’s mind acknowledges his feelings for you, but he himself doesn’t quite realize.

author’s note: if you’re desperate for a part 2 to up close & personal you can pretend this is a prequel because it kind of fits? anyways i’ll write for Hyunsu hyunsu eventually too i miss him it’s been a bit

“You’re no fun.” Hyunsu laughs.

His voice is heavy and he’s struggling to catch his breath, practically stumbling over his words. In fact, he’s practically stumbling over his own feet due to how impatient and quick his movements are. His face, usually so stoic and soft, is now covered in blood and adorned with a maniacal grin, paired with those hiccupy laughs of his. He looks positively fucking insane.

“Yes, well. If that means valuing staying alive, I’ll be no fun.” you say, fingers holding the hood of Hyunsu’s jacket tightly. He tilts his head in your direction, looking at you with those black, glassy eyes. Your gaze hardens, “What?”

He scoffs. “Live a little.” he says, tone light. He brushes off your hand and takes a step into your personal space. His voice drops to a whisper, one that sounds almost mocking for a short time. “You’re so hellbent on surviving, but are you even living?”

You’re forced to back into the railing behind you and hold onto it, eyes never leaving Hyunsu’s.

“Come on. You’re not gonna tell me I’m wrong.” he scoffs softly, leaning down, “Right?”

“Get it together, Cha Hyunsu.” you say, glaring a little. The latter grins.

“What? You think I’m out of my mind? Why would I need to get it together?”

“If anyone else had been here to see you, you would’ve been killed already. Look at yourself.”

You hear the railing behind you creak, and you feel Hyunsu’s hand on your back saving you from a fate similar to the one he’d faced towards the beginning of this apocalypse before you feel the metal moving away from you. The sound of it breaking and falling down from the flight of stairs is loud and makes you flinch.

He pulls you away from the edge and lets go of you.

“You’re welcome.” he says, tone flat, “I know what I look like. But they couldn’t kill me if they tried. Now let’s go kill some monsters already.”

He seriously doesn’t get why you shoot him this annoyed look of yours. (He just saved you! Hello?!) After all, what’s so wrong about this? Killing monsters? That’s literally the only thing everyone in this fucking building keeps him alive for, right? It’s always Hyunsu do this, do that, save us, don’t kill us, and now, get it together. That’s why everyone should die.

Then again, he knows you think differently from the others. You’re telling him to snap out of it so he won’t be cast out by the others even more. That’s why you came with him. Why you never abandoned him.

Because you… care. Surprisingly.

Ah, now I get it, Hyunsu. he thinks. You care about this person much more than you realize.

He sighs and tilts his head. “Come on.” he sighs, tone somewhere between pleading and annoyed.

“We have stuff to retrieve. For everyone else.” you say, gaze averting to the place you were just standing at. “Let’s not take unnecessary risks.”

Hyunsu drums his fingers against the spear in his hand, eyes narrowing a little. “Do you really think I care about anyone in this place enough to get their shit?” he asks calmly, “You’re mistaken.”

“He does.” you sigh, “Whether it’s a good thing or not, he does.“

“And that’s really not my problem.” It is.

He hears the growl of a monster in a corridor nearby and turns towards the direction of the sound. Killing everyone. That’s what he wants. That’s what he cares about. He swings the door open and steps in, before stopping.

He leans back just enough to look at you from the side of the door. “Are you sure you won’t come?” he asks, a small smile pulling at his lips.

You seem to still be frightened by what would’ve happened if he hadn’t caught you. Frightened by the idea of falling from so high. He heaves a deep sigh and steps back out, just enough to grab your arm and pull you closer.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he says, “Stop thinking about almost falling to your death.”

When you’re closer to him like this, Hyunsu feels confused. Well, this is clearly a crush, he thinks. But he doesn’t think that is something that he should be able to feel. It’s like an instinct to reach out to protect you. A reflex. Maybe it’s his feelings? He’s not sure.

“It’s hard to think about anything else.”

“Then focus on me.” he says. The word ‘me’ comes out a bit harsher than the rest, a bit like it’s echoing. He lets go of your arm. “And all will be well. That’s crazy practical, right?” he scoffs.

“I don’t get you.” you say, crossing your arms. “Are you trying to help me?”

He takes a deep breath and closes the door a little to look at you properly, leaning against the edge of it. “To be honest with you, I mostly just care about myself.” he answers easily, “But…”

You. You who looks at this part of him and cares, still. Who doesn’t even seem scared. Who just wants to make sure he’s okay, in spite of everything.

Maybe you deserve to be excluded from the ‘everyone’ that he wishes would just die.

He thinks he can find a middle ground. A way to reach some sort of agreement with Hyunsu. You may just be the key to getting him to accept his own self. He shrugs. “Who knows.”

He lets the weaker half of him take control again. After all, each time a danger seemed to get too close to you, the instinct to help you and get you away before it could reach you was his. So as the greater part of him, he would do everything he can to help him out. And right now, that would be letting him deal with all this and maybe try to bargain for this whole control thing.

“Hyunsu.” you say, eyes wide. His own eyes have finally returned to their usual state. He blinks, taking a few seconds to register what’s going on, then his eyes widen as well.

“Are you okay?!”

“Uh…” he trails off, looking towards the edge of the stairs, where there should have been a railing. Then he looks at your relieved expression, then at the half-opened door. “Yeah, yeah, I’m…”

He thinks for a moment then slowly, carefully closes the door. “I’m fine. Are you? Maybe I should go alone.” he says.

“No, it’s fine. I’m alright. Let’s go together.”

(I could help you keep them safe.)

His hand tightens around his spear as he tries to ignore how loud his mind is.

No. Shut up.

“… Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He has a lot to do. There’s a list of things the other residents asked him to get for them. You didn’t have to go with him, but you did, which means he has to make sure you both survive this whole thing. He has a lot of things to focus on, and none of them include the monster in his head trying to get him to listen.

Maybe one day, he’d accept it.

Who knows?

#hyunsu x reader #cha hyunsu x reader #hyun su x reader #cha hyun su x reader #hyunsoo x reader #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyun soo x reader #cha hyun soo x reader #sweet home x reader #x reader

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rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me · 3 months

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Dallas Dating A Curtis!Reader

Buckle up buttercups, this is gonna be fun!

As always, to fit the age bracket, you’re either Soda’s twin, or you were born between Sodapop and Ponyboy

Pick and choose as you see fit, but I’m definitely seeing more opportunity for a Sodapop’s twin sibling-

Anywayyyssssssss

Lemme set the stage a little bit, alright? Cause there’s a bunch of ideas floating around in this brain of mine-

You’ve had a crush on Dal for the longest time and I mean the longest time- ever since he stumbled in with that stupid white blond hair and that stupid New York accent and that stupid little attitude of his- you’d been head over heels

And low and behold, Dallas had been nursing a few feelings for you as well, hiding them a little better than you had been

So of course, y’all flirt and mess around and all the rest of the boys are a little suspicious but you and Dal both deny that there’s anything between the two of you

That changes a few weeks before the Curtises die, you and Dallas go on an official date down to the nightly double (he timed it with your favorite films cause he’s romantic like that) and bada bing bada boom, y’all are dating

But it’s a secret and no one knows but here comes the funeral and you’re holding Dallas’ hand through the whole thing, crying into his shoulder and he’s cradling the back of your head and everyone knows there’s something up

Darry doesn’t like it- not even a little bit- he doesn’t love that you’re dating Dal one smidgeon of a bit

He likes Dal well enough, he’s got to, they’re in the same gang, but like- he knows Dallas well enough too to know that maybe this isn’t the best thing

Dare’s biggest concern is your heart and whether or not Dal’s gonna break it by doing something stupid like fooling around with someone else or getting hauled in for something big and leaving you alone forever

Sodapop’s a little more okay with it? But he’s still a little hesitant, especially when Dally likes to get a little more physical than he needs to

*cough cough* kissing you way past decent under the porch light when he’s dropping you off at home after a date, sliding his hand into your back pocket to keep you close, just generally being Dal and pushing the limits of what is publicly decent *cough cough*

But!

Where the real fun is located is with our dear darling Ponyboy!

It’s canon, I’m pretty sure and I’m pretty confident after reading the book fifty million times, that Ponyboy “doesn’t like” Dally and thinks he’s kinda scary

But at the same time, we all know that boy looks up to Dally too and Dally has a soft spot for him

I’m seeing like- Ponyboy and Johnny and Dallas hanging out, just the three of them, and Dal’s trying to be all nonchalant and stuff, smoking casually as he tries to ask Ponyboy about how you’d like certain things

Dally tries to subtly run almost all his date ideas past Ponyboy before he takes you out because yeah, he really does like you, and sometimes he’s just a little unsure of himself with how much he cares about you

Now. When he gets hauled in, and we know it’s going to happen, let's be honest with ourselves folks, when he gets hauled in, his phone call is going to go to the Curtis house

He’s gonna ask for you and he’s gonna apologize for having to be gone for so long

If I was you? I’d cry, I’d scream, I’d be angry and sad and frustrated because why does he keep making stupid decisions?

But I’m gonna tell you this-

Putting up with stupid decisions and working through tough times like this? It’s gonna be a lot of the relationship, and it’s gonna be pretty prominent in your time with Dally

If that’s not for you? Then maybe, maybe it won’t work out

But that’s alright too! All the more for me :D

#the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders hcs #the outsiders x reader #dillo’s writing #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader

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joelmillersmunch · 14 days

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harvest moon (joel miller x reader)

Summary: Joel Miller can't keep his eyes off of you. And damn, that ass is nice.

Ratings/Warnings: Fluff, some cussing, ass staring. Mostly just Joel Miller being in love and Tommy Miller being a little shit. Age gap, but both reader and Joel are grown adults (like reader is 30s Joel is early 50s) Joel has some anxiety, but nothing too descriptive. Canon divergence. I hope that's everything!

Word count: 845

A/N: I was listening to Harvest Moon by Neil Young the other day and thought to myself, "Joel Miller Joel Miller Joel Miller Joel Miller Joel Miller." Yeah, you get the gist. This was in my drafts from a few weeks ago and so I thought I would finish it. I hope you like it! Just something short and sweet. :) Imagine this gif but as Joel Miller and his beautiful greying hair....

“Darlin’, you know I don’t wanna do this either, but we gotta,” Joel says, a slightly annoyed gruff in his voice. It’s not like he’s annoyed with you, but he’s getting tired of pleading to get this show on the road. He hears you call back something from upstairs and he rolls his eyes, shuffling his way to the bathroom in which you’re currently occupying.

“Joel,” You start when he enters through the door. “I don’t mind going, and you know that. What I mind is you not tellin’ me till twenty minutes ago!” You say with a scowl. Your eyes lock through the mirror and he softens.

“”M sorry, sweet girl. Tommy didn’t tell me till we were leaving work today. I had about as much of a heads up as you did,” He says. You can tell he’s sorry, so with a soft huff you turn to face him.

“Well, he can’t be mad if we’re a few minutes late then. I’ll be done shortly, honey. Please stop stressing,” You say, giving him a soft kiss to his cheek. And just like that, everything was okay again. He needed you to remind him that everything is okay. I mean, the world is still ending, but everything is okay. Ellie and Tommy are safe. You are safe. He can’t ask for much more than that. He’s been having some anxiety issues lately, but you’ve been his saving grace. You make everything okay. With a nod, he leaves you in the bathroom alone. Sure enough, you emerge from the bathroom just a few minutes later ready to go. You grab your coats and make your way over to the bar.

Joel can’t keep his eyes off of you. All night he’s been staring you down from a seat at the bar, lightly sipping a beer. You’ve been dancing all evening with your friends..and Tommy. It was per his request for his birthday. “One dance, please. It’ll be so fun!” The younger brother pleads. You laugh and roll your eyes at him. He looks charming in his get up paired with a handsome cowboy hat on top of his head. He’s always been fond of you, but you always laugh it off and tell him to find someone his own age. He’d usually laugh and tell you to do the same, being that Joel is quite a few years older than you. Joel would usually mumble something and pout as you and Tommy continued to poke fun at Joel’s expense. You all know that Tommy’s crush isn’t serious, so you agree and follow your brother in law to the floor.

The song changes as the two of you find a spot, and a lively dance song starts. Joel watches the two of you from the bar. God, your ass looks so good in those jeans. They fit perfectly, sculpting your hips and figure so well that he can’t help but swoon over you. He watches as you and Tommy hold hands, swinging in circles like two teenagers. Tommy places the cowboy hat on your head and gives a loud, “YEEEEEEEEHAWWWWW,” across the bar. Joel laughs as you buckle over in a fit of giggles. Joel stands up, finishes his beer and slowly makes his way to you as the song comes to an end.

“Alright, give her back to me.” He says playfully, but you know part of him is serious. Tommy laughs and gives you a pat on your arm.

“Thanks, darlin’. If you get tired of my brother any time soon, you know where to find me.” He says and shuffles away laughing. Joel rolls his eyes and pulls you closer. The next song begins, the simple guitar strum taking him back to a simpler time. Harvest Moon by Neil Young plays overhead softly, and the two of you begin to sway along.

“That fuckin’ guy, I swear,” He says and you can’t help but laugh at him. He stares down at you, confused as to what you’re making such a fuss about. “What are you lookin’ at?” He asks.

“You are such a silly man, Joel Miller,” You say and smile at him. You grab the back of his neck to pull his face closer to yours. “There ain’t no man better than you. I want you. I am yours.” You say, and you take the cowboy hat from your head and place it on his. He chuckles and pulls you even closer, savoring the moment.

Because I’m still in love with you

I wanna see you dance again

Because I’m still in love with you

On this harvest moon

He leans down, cowboy hat slipping down his head, and gives you a slow kiss. The harmonica and guitar sing in the background. Everything feels perfect.

“My girl, I love you,” He says. He feels you smile against his lips, never taking yours away. “I love you, too.”

Because I’m still in love with you

I wanna see you dance again

Because I’m still in love with you

On this harvest moon

A/N: dividers by @saradika-graphics thanks so much!!

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noxturnalpascal · 4 months

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Devotion 🖤 Masterlist

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

I. Stronger Together CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

II. Predator or Prey? CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

III. Path to the Future CH 9 CH 10 CH 11

Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon-typical violence/death, death of clickers, guns, blood/injury, references to previous SAs (not described), Reader has low self worth & trauma, this group/cult is not feminist - women aren’t treated as equals, Joel has sexual relationships with other characters (not described in detail), possessiveness, manipulation, stalking/spying on, Joel gets mean, DubCon Oral, Joel gets abusive (verbally, mentally, physically (he hits, throws, and bites), thoughts of self-harm and suicide, talk of periods & pregnancy, unprotected PiV, oral sex (m & f receiving), come eating, DIRTY TALK, brief reference to breeding kink and creampie kink (but reader does NOT get pregnant in this story).

A/N: OBVIOUSLY this is canon-divergent, but it is post-outbreak. The events of outbreak day have not changed (sorry Sarah). Reader does have a developed background that plays heavily in her character arc, so in that sense she is very much an OC. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions.

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

*🖤*NOTES ABOUT THE CULT & JOEL BELOW*🖤*

ABOUT THE CULT

The Cult's Core Ideology

Build up a community (and supplies) to return to a thriving society that can keep people safe & find a cure.

The Cult Operates by its 3 Tenants:

How Joel does it (what he "preaches")

I. Build Trust (We are Stronger Together)

Makes people feel beautiful, important, HEARD

Shares the wealth (food, shelter, women)

Seeks Power & Control to get others to help him

II. Us vs Them (The Predator Vs The Prey)

FEDRA is the enemy, do not trust them

Assimilate or Destroy all other people/groups

Attack them before they attack you

III. Gather & Prepare (Create a Path to the Future)

You can never have enough, always take take take take

The community you create now will determine future society (fair, honest, hardworking)

Once you are well-prepared and rebuild, you can work on finding a cure

🖤

Notes about Joel and the Cult:

He and Tess began this community together in 2010 after they met Bill and Frank and they felt that the QZ was becoming too dangerous and unstable. They settled in a small, remote town in the mountains of Vermont. Tess helps him "run" the community but she has a submissive role. (Their dynamic here is different from canon.) Tess has his respect probably more than anyone else does but she is not looked upon like an equal by anyone in the community.

Timeline/Ages:

This takes place in the fall of 2012, so It’s been 9 years since outbreak day. Joel is 45, my HC for Reader is Early 30's (Tess is 39/40). Reader's exact age isn't given, but she was in her early 20's on outbreak day and I wanted her to have experienced a fair taste of an adult life before the world ended. I didn't want to write the reader as inexperienced or with too large of an age-gap, although I think 11-14 years is still pretty significant. She has a history that plays a significant role in her personality (wary, untrusting). She has been hurt/abused by men - both those that took advantage of her when she was young, as well as by those that she trusted/loved. There are very few physical descriptions but she is very much an OC. Note that her age is not something that's explicitly mentioned because I did want to keep it inclusive. I hope everyone who wants to read this can use their imagination to fit themselves into the story in a meaningful way.🖤

#devotion series #cult leader joel miller #noxturnalpascal #ofc!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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softlyspector · 7 months

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Blush

Summary: All you do is want, while Joel worries he won't ever be enough.

Find out how it started: You put aside your touch aversion for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~9.2k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, just the barest hint of angst/argument, the ‘believes they’re hard to love, loving them is like breathing’ trope, tattoos and getting tattooed (the process isn’t really described), reader is touch adverse, vague mentions of a past abusive relationship, insecurity, self confidence issues, abandonment issues, anxiety, lots and lots of intimacy and touching, mentions of arousal, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: Hello, so here we are at the final part of this lil four part thing. This fic owns a piece of my heart now, and I hope it's found somewhere to live in yours too. It's special for a lot of reasons, but the support its gotten has really been something incredible. Thank you for being so kind and lovely.

Once again, we’re ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

Joel glances up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor. A lock of gray hair falls to the middle of his forehead. You reach down, without thinking, and push it back into place, letting your fingers trail through his hair. He always wears it so carefully parted to the side, especially now that he’s let it grow out a little longer.

You picture him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom brushing his hair and feel something warm and fluttery beat against your ribs.

The image comes easily because it’s not something you have to imagine but remember—Joel tilting his chin down, eyes on his reflection in silvery morning light.

Pink stains the tips of his ears when you let his hair slip softly from between your fingers.

“Yeah, I did,” he disagrees before laboring to his feet. You hook one hand beneath his elbow and help him up. His knees pop and he hisses. “It’s past due we fixed it, anyhow. Past time I let you get back to your own life,” he continues, not pulling his arm away from your hand as he stoops down to shove the screwdriver in his hand back into the toolbox on the floor.

You like the way he says we.

You rub your thumb against the inside of his elbow as he straightens again with a groan that means his back is aching again. “Well, now you get your house back to yourself,” you tease.

“Ain’t like you’re trouble to have around,” he grumbles.

You keep a steady pressure on his arm, because you like the way his skin feels under your hand, warm and pliant, like he’s been in the sun. You like the way you can feel the shift of muscle and the micro jump of tendon beneath your fingertips.

You don’t like admitting to yourself that you like touching him, that you like the way he lets you hold on to him but so rarely tries the same with you.

But, you’ve come to realize over the last week, where you shy away from touch, Joel craves it; he’s positively starved for it. He tries his best to hide that he wants for anything at all, but you see it.

He would never ask for anything from you; it’s anathema to who he is, to ask for care. He’s stubborn and a little proud.

When the locks that fit your door weren’t in stock at the local hardware store and Joel insisted on you staying with him until they came in, you saw that want first hand.

He’d been busy for so many years—with work and his kids and his business and his brother. He’d lived in a busy house with a revolving door of people who constantly needed him. And now, he lives alone and away from his kids. His schedule is one he sets for himself, with easy, quiet days. His girls are busy, Tommy has his own family, and his house is empty.

Maybe Joel would never admit it, but he is lonely.

Staying with him for a week had shown you just how much he wanted—touch and companionship and company—and just how absolutely solitary his days were, especially in the evenings. Guilt like a tide had washed over you. How closely he paid attention to you, how cautious and watchful and giving he’s been, and you haven't really done the same. You haven’t tried to give him anything, to meet him somewhere in the middle. You hadn’t even thought of it.

“Thank you for letting me stay with you this week,” you say, releasing his arm to press your hand against his spine, rubbing gently. It’s easier that way, you find, subtly giving, easing hurts he wouldn’t admit to. “And for changing the locks. You’re too good to me.”

“No trouble,” he assures you again, quickly. “It’s too quiet without my girls livin’ with me. It was nice. Havin’ you around.” He clears his throat and bushes past the admission. “Anyhow. I’ll let you get settled back in.”

You frown at him, but Joel only puts an arm around your waist and leans in to press a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. “You call me if you need somethin’. Anything.” He says it against your skin, his lips warm and slightly chapped. “Even for nothin’.”

You close your eyes and absorb that affection, let it sink deep into your body, into your blood and bones, the ventricles of your heart.

For a moment, all you can feel is him breathing against you—the patient, steady rise and fall of his breath—before he starts to pull away. You don’t want him to go, you aren’t ready to be parted from him.

You aren’t ready to let him go.

“Joel,” you say and cup your hand around his wrist to keep him in place. “Wait. Why don’t you come in? For some coffee?”

He meets your eyes, searches your gaze for a long moment there in the doorway of your apartment. His brows relax, his mouth softens, and you know he knows exactly what you’re doing, that he’s been found out. He thinks it’s pity and not cloying sweetness, not needling want and a building codependency that you don’t particularly mind driving your request. “Sweetheart—”

“Please? I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

A few pleading words are all it takes for him to crumble. He nods and relents, “All right. Just for a minute, I have a client this afternoon.”

“Okay,” you nod and pull him inside. You snap the door shut behind you and make a show of locking your brand new locks.

Joel rolls his eyes at you, but doesn’t comment, settling himself at your kitchen table instead, toolbox tucked between his feet on the floor. The morning light paints him in sunburst orange and bumblebee gold, rays falling like a halo around him. He taps his fingers against the muraled, painted surface of the table, tracing the lines with one blunt nail.

Unfamiliar want bubbles up in you again. You want to touch him again.

Already.

You just let go of him.

It’s an ache, right in the center of your chest. It feels like something pulsing and raw, infectious and torn.

You’d like to plant yourself against his side and sit in the brutally warm, fall Texan sun shining so innocently through the slats of your blinds.

Cured. Clean.

That’s what you’d be, if you allowed yourself to reach out and grab it.

Instead, you cup your hands against the sides of his face and stroke your thumbs over his graying beard.

You half expect him to pull away, to jolt out of your hands, like you would. And though he does look startled, he doesn’t pull away. Hazel eyes flick up to meet yours. You trace the scar on the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Thank you,” you say again, just so he’ll hear it even if he won’t respond to it. “You don’t have to worry about me but you do.”

He pulls one of your hands away from his face and nods, staring down at the lines on your palm before he hooks your pointer fingers together. “‘Course I have to.”

You keep stroking his cheek, the soft bristles of his beard catching on your fingertips. “Of course,” you say. “It’s what you do.”

Joel thinks you look beautiful. He also thinks you look wistful, with later October light falling in drafts around your shoulders—merigold, sunshine, sepia.

For once, you aren’t looking back at him. Joel catches you looking at him all the time now, mostly at his hands, chancing glances from the corner of your eyes like he would mind you looking. If he thought more of himself, he’d probably say you look at him with a dreamy cut to your gaze.

Your feet are propped on the porch railing. Your jeans and scuffed sneakers are splattered with bright splotches of paint. His guitar is across your lap and Ellie is next to you, teaching you, he supposes. Or at the very least correcting you occasionally as the two of you talk. You say something and she tilts back with a full bodied laugh.

You’d worked with Sarah and Ellie all day, painting the chicken coop in bright swatches of pastel blush and lavender. It sticks out something awful, but he’d said you could paint it however you wanted and he meant it.

Any way Joel cut it, he was outvoted three to one anyhow.

He thinks you probably let Sarah influence the color palette more than you let on, and that makes something ache deep in his chest.

Joel’s not exactly good at saying what he feels, he knows that. He’s always known it.

But he can build you a chicken coop. He can fix your locks and your door and worry about your safety and drive to get you in the middle of the night. He can sketch out tattoo designs until his wrist aches and make you a million cups of coffee.

And you decided to share part of what he gave you with Sarah and Ellie. Whether you know it or not, it means something to him. It brings a tight feeling to the back of his throat.

Though the afternoon is mild, you’re wrapped up in a flannel over your t-shirt. It’s his flannel from that first night he spent at your kitchen table; the one you haven’t given back and that he doesn’t want back.

Joel keeps his eyes on you as he finishes up the last of the chores that needed doing. His back is aching again, a flare of pain that starts at the base of his spine and ends behind his ears.

It was lucky, maybe, that you’d convinced him, in your offhand way, to get chickens instead of horses, that he decided that was the best thing to give you. He isn’t sure he could keep up with much more than what he has.

“You’re staring again,” Sarah says from behind him.

“I’m not,” he snaps.

“It’s okay to stare at your girlfriend, dad,” she says and he can hear the laughter in her voice, the damn teasing.

Joel winces. “That is not—we ain’t—” Not yet. You aren’t anything yet. Maybe not ever.

You’ve bloomed in the last month or so. Opened up, shiny and blush bright. You’re still that watchful little doe, but now you’re one that recognizes something kind.

Not so skittish, not so afraid.

And that’s good, that’s something. But he worries. Worries you’ll start to see he’s nothing but an old man waiting around for his kids to visit, for his brother not to be busy with his family, for you to pay him any mind.

You surely noticed it weeks ago when you stayed with him those few days, all that painful, solitary loneliness that happened so quickly. Maybe you’d noticed it earlier than that, when you stopped coming by the shop after your first tattoo and his days went lonesome again too. It’s not like he has been subtle about how much your absence smarted.

He’s not sure when his life slowed down so much, when he suddenly looked around and realized he missed the noise.

Maybe he’s been the one to pry you open, but if you wanted something better for yourself, something more, he’d have to let you go. It doesn’t diminish all that time he’d spent gaining your trust, that trust he’s still trying to grasp at some days. He doesn’t want you to be burdened by his loneliness, to feel weighed down with it, to feel trapped by it, to feel like it’s your responsibility.

Joel already worries that’s already the case, with how often you’d ended up at his house in the evenings over the past month. But he isn’t strong enough to make you stop.

Still, he could never live with himself, if he were next in a long line to make you feel helpless and trapped.

Sarah rolls her eyes and herds the second stubborn goat into the barn and shuts the gate. “If you say so,” she says. “I’m gonna get Ellie and head out. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Okay, baby girl,” Joel says. Sarah fits herself into his arms and he presses a kiss to her hair. “Thanks for the help. Be safe.”

She pulls away and nods, jogging across the yard without looking back to hop the little fence that separates it from the driveway. He watches Sarah say goodbye to you, the way your mouth lifts in a smile, the way you move the guitar from your lap and lean forward when she climbs the steps to give you a hug.

Ellie gives you a much briefer hug, one armed and slightly stiff before she follows Sarah. He lifts a hand to her, knowing Ellie won’t come over and say goodbye the way Sarah does. She pulls a face at him and waves back as she climbs in the car.

When they disappear in a cloud of red dust at the end of the drive, you lean back and stare down at the guitar again, adjusting the positioning of your fingers on the strings as though nothing of note just happened.

Maybe, nothing of note has happened.

You’d hugged them so easily, smiled at them so warmly. He’s grateful for it, that ease you have with them, that you feel safe and secure. It makes something warm and protective and territorial for all three of you settle in around his ribs.

His girls and you.

Your mouth pulls down at the corners as he watches you clumsily reposition your other hand along the frets.

He tries to repress a smile and glances away from you to continue his work. A poorly struck chord followed by a frustrated sigh echoes across the yard.

You ain’t exactly a natural with the instrument, though you try.

Joel taught Sarah and Ellie to play when they were young. He taught Tommy, when their mother didn’t have time to. He’s happy to teach you now, too.

More notes float on the air, curl into the whispering leaves that skitter along the drive. You aren’t doing so bad, he thinks, when the music suddenly stops.

He turns to peer over his shoulder at you.

You’ve taken your feet off the railing and have folded your arms along it instead, chin leaning on your forearms, head tipped to the side, guitar propped between your knees. “Joel?”

“Honey?” He answers, and you smile. The effect is like being lit from the inside out. You brighten and there’s sunshine in his soul, in all the dark places in his chest.

“Will you play for me?” You uncross one arm to hold your hand out to him, like you could reach him from there if you tried hard enough.

“You were doin’ just fine at it,” he calls back, escorting the chickens as gently as he can into their newly painted home.

You smile at him again. “I know. But I want to hear you and it’s getting dark anyway.”

“Guess so,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just a minute, darlin’.”

You nod and grab the guitar again to settle it in your lap.

The evening light is bleeding gold through the boughs of the oak that overhang the driveway, the whispers of autumnal, purpled shadows bruise the horizon as the sun sinks ever lower.

With the other goat and his lone sheep herded into the barn, he crosses back to the porch where you’ve lit a lantern and tucked yourself deep into one of the rocking chairs. The blanket he keeps folded over the back of one of the chairs is now curled over your lap. You look cozy, too warm, in the lingering heat of the day. He takes up residence next to you, picking up the guitar you’ve abandoned in his seat. “What would you like to hear, darlin’?”

It had taken a week’s worth of needling for him to play for you, but now he wants to do it all the time.

“Whatever you want to play for me, Joel,” you say, bracing your elbow on the arm of the chair to lean your chin on your hand, eyes already closed.

He plucks idly at the strings, watching your face. You put yourself in his hands so easily these days, without thought or worry. There’s trust in its purest form in your expression, like you’d laid yourself at his doorstep. He can’t imagine you closing your eyes like that, relaxed and at peace, even a few weeks ago.

Joel says your name, watches your eyes blink open, the peaceful little spell broken. You pull back, sitting up straight. Doe eyes meet his, round with question. “Joel?”

“I just wanted to say how pretty you look this evenin’.”

You transform, bloom, duck your head and say nothing. The air is rose colored, heavy with the scent of magnolia.

You aren’t exactly good at taking compliments, either. But that’s something you’re both working on.

“Hey,” he says. You look up and lean toward him again, like you’re so ready to drop yourself into his waiting hands.

And when he reaches for you, you do.

Joel cups his hands against your jaw, and leans in to kiss you. Your mouth is soft against his. You taste like autumn air, and like the spiked sweet tea at your elbow. When you pull back, your eyes are oceans, like soil, like smooth, dark glass.

You also have a dot of bright paint on your cheek that he hadn’t noticed before.

He sweeps his thumb over it and finds it’s stuck there.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Got a bit a’ paint there.” He presses his thumb over it. “I like it.”

You pout at him, watchful eyes hooked into his. “Are you ever going to play for me or are you just going to make fun of me?”

He chuckles and releases your face. “I would never make fun of you, honey.”

“Good,” you say as he strums the strings again. “Or I’ll never paint another chicken coop for you again. Not even if your girls help.”

He likes that you tease him, that you feel comfortable enough. He smiles, stares down at the toe of his boot. “You know you didn’t have to let ‘em.”

“Let them what?”

“Help. Y’know, create a monstrosity,” he gestures to the monstrosity in question, the pink and purple slightly washed out against the blush of the setting sun. “I built it for you.”

Your foot nudges against his and he looks up to find you already gazing at him. There’s something vulnerable in your eyes, something soft and unafraid. “I know. I wanted them to help. I like spending time with them, Joel.”

He nods and you smile. “Colors are kind of awful, though. Looks like one of Sarah’s old dollhouses. Thought you’d do a mural, like your table.”

You laugh, and the sound is something he wishes he could capture, box up inside him and never release. “But it’s mine, like you said. And chicken dollhouse chic is what we were aiming for.”

He snorts, but he feels better about it. “That so?”

“Yeah. Now, play something for me?” You request again softly.

Joel mentally shifts through the catalog of songs he could play for you before settling on a song. When he glances back at you, you’ve once again closed your eyes. Orange light, flippant and fleeting, has drifted across your face in a fiery bar as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. You glow in that beautiful light.

He itches to do something other than play the guitar for you.

Although he’s painted you as a doe more times than he can count, he’s never attempted to actually capture your likeness. He could never do you justice, so he just shouldn’t try. It would be embarrassing enough, if you ever found out that you’ve been the source of all his creativity the last few months. That you are his muse.

The plum color on the horizon has darkened, the navy of the encroaching night feathering against the tops of the trees.

You’ve settled back into a peaceful position, eyes closed as you listen.

He plays through a couple of songs before he glances up again and finds you watching him, your gaze focused on his hands. “Will you ever sing for me?” You ask softly, eyes flicking up to meet his.

He hasn’t sung since his girls were little, not to anyone anyway, and not to anyone that could tell him his voice was terrible.

Even still, he’s never been more tempted.

“No,” he says, even though denying you anything is hard. “You don’t want to hear me sing, honey.”

“But you have such a pretty voice,” you disagree.

He plucks out a final note, music hovering in the air. “That just ain’t true,” he shakes his head and leans the guitar carefully against the bannister. Night has fully fallen, your face is shaded in shadow when he looks at you. “Do you want to stay with me?”

Joel’s offered a few other times, because he always wants you to stay. That week you’d stayed with him while he waited for your new locks to come in at the hardware store had been kind to him. He’d gotten used to your presence in his house embarrassingly quick, and when he got the call that the locks had been delivered, it was like ice sliding down his spine. He’d forgotten, in just days, that you didn’t actually live with him.

That was weeks ago.

And since then, you haven’t stayed.

You usually, always, decline and then he drives you home.

But today is different.

You reach out a hand to him and fold your fingers around his. “Yes,” you sigh.

“Sure?” He asks, surprised. “It’s no bother to drive you home, honey.”

“I’m sure. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always gladly have you.”

Your lips curve up, and you duck your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

Joel burns whatever he attempts to make on the stove for dinner. He turns to you, with spatula in hand and an irritated tilt to his brows, and asks if you’d like to ride into town to eat at Flu’s.

You agree, and go, still laughing when Joel pulls onto the main road. He grouses under his breath the entire way to town, but he holds your hand against the center console. And when you get to Flu’s he opens the passenger side door for you, then the diner’s door, his hand held lightly against your spine. He tucks his legs around yours under the table, knees and calves brushing together. The diner’s lights are dim and cozy.

He looks soft, in that buttery light. The hard edges of his face ironed out, smile lines and crow’s feet divoted into his skin. He holds your hand on the table, and you watch his fingers more than his face, the rounded swell of his knuckles, the veins in the back of his hand, the knob of his wrist, on which he always wore an old watch that had long stopped ticking. When you’re apart, you find yourself daydreaming of his hands, scarred and broad and warm.

Joel insists on paying, doesn’t let you even consider doing it.

When you climb back into the truck, he puts one hand on your thigh and you sink back into your seat, warm and full and content. You slide your hand over his and feel the rough calluses on the tips of his fingers.

When you close your eyes, you see him working in the sun, poking fun at you while you and Sarah and Ellie paint the chicken coop, squinting through the bright light. He still smells like sun, like warm skin and his cologne and faintly of sweat and whatever thing he’d burned on the stove earlier.

When Joel kissed you that first time, he opened a door in you, one that’s impossible to shut and that does nothing but want.

You’ve never craved touch like you crave his. Even when you feel like you don’t want to be touched at all, you think his hand would be tolerable, would be okay.

You’re painfully aware that part of his appeal is knowing that he would always let you go, that he always knows when it's time to leave you be. And the times you don’t want him to touch you, have been shrinking.

Lately, all you want is for him to fold his fingers between yours, touch the bare skin at the small of your back, to trace your spine up between your shoulder blades, or cup his palm over the back of your neck and tuck you into him.

When you get back to his place, it’s still pretty early in the evening, and all you can think of is ways to get him to touch you again. He turns on the battery powered radio that sits on the porch, perpetually set low on an oldies station.

You can’t look away from him, something like agony twisting in your chest, like there’s a knife between your lungs. He’s talking about something, gesturing across the yard with one hand, his other tangled with yours. Joel’s thumb strokes little circles against the back of your hand, each pass like a bolt of addictive lightning. It’s not enough. His hand in yours is no longer enough.

Joel doesn’t protest when you pull him to his feet when a new song starts up. He gives what you don’t ask for but desperately want. He drags you into his chest and slides his arm around your back, tucking you in close to him. You can hear his heartbeat, feel it pulsing in his chest. He tilts around the porch with you for a long time, even when the music is interrupted by obnoxious ads.

He hums along under his breath and when you slip your hands beneath his shirt to rest against his bare skin, you can feel the vibrations of his voice against your fingers.

You wish you could sink your hands inside him, just to be a little closer. It feels so strange to want that. You’ve never been held that gently before, it loosens a knot you didn’t know existed in the core of your chest.

And you think, even when things with your ex had been good, when he hadn’t been yelling at you or bruising you with a tattoo you didn’t want, he had never held you gently or with such love.

When you pull back, Joel lets you go. There is no fuss about it; there is no guilt.

Eventually, you go inside.

He lets you shower first, just like he always had when you stayed with him before.

After, you watch him brush his hair and then his teeth and something painfully sharp gets caught up inside your chest. It’s hard to breathe around that feeling, that ache.

You watch him get ready for bed, and you watch him groan when he has to stoop down to pick a pair of socks up off of the floor, and you feel something more than warmth flood your heart. It unravels, spools through your veins, and it's so warm it burns.

Joel catches you looking at him, as he often does these days.

He smiles at you, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. He looks domestic in a heather gray t-shirt that sits loose on his frame, pajama bottoms that look as though they’ve seen a few too many years, and glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You all right?”

You nod. “Really good, Joel.”

That gets a little laugh out of him. “Must be worn out,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. You lie back and curl on your side, watching him adjust his pillows, admiring the shape of his hands as he goes, remembering what they looked like sun drenched and warm in the yard. He drags his knuckle over the curve of your cheek and neither you nor your body remembers to flinch away. “After all that paintin’ and gettin’ me to dance.”

“It was fun though, wasn’t it?” You ask, suppressing the urge to trace the length of his spine through his shirt. “You liked dancing with me.” You clutch the pillow tighter to your chest and dip your chin into the fabric.

He takes his glasses off and then finally lies down next to you. Nerves burst in your belly when he turns to look at you. “I enjoyed it very much, sweetheart.”

“Good.” You wriggle a bit closer to him.

He watches you and then offers a place for you to fit yourself against his side. You slide in close to him, tucking your hands between his body and yours, slotting your nose against the dip of his collarbone.

He smells good there, like soap and something that’s purely Joel and so soothing, like sage and pine.

“This what you been wantin’, huh?” He asks, stroking your back slowly. You stiffen but he chuckles into your hair. “I mean that in a nice way.”

You lick your lips, feel the shift of muscle beneath your cheek as he reaches to turn off the lamp. There’s no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I know,” he says against your forehead. “Me, too.”

You settle against him, the feeling of his palm sliding over your shirt, up and down, tapping over your spine, soothes you. Your stomach flips when his hand drags along the bare skin at your hip.

If you could dig a trench into his bones, take cover there, you would. And still that wouldn’t be close enough.

“Joel,” you say, tracing your hand over his chest.

For once, your voice seems to encourage more than caution and he doesn’t stop touching you. His hand slides higher again and your breath hitches.

It feels so nice, like all the empty places inside you are slowly being colored in, shaded in emerald green and butter, sunshine yellow, jewel bright blue and blush pink.

You curl into him, shakily pressing the hand on his chest up to his neck. You cup your palm there and Joel turns on his side. His hair is soft and a little damp when you dig your fingers into it, the scent of him wrapping around you, cradling you close and safe. Joel touches his forehead very gently to yours, his breath fanning across your lips.

He waits for you.

You close the distance between you, and press your mouth to his.

He sighs into you, his grip tightening on your waist for a moment, and you push yourself closer to the circle of warmth that is his body.

His fingers graze the edge of your shirt, then push it up, rough palms sliding over your back again. His hand is so big, so warm, it spans your back and then covers your ribs. You gasp into his mouth when the pad of his thumb caresses the curve of your breast.

Goosebumps erupt along your body. “Joel,” you murmur against his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums. “I know, honey. I got you.”

He touches you there again but doesn’t go any further. You shiver and press your mouth back to his, tasting the mint of his toothpaste when his tongue slips into your mouth.

Moonlight filters pale and bright into his bedroom, and when you pull away his eyes are dark, hungry. You wish you had the courage to feed that gaze, but you aren’t there yet. A stab of guilt pierces your lungs. He’s so patient with you, and you can’t help but wonder if one day that patience might run out.

Instead of lingering on that, on wondering how much time you could possibly ask him to give, you offer him something else. “Can I show you my tattoos?”

He blinks at you, pink, kiss swollen lips parting. “If you want.”

“But do you want to see?”

“Baby,” he touches your cheek, traces the line of your jaw. “I’ve been dreamin’ about it since you told me about ‘em.”

You squirm, embarrassment crawling up the inside of your belly. “You have?”

“Mm.” He kisses you again, his mouth lingering long against yours. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his breath against yours. “I think about you all the time.”

You get your knees beneath you and push up from your place beside him. Joel turns on his back when you swing one leg over his waist and find yourself, boldly, very much in his lap. His hands anchor on your hips, thumbs beneath your t-shirt.

“Oh,” you say, pressing your hands over his, something nervous wriggling in your gut. “Sorry. Is—”

You try to move away but his grip doesn’t change. “It’s all right,” he says evenly, the barest hint of something tremulous beneath.

Before you can think about it more, overthink being in his lap or how much of you you’re about to show him or how heavy and uncomfortable his hands might become, you release his wrists and tug your shirt up to just beneath your breasts, so your ribs are visible.

Those feelings don’t come though. You don’t feel anxious or weighed down or wrong.

He’s looking at you and touching you and seeing you and it's fine. It’s fine because it’s Joel. No one had ever understood you before the way he has—not your family or your friends or any previous partner. They try, but Joel just seems to know you, understand, without really trying.

Joel clears his throat, his expression unreadable as he lifts one hand to your tattoo. When he traces the ink, you exhale against his curious fingers. It tickles. “That’s real pretty,” he says. “Antlers. It really suits you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Deer are like good luck, I think. They know things.”

He looks at you like you’re some ancient creature he can hardly believe exists. Embarrassment claws at you but you don’t look away. “That so?” He looks at the ink again, tension slicing through the air. “Jesus you’re somethin’.”

You don’t get a chance to respond because he meets your eyes again and asks, “Where’s the bee?”

You laugh and the acid burn of uncertainty disappears. “How’d you remember about the bee?”

“‘Cause I’ve been wonderin’ about it too.” He’s still absentmindedly tracing the antlers, the moss and the flowers that loop through the branches of the antlers. His expression is open now, curious and needy. “It ain’t on your hip, if I’m rememberin’ right.”

You shift your hand to your sternum and carefully tug your shirt up a bit higher. There, nestled between your breasts, is a tiny, tiny bumblebee. “Well, ain’t that a surprise.” He shifts his hand up and covers the bee with his thumb, the length of his fingers sitting right beneath your breast.

An ocean wells up inside you, threatens to break apart your ribs. You lean into his hand, your chest warm, catching, like fire is spreading from all the places he touches you. The knuckles of his other hand drag up your side.

You shiver under his eye, fighting the urge to look away, to tug yourself out of his grip. But the thought of losing his warm hands against you is worse, it outweighs everything else.

“Where did you think it was?” You ask, hardly able to breathe. Everything in the world narrows down to his dark bedroom, his eyes skating over your newly revealed tattoos, milky moonlight parting the tiny space still left between you.

“I couldn’t get it out of my head that it was on your hip.”

You laugh and Joel keeps looking at you, his eyes flicking between your bared skin and your eyes. The room is warm, his gaze heavy. “You’re real pretty. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Once or twice, maybe,” you smile.

“Mm.”

You cup one hand around his wrist, the pressure of his hand against the swell of your breast sending shockwaves through you. It’s all you can focus on, the slow sweep of his thumb against sensitive skin. You push his hand harder against you until it feels hard to breathe.

You think about how much Joel gives you, how carefully he listens even when you don’t speak.

He deserves to know you hear him, too. That you see what he wants, that you hear what he’s saying, and that you’re trying.

“You show me what you think,” you say. “And I—I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, eyes dark. He reaches for you slowly, giving you time to tell him to stop or to pull away, but you don’t. You desperately want him to keep touching you with his safe, patient, cautious hands.

Slowly, you’re pressed back into the sheets. Joel goans, a pained sound that means his back or knees hurt and he won’t admit it.

He settles himself against you, his body fitted against the cradle of your hips. Joel is heavy against you, but comforting. His fingers clench around yours, and for a long moment he just looks at you beneath him, starved eyes skittering across your skin.

“You all right?” He asks gruffly, like there’s something tangled in his chest. “You say it. If you aren’t.”

“I’m okay.”

You reach up and touch his cheek, then the tail of his eyebrow, as he assesses you. He tilts his chin down, brows lowered heavily over his eyes. You can’t exactly blame him for being cautious. You warned him that you were hard work, and he meant it when he said he didn’t mind, that he didn’t think you were. Caring comes naturally for him. “Really. I would say it. I trust you.”

He nods once and your chest hitches when he dips his head and presses his mouth softly against the bee and then the antlers.

The rough feeling of his beard against your skin tingles. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, and you aren’t sure where to put your hands. Joel’s are pressed to your sides, forearms snugly against your body, warm and twitching. You settle on his shoulders, the wide planes of his back, so reassuringly large against your body.

Then, his tongue, firm and soft, slides over your skin. Over the bee and the tips of the antlers strung through with ivy and flowers, over the underside of your breast.

You gasp and arch against him and you suddenly know exactly where you want your hands. You tuck them against the back of his head, threading through the feathery gray strands to keep his mouth against your skin.

Want tightens between your legs, makes your belly ache. Your nipples tighten painfully hard. A whine catches in your throat that you know he hears because he answers you with a low groan of his own against your throat when he sucks a kiss to the underside of your jaw.

It’s overwhelming. You want to push him away and pull him closer. You want to bury yourself inside him and never look into his eyes again. You want this feeling to last forever. You never want Joel to feel lonesome again. You want him to be able to ask for what he wants, to let you give it to him.

Your ex again, flashes through your mind, an unfair comparison. How rarely he’d kissed you, shown you affection, for just the sake of it.

You want you want you want you want—

You want—

“I want you to tattoo the cover up,” you say suddenly. Tears salt that backs of your eyes, tightness itching at the back of your throat. You hitch your knees up around his ribs, fear that he might pull away swimming to the forefront of your mind. It’s dizzying, because your instinct has always been to move away, to put space between you and things that might hurt you. You’ve given Joel so many pieces of you; he could break every part of you, if he really wanted to. “If you still—if you want—I mean—” you stammer.

His head lifts and your thighs clench because you want him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want him to want you as badly as you want him, and that just doesn’t seem possible. Not in all the ways you mean anyway, the kind where you tuck yourself inside his ribs, and into the dark places in his mind, like love letters that will never be sent.

You love him, you think. You love Joel.

It doesn’t feel like enough. The word isn’t big enough to encompass what he makes you feel. The feelings worming around in your chest are expansive, wide as the night sky, splattered with stars and distant galaxies that have yet to be found, let alone described.

“‘Course I want to,” he says easily. “Of course, I will.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask breathlessly.

“If that’s what you want, honey.”

You nod. “It is.” You suspect you could say you wanted him to do it right at that moment, and he’d find a way to make it happen. He’d drive you to his studio in the dark. He’d sit with you until morning bruised the sky, until the peach of the sun dripped sticky sweet down the horizon. “I want you to do it. I want it to be from you.”

“All right,” he agrees. “Tomorrow mornin’ we’ll go and do it.” His hand slides down your side to your hip, then your thigh. “You okay?”

You nod.

“You have to talk to me,” he says. “I ain’t a mind reader.”

“I know,” you admit. “I’m sorry I put so much on you to figure out.”

“That ain’t what I meant.”

“But that’s what you do. You figure me out.”

Joel pats your thigh and then presses the pads of his fingers to the hinge of your jaw. His eyes search yours for a long time, black in the low light of the room.

He kisses you until you start to fall asleep, the lazy press of his lips whispering things you can no longer hear.

Morning dawns bright and warm.

Joel gets up long before you even stir. You’re curled as close to him as you can get without actually touching him, hands tucked beneath your face, lips parted softly. You’d migrated to the center of the bed, taking up space he’s not really keen on reclaiming.

The memory of your skin against his mouth, all the other places on your body he’d like to touch and taste, is like nectar, like the sweet promise of a good dream after a long day. You aren’t ready for that though. Not yet, anyway, and that’s all right.

But he’s only a man, and he’s painfully hard.

Before, you were like a deer he’d accidentally come upon, skating around the rim of his peripheral vision. Now, you’re still doe-eyed and watchful, but you’re closer; you’re relaxed, lying in the shade of trees you trust, at ease.

Your hand twitches toward him when he presses a slow kiss against your temple, the jump of tendon beneath his mouth soothing somehow. He pulls the sheet up and tucks it around your shoulders, because without him next to you the draft from the fan overhead is too cool for you.

He takes care of himself in the bathroom without much fuss, and then feels a little bit guilty for it when you’re sleeping on just the other side of the wall. It wasn’t the first time though, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

In the kitchen, he makes coffee just the way you like it, with a little bit of cinnamon in with the coffee grounds. The coffee creamer you like is sweet, so he sets that out with a spoon next to a pale blue mug, pours himself his own cup, and relocates to the back deck.

The trees at the far edge of the property are still dark and skeletal, the thicket full of shadow and the buzz of night insects.

Even at the end of October, it’s still warm. A breeze ruffles his hair, shakes the nearly naked trees and sends a cascade of brown and orange sifting to the ground. Next month it would cool off, just a little.

He hadn’t told you when his birthday passed in September, that you’d inadvertently spent that day with him. Sarah and Ellie had tried to get him to tell you, but he hadn’t been able to stomach it.

Dread accompanies that day.

It hadn’t always, just since Sarah was little, like his body was braced for a tragedy that would never come. He couldn’t have you be a part of that too, though the girls had pointed out you would eventually notice his lack of a birthday, if you were around long enough.

He’d cross that bridge if he ever came to it. It’s hard to imagine he’d get you for that long.

It doesn’t take long for you to find him. The flood of morning sun has passed the tree line and twists dappled green and yellow circles over the deck. When you push open the back door, you have your cup of coffee in one hand and the neck of the guitar in the other.

He’d have to get you your own. Either that, or make one for you.

“Hey,” you smile at him as you set your steaming cup down on the patio table.

“Mornin’. You sleep okay?”

“Mmm.”

Joel expects you to ask him to play, but you settle down in the chair next to his, your bare knee pressed against his, and adjust the instrument in your lap.

The sound is clumsy, but beautiful and careful, when you play. Joel’s glad he decided to teach you. He just listens and watches you. Your expression is thoughtful but closed, like you’re somewhere else. That’s how he thinks too, music in hand, mind far away. He likes that look on you, until you suddenly pause and glance up. You watch him for a long moment with those doe eyes of yours, folding your arms around the body of the guitar.

You lick your lips and his eyes flick briefly to your mouth, the plush curve of your lower lip. He hadn’t kissed you good morning. “I want to figure you out too, you know,” you say.

You hold his gaze for just a second before dropping your eyes to the wooden floorboards instead, fidgeting like you’re repressing the urge to curl in on yourself, fold yourself away. “You got me all figured out, honey,” he assures you.

You shake your head and lift your eyes again, tapping your nails against the wood. “You—” you pause and swallow, “You’re allowed to want things from me, Joel.”

Something falls in his chest, like he’s missed the last step on a long staircase, gravity turned against him.

His heart lurches up into his mouth, tangy with some unknown fear. “I do. Trust me, I do.”

“Why don’t you ask?”

“Honey—”

“I know,” you say softly. “I know. I know how I am and how—” you stop and flounder, frustrated for a moment. “I know I’m not easy to ask. But you. . . I don’t feel that way with you anymore; I’m not afraid anymore. And I want to be enough for you. I hope I’m not too slow about it.” You look away again. “I want you to know you can call on me, too, Joel.”

He clears his throat but the tightness doesn’t go away. “You could never take too long. I don’t mind waitin’.”

“But?”

But, he’s bad at this.

But, he loves too hard, cares too much.

But, part of him is convinced that the loneliness is deserved. Everyone seems to leave him, someway or another. He’s just preparing early for it this time. He’s never held onto a romantic relationship before, so why should this one be any different than all the ones that came before it?

He doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t want; he gives and cares and that’s why people stay. It really doesn’t have all that much to do with him, or what he wants.

“But you don’t want anything from me?” You ask, your voice noticeably smaller, and the warm morning suddenly feels cold.

“It ain’t that.” He should say more, but nothing else comes out, words trapped like moths inside a lamp.

You swallow and nod, like you’re battering back your instinct to flee, to think the worst. You’ve come so far and it’s hard not to feel a little pride, that you stay, that you aren’t worried, not usually, that he’ll hurt you someway. He’s reminded of the first day he’d tattooed you, how one misplaced word was enough to have you jumping to your feet, fretful and afraid. “I like spending time with you. I like touching you. I can give that to you.”

He doesn’t answer and you eventually continue. “You can’t protect me from the whole wide world. Not even from you. I’m making a choice. To be here with you.” And he knows you’ve seen much more than he wanted you to, that you’ve seen the interior of him, bleeding red, splattered onto everything he touches. You’ve seen the want, the need, and you’re still here.

He’s still not sure letting you care wouldn’t end with you leaving. But he doesn’t see what other choice he has.

“Okay. But you promise me somethin’,” he says. “Just one thing and I’ll try.”

You tilt your head, the picture of a curious little doe, almost nosy, peering into unfamiliar woods. “What?” You ask, looking away as you set the guitar aside.

“If you ever want somethin’ better for yourself. You tell me. And you go.”

Your eyes snap back to his, mouth parted in shock. “Joel—”

“I’m serious,” he snaps and you recoil a little, hurt in your eyes. “You deserve better’n this. Better than a lonely old man.”

You shoot up from your seat in a rare show of anger. And that surge of pride hits him squarely in the chest again. He’s proud of you for that. For standing up for yourself, for letting yourself be angry with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your voice doesn’t raise in volume, but it is waspish, venom laced. “Better? What’s better for me than you?”

“Honey,” he says, softens his voice. “Just ‘cause you opened up with me, don’t mean I think I get to keep you.”

Your shoulders loosen and you step closer. When you reach out, God help him, he leans into your hand.

Gentle fingertips run along his shoulders, bite into the knot at the top of his spine. “Keep me,” you scoff lightly. “I want you to keep me.”

You don’t protest when he winds an arm around your waist and tugs you down into his lap. You’re warm and soft and frowning so hard at him. There’s a divot between your eyes that he wants to press his thumb over, to smooth away. Instead he takes your wrist in his hand and traces the tattoo on your forearm. “You’re the only one who’s ever wondered if they should,” you say. “You aren’t keeping anything. I’m giving you something no one else ever even tried to earn.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, a hot fist around his words. He’d rather walk away, not talk about it, not talk about himself. But that would break all that hard won trust.

“I just can’t have you feelin’ like I’m your problem,” he admits, voice graveled and scraping. “Like I’m holdin’ you down.”

“It’s okay to need people,” you answer, ignoring him. “I want to take care of you too. I want to be here with you.” You slide your hand over his shoulder again. “Even if it's just like this. Especially if it's just like this.” You scratch your fingers through his hair. Sun spills around your shoulders, blinds him when he looks up at you. “I know how much you like it. And you can tell me when you need something. I’m still learning your tells.”

He chuckles at that, let’s you keep touching him, because he does want it and you don’t seem to mind so much that he’s just some lonely man. “All right,” he runs his hand up your thigh to your hip. “Promise me anyway.”

“I promise,” you say. “To learn your tells.”

You make breakfast without burning anything, while Joel watches, hip leaned against the counter. His smile is soft, affectionate.

Warmth balloons in your chest, bursts in your veins like champagne bubbles. You managed to reassure him, you managed to say what you want without feeling bad about it.

“Lonely old man,” you burst out with a laugh. “I’m lonely and old.”

Joel rolls his eyes when you dig your elbow into his side. “You ain’t old.”

“Neither are you.”

Joel buys you coffee from the little cafe you always stopped at before visiting him at the studio. He drives with his hand in yours. He opens the passenger side door for you and gestures you ahead of him into the studio.

After going through the usual motions of disinfecting and sanitizing and picking one of the many, many, many coverup designs he’d sketched for you and getting the stencil on right, you find yourself in much the same position as the first time you got tattooed by Joel.

Joel isn’t talking. He’s taking his time looking you over, intense and careful and muttering about that bastard that had dared lay his hands on you. He’s meticulous in everything he does, but especially when it concerns someone he cares about, when it comes to you.

You’re lying down, studying the side of his face. He touches you without asking, and you don’t flinch once. The memory of his body against yours sends a flushed heat over your skin. Your scalp tingles with it, your toes curl with it.

He finally seems satisfied after a few long minutes, his hand on the curve of your elbow. You nod your consent when he looks at you, tattoo gun poised in his other hand over your shoulder. “Sure?”

“Never been surer.” You smile and then cover the hand resting on your elbow. He gives, you give back. “You don’t like it when I say thank you.”

“I don’t,” he grunts. There's a blush beneath his beard.

You sweep your thumb against his knuckles, and think about how different that first time had been. Joel had reassured you, gave you a physical anchor you hadn’t known you needed, kind and steady and already lodged somewhere deep inside your heart.

Now you can give that back to him.

“Okay.”

But he knows. You know he hears it anyway.

Still, you want to say it.

“Thank you, baby. For giving me back to myself.”

He leans over you, and you tilt your chin up so he can kiss you.

“Couple sessions, okay?” He croaks when he pulls away. “Don’t want to wear ya out.”

There is nowhere in the world you’d rather be.

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #honeyed fic

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yukidragon · 4 months

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Sunny Day Jack - Drunk Headcanons

First ramble of the new year. Whoo! I was considering what would be fitting, then I wound up thinking about all the drinking that happens at New Years’ parties and figured, why not go with some drunken headcanons?

Content warning: this post contains talk of drinking, negative experiences with drinking, being drunk, and maybe some smut as well.

Talking about drunk headcanons also gives me the excuse to break out the drunk Jack art drawn by the ever awesome Sauce, since it’s very relevant. Credit as always goes to them for their amazing work and for being cool with me using their art in my rambles about the awesome characters they’ve created.

Isn’t Jack such a cute drunk? Funny how he’s only drunk when MC is though… possibly. After all, pictures like these don’t technically count as canon unless they’re in the game or on one of the official Sunny Day Jack pages, which you can find conveniently listed here.

Speaking of, why not consider supporting the SnaccPop Studios Patreon? If you sign up, you’ll get to see all sorts of exclusive pieces of art and sneak peeks at the lore, as well as amazing audio dramas. It’s well worth joining, in my humble opinion. Just remember to please not share anything privately posted on the patreon. Reposting paid content only hurts the team.

Anyway, back to the topic of drunk Jack, and specifically the teaser art by Sauce that may or may not be canon still.

I’ve talked about this picture before, particularly what it suggests for Jack’s powers, how it probably means he can be influenced by MC’s hormones, and how much he might be affected by MC’s state of being and vice-versa. To summarize, I believe that Jack and MC can sense how the other is feeling, both physically and emotionally, but it’s not quite as strong as the other is experiencing it, and it can be blocked out or minimized. I’ve alluded to it in Sunshine in Hell, as well as some of my short stories, especially the one where Alice is in a lot of pain.

So, as this picture suggests, if MC gets drunk, Jack does too. It makes me wonder though if he broke character and drank alcohol, he could be the one to get both of them drunk instead? The possibilities of these implications, canon to the game or not, are quite intriguing.

Of course, we can’t talk about drunk headcanons without considering what kind of drunk Jack and the rest of the crew might be. As they say, drunk words are sober thoughts, and alcohol does lower inhibitions…

Naturally, it’s kind of dangerous for a yandere character to be drunk. Self-control would be lessened, if not thrown out the window entirely if he’s totally hammered. I think Jack would be a clingy sort of drunk, hanging off his sunshine, shamelessly needing their warmth and reassurance that they love him and need him just as badly. He’s also a possessive and protective drunk, not wanting anyone else near MC. He’d probably insist on carrying them around everywhere even while he’s stumbling, though it’d take one near fall for him to decide that sitting with them in his lap is the better option. He needs to keep them safe, keep them close.

If you think Jack can be clingy normally, he is like glue when drunk, or at least I think so. Even if he was dutifully staying home like MC wanted them, once the drinks hit him through their connection, he’s got to be with them, no matter where they are. Suddenly there’s a clown in the club or party checking to see if they’re okay and wanting to take them home, hanging off them like a big warm blanket while trying to convince them to go and keep them safe from anyone that might take advantage of them.

Once agreeing to leave, Jack would probably forget about any implications or issues that might arise from carrying MC in a crowd of people. Hopefully no one is sober enough to film anything that might complicate things when he’s whisking MC away off into the night. He’s certainly not in any state to really consider consequences.

Well, maybe if they’re lucky any such videos would be assumed to be hoaxes. There’s certainly no shortage of fake “ghost” videos online. Maybe Shaun could use it to promote an upcoming movie…

Of course, if the relationship between MC and Jack is rocky, his desperation is cranked up while drunk. He needs them so, so badly.

Worse, if MC is getting physical with someone else, showing them love instead of him… Jack might not be able to hold back his yandere impulses to make sure that no one steals his sunshine away. He’d certainly have a lot of work to do once sober to convince his sunshine that he was just protecting them from being taken advantage of while drunk, especially if things escalated to outright violence. The level of intoxication, and the intensity of the moment would likely decide how far things might spiral.

Of course, you know me and how much of a sucker I am for my OTP being happy, so let’s swing back around to the fluffier extreme. If MC and Jack are in a relationship, that’s when Jack is drunkenly telling them how much he loves them, and that they should just go home together. There’s not even a token resistance to hold back his true feelings for them. He’s already got them whisked up in his arms, kissing and murmuring sweet words of love. MC is going to have a pretty hard time talking Jack into letting them stay, especially when they’d be more drunk than he is.

Naturally, the type of drunk MC becomes would affect things. Since there are way too many variables there, let’s use that as a segue to how my MC Alice is like when drunk. She’s not the biggest fan of alcohol, disliking beer, and only drinking sweet flavored mixed drinks socially before the breakup with Ian. Even then, it was rare that she got drunk at all.

After the breakup, the idea of drinking scares Alice, especially to the point of being drunk. She almost died after all. As such, the only way she’s getting sloshed in the present day is if she’s unaware that what she’s consuming has alcohol in it until it’s too late.

It’s kind of a shame, as Alice is a giggly, affectionate drunk. She stops caring about people around them and just wants to cling to her partner, giggling between kisses, occasionally gnawing on them or licking them playfully and saying silly things. Ian got quite embarrassed by how overly affectionate she was the few times she got tipsy when they were out with friends, though he certainly enjoyed the attention.

Needless to say, when Alice got drunk after finding out Ian cheated, she was anything but giggly or affectionate. Though the less said about that the better for now. Let’s keep this to fun headcanons, shall we?

Alice is also affectionate to her friends when drunk, telling them that she loves them, giving big hugs and saying what she loves about them. It was very hard on Shaun’s heart the one time he was around when Alice was drunk. She glomped onto him and told him she loved him soooooooooooo much while giggling happily~!

Of course, it was cut into by Ian crying because he was also drunk and thus more sensitive to things, so Alice went over to reassure him that she loved him mostest of all. It was a hard night for Shaun to be the sober driver.

Jack would sadly not get to experience this side of Alice. At least, not under normal circumstances. Knowing she doesn’t drink and isn’t comfortable even drinking a little bit, the moment he felt her get drunk, his protective instincts would kick into overdrive. What if someone spiked her drink? What if they had awful intentions? Even if he found out it was an innocent mistake, probably even a mixup, he would still be very concerned about her.

Well… until Alice latches onto Jack, squeezing him tight in a big hug as she tells him that she loves him. Oh how his heart would feel ready to burst, especially if they’re not together yet at the time. He longed to hear those words from her for so long… it’s just a shame that she’s saying them while drunk. Still, you better believe that his tipsy butt is going to tell her he loves her too. That would send Alice into a fit of happy giggles as she snuggles into his chest, since, let’s face it, her guilty impulses are on full display and his chest has always felt so nice and soft to cuddle.

Jack would be struggling to hold himself back and retain some sense of sobriety, to not ruin things, but it’s so hard when Alice is being so affectionate with him. Yet, he worries that her love for him isn’t the same as the love he feels for her. This is especially true if she was hugging and loving on other friends when he showed up.

Of course, even while drunk, Alice wouldn’t be open to physical contact with just anybody, only those she trusts. Being touched by someone she doesn’t know/trust would result in her fleeing to her nearest trusted friend/loved one to hide behind them, maybe even insisting they protect herrrr, and telling the person who tried to touch her to go away! Shoo! Shoo!

Naturally, if Alice was drunk while she and Jack were a couple, it would be a very strange sight for anyone else there to see her cuddling up to thin air, kissing, licking, gnawing, etc. It’d be even more outrageous to see her scooped up into the air! Hopefully Shaun isn’t there to see it and have his heart broken further. Though if he was around while Alice was drunk, and he was still sober, he would be getting her to drink water and getting her out of there since he knows she doesn’t want to drink alcohol anymore. So he’d be stepping in to help her out until Jack swooped in to steal Alice away from him… again.

Speaking of Shaun, he strikes me as a giggly drunk as well. Though he turns it more into a performance. He’s talking about stories he knows to anyone who will listen. Or anyone who is not listening, since he’d be drunk off his butt. I’m talking grand gestures, booming voice, passion thrown into it as he cries over touching moments in a movie he saw, or what he was directing. Oh, his actors killed it in the beach scene! He’ll tell you all about it, then get interrupted by a different thought halfway through the story, probably something he thinks will be a good idea for another film that he has to scribble onto a napkin. Of course, it becomes a weird scrawl that’s barely legible and makes no sense, but it was certainly exciting to him in the moment!

Of course, Shaun enjoys a good buzz. It makes him want to purr, so it’s a good tell for when he’s getting tipsy. He’s very responsible when he’s the designated sober person, but when he’s ready to cut loose, he’s a tomcat ready to play!

While Shaun is a more bubbly and fun drunk, I think that Ian is the opposite. When he has a nice buzz, he feels pretty good, but when it goes too far and he starts getting drunk… that’s when everything goes downhill. This cropped picture drawn by Sauce makes me think that when Ian gets drunk, that’s when his guilt and self-loathing hits him hard.

Poor guy needs therapy. Also, if you want to see the full picture, which is very NSFW, check it out over on Sauce’s twitter. While you’re there, send them some love for all their amazing art and characters!

I think Ian needs constant reassurance while drunk, especially from his partner. He clings to MC and feels lonely even if they’re a foot away from him. He cries at the drop of a hat, even for silly things like how tragic that is that snakes don’t have legs. Why don't they have legs? It's unfair! He’s going to be needing help not to get dehydrated from all the crying and the alcohol, and his hangover the next day is a bitch.

Needless to say, when Ian and Alice were drunk together, it was a very mushy scene. Ian would be down on himself, then Alice would smoosh his cheeks and tell him to listen to her because he is a prince. Prince Charming! No one else is better. That’d get the waterworks going, and he’d cling to her, crying. She would then start kissing his tears away.

I figure this too also happened when Shaun was around because I’m very mean with the guy and his unrequited crush. Sorry, Shaun, but it’s just too much fun teasing you, haha. Don’t worry though, he’s going to find his own happy ending in Sunshine in Hell with a partner or two who love him more than anything else in the world. Eventually.

On that note, let’s move on to the final love interest, Nick. Nick strikes me as someone who is very smooth when tipsy, but an absolute mess when sloshed. The filter is gone. He’s got opinions, and by God is he going to give them, even if they don’t really make sense. He especially has strong opinions about bad BDSM. That popular book series they made a movie about called, what was it again, 500 shades of fucked up or something? That is not BDSM. That’s abuse pretending to be BDSM. Do you have any idea what that mess has done to the BDSM community and how many people have done stupid things because of it? And don’t get him started on what an awful idea it is to tie someone up with rope from a hardware store of all places!

I see Nick as the type to start recording himself once his inhibitions are dropped. The people need to know! His thoughts have to get out there! His followers need to know the truth! This is why he makes sure that he has to put in several passwords before he can actually upload anything. He learned his lesson that he can’t trust drunk Nick with his socials the hard way. The fans are still making memes and using clips out of context from that embarrassing old video. At least he bounced back from it by joking about it even if inside he’s still dying of mortification.

Speaking of a drunk with complaints, I had the image of Barry really unloading all his grievances when he’s drunk. Fortunately, he knows better than to get sloshed with any of his employees, but if he did, they’d have a hard time escaping from him insisting that he knows what’s wrong with the service industry and customers and how the hell did his latest marketing gimmick fail?! Can’t they see how cute the new mascot is? He paid way too much to the graphic designer! Do you know what artists charge nowadays? It’s highway robbery!

Since we’re going into employees of Yogurtopia, why don’t I touch real quick on the other people on staff who I expanded upon a little in my earliest headcanon posts? Things have changed since then of course, such as the boss having an actual name now. Needless to say, I’m not going with what I came up with for that post, but let’s do a little rapid fire mode with the rest of the employees I want to use for Sunshine in Hell.

Carol is a flirty drunk, which is a big problem if she’s actually in a committed relationship at the time and the person she’s flirting with isn’t her partner. Though I’m sure she’d give her partner permission ahead of time to have sloppy drunken makeouts and sex with her.

Liz isn’t really a drinker so much as a stoner. Though if drunk they would be doodling on napkins and finding the ceiling tiles fascinating.

Susan is underage and isn’t much for breaking the rules, so it’ll be a few years yet before she’d have to worry about how she’d be as a drunk.

I know I haven’t touched on these characters a lot, but I figured why not expand on them when I can, even in small ways. If nothing else, it should make it easier for me to come up with more ideas of what parts they could play in the bigger picture of Sunshine in Hell.

Speaking of my OCs, why don’t I touch on the rest of the King family while I’m at it?

Mama Lycoris enjoys herself a nice glass of wine with good company, most notably her husband, whose name is still undecided. (I’ve narrowed it down to Eden, Seb, Luan, Yuri, or Heliotrope. Picking character names is hard sometimes.) It’s rare for her to get drunk, but when she does, she seeks out her husband, even if she just lost track of him for being out of sight. She’s the type to do the meme where she’s crying while texting them that she misses them while he was just in the bathroom. Once she finds them, she’s crawling in his lap telling them how much she loves him~

Papa King usually is the sober one at a party, embarrassed by his wife loving on them when she’s tipsy. Sometimes Lycoris pretends to be tipsy just to get him flustered. They do occasionally have a glass for a special occasion, like toasting at his anniversary or a special holiday. When drunk, they’re a sleepy sort of drunk, pretty out of it and just off in his own little happy world. They haven’t yet been drunk before though, or even gotten tipsy, as he drinks very responsibly.

Barbie isn’t one for drinking, even socially. Though that’s probably not surprising considering she’s not a very social person. If she did get drunk though, she’d be a mean drunk, eyeballing anyone who looks at her funny and ready to jump into any excuse to fight. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t drink!

Though, I suppose if Barbie was drunk around Bo, she’ll probably let her dom side out more, ordering him around and getting a bit rough with him. Good thing Bo is a big strong alpha and can’t get drunk due to being an AI, so he’ll be able to take care of his puppy even when she’s gone a bit feral due to alcohol.

Coraline also doesn’t drink, but that’s because she can’t due to medical reasons. It interferes with her prescription medications, so it’s probably best if she sticks with non-alcoholic beverages. If she did get drunk, however, she would probably be similar to her father, being off in her own little world, looking at things as if they were fascinating. She would probably be very keenly interested in holding Elias’ head and examining his neck stump up close, which I’m sure her poor groom wouldn’t quite be comfortable with. He would have to make sure to redirect her focus elsewhere until she sobered up.

Of course, I can’t just end things there. I haven’t gushed nearly enough about Jack and Alice having some drunk shenanigans in a more specific sort of scenario. It might turn into some writing, or it might not, but it’s my post, and I can ramble on longer about my OTP if I want to.

As I said earlier, Jack would be very concerned upon noticing that he’s starting to get tipsy. At first he would probably be confused as to how lightheaded he is, until he realizes that it’s because of his sunshine’s influence. The immediate order of business after that is to find Alice and check to see if she’s okay. With lower inhibitions, it would be hard for him not to worry that someone spiked her drink or something.

While someone spiking Alice’s drink would make for some interesting drama, and a target for Jack to go yandere on for taking advantage of his sunshine… I think I’ll stick with something more innocent for this post and say that there was a mixup with her drink or Alice was unaware something someone brought at the party’s potluck had a high alcohol content until it was too late.

Though if y’all want me to chase that darker and more dramatic plot bunny of Alice getting her drink spiked by some unscrupulous character, and Jack has to save her, do let me know~ ;3

Back to the lighter scenario. While it is intriguing to imagine how torn Jack would be if Alice is loving on him while they’re not together, and she means tells him she loves him in a clearly platonic way, which wrenches his heart… At the moment, I’m more drawn to how much of a cock block it’d be for him if Alice was getting frisky with her affection and turning Jack on, forcing him to hold back his urges and stay responsible even though what he wants to do is take her and fill her with his love until her legs are too wobbly to allow her to stand anymore. He might be tipsy too, but she’s outright drunk, and he’s not going to take advantage of his sunshine in an inebriated state!

Of course, Jack’s first order of business is to get Alice home. It doesn’t matter if they’re in the middle of a party full of people, he’s carrying his sunshine home. Alice doesn’t protest being scooped up by her boyfriend, just giggling in delight before peppering his cheek and neck with kisses now that she’s in range. She also makes sure to tell Jack how she just loves him so, so, so, so, soooooo much~!

Jack does try to be discreet in getting Alice away from the party. He might be pretty tipsy, and his steps a little unsteady, but he needs to protect his sunshine. He needs to take care of her, be responsible. It’s what he’s there for after all.

It’s just a little hard for Jack to focus on walking straight when Alice keeps nipping at his skin. Her giggling tickles his ear too, and it’s hard for him not to melt when she tells him she loves him and that he tastes so sweet.

Having a hardon would also make it difficult for Jack to focus on walking straight. Poor guy. Alice doesn’t think about what she’s doing as she keeps kissing, licking, and nibbling on him, her hands wandering and squeezing his chest despite him trying to gently redirect her attention. He needs her to stop, since he can’t focus, but at the same time he really wants her to continue.

The first order of business once they get back home is to make sure Alice sobers up with some water and food. By the time they’re home, Jack feels like he’s going to go crazy. Like her drunkenness affected him, his horniness affects her, and those playful affections become more lusty as her inhibitions are lowered and the idea of teasing Jack and making him feel good becomes more and more appealing. Eventually it gets to the point that she’s being much more blatant in her teasing, such as tracing his nipples through his shirt with her fingers. Maybe even copping a feel lower down when they’re at the apartment and teasing him about the bulge in his pants.

Needless to say, Jack would be having a very hard time holding himself back. It’d almost be a relief when Alice abruptly nods off due to the alcohol. Of course, he’d have to give himself some real relief, imagining what it would’ve been like if she had sobered up so they could continue. All the while, he’s also swearing to himself that in the morning - provided Alice wasn’t in pain from a hangover - he was going to pay her back for all the love and affection she showed him tonight in spades.

The next morning, Alice is indeed hungover, though not quite as bad as she would’ve been if Jack didn’t have her eat and drink something last night. Of course, Jack is kind and cheerful, endlessly gentle and supportive of her, giving her some painkillers and making her a nice, mild breakfast. She remembers what she did last night and is too embarrassed to talk about it, just thanking Jack for helping her get home.

Though past the embarrassment, fear would slowly build as Alice woke up more and it sunk in how easy it was for her to accidentally get drunk at the party. It was so easy for her to lose control… for something to happen… Jack picks up on her worries right away and reassures her that he’ll always be there to take care of her and keep her safe. He’ll always protect her and make sure nothing bad happens to her. He made sure she got home safely last night, after all.

Jack won’t ever let Alice suffer through anything as awful as the night Ian broke her heart ever again.

Some reassurance and cuddles goes a long way, and Alice is able to let go of her fear and embarrassment to just appreciate how much Jack cares for her and takes care of her, even when the unexpected happens. She melts into his soft and reassuring kisses that soon turn hot and steamy. Suddenly the breakfast dishes are off the table, and she’s the one getting eaten by her very pent up boyfriend.

You better believe that Jack planned to feed Alice then do the deed with her as soon as possible. The moment she shows that she’s receptive to his affection, he starts enacting all the naughty fantasies that he had while giving himself relief the night before, making sure that Alice is the one being driven crazy this time. He won’t rest until she’s begging for him to make love to her. Repeatedly.

Needless to say, if Alice has work that day, she’s missing it. Jack would’ve turned her phone off after sending a text that she’s sick, just in case. There’s no way Jack is letting Barry cockblock him again. Not after he spent a night getting blueballed by a too sexy sunshine that was too drunk to make love to.

Fortunately, in the light of day and fully sober enough to consent, Jack gets to enjoy every inch of Alice, as well as a nice memory of just how fun and affectionate she gets when her inhibitions are lowered. He also has a goal to strive for, to encourage his sunshine to feel freer with him like that when they’re both fully sober so that they can enjoy every second of their lovemaking.

Well, I think that’s a good place to wrap up these drunken headcanons for now. I hope you enjoyed the silliness. It seemed like a good way to start off the year, and it certainly would be a fun start of the new year for these two!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Sauce-y Art

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belphegorbillickin · 1 year

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Obey Me! Love Languages (+Side Characters)

(CW!): Yandere-ish behavior in the Levi, Diavolo, and Belphie sections. Diavolo is the worst out of the three.

Lucifer:

Nothing makes Lucifer much happier than simply spending time alone together, especially in bed.

(He practically jumps you every Devilgram I swear.)

He's more than willing to keep chaste if that's what you prefer though. Lucifer cherishes any and all time you spend with him.

He prefers to go somewhere private with you, where he can let his guard down completely and tell you exactly how much he appreciates you, but he enjoys calmer, more "mature" dates as well.

You don't even have to talk to each other, simply spending time together makes his (shriveled, blackened) heart swell and tension ease.

Although if you'd like to completely remove his tension…

(Have I mentioned that this man is even more desperate than Mammon and Asmo combined? Give this ancient babygirl a hug and a back massage.)

You may or may not be as busy as he is, but he still sees you being willing to spend what little time you both have together as a big gesture.

It certainly is for him at least, as he's far too busy to entertain someone he doesn't truly care for.

It may sound odd coming from an effectively "ageless" being, but time is honestly his most limited resource.

Lucifer's too much of a perfectionist and control freak to let you do anything big, but he deeply appreciates anything you do to make his life easier.

Even something as small as bringing him breathtakingly bitter hell coffee or a pen he forgot brightens his day considerably.

Of course, being the Avatar of Pride, he's more than happy to receive any and all compliments you give him.

They're not exactly uncommon, but he feels they sound so much sweeter coming from your lips.

(Lips he would love to kiss if you'd just let him…)

You know you've made it when Lucifer allows you to see his vulnerable side and trusts you enough to ask for help with the more serious, complicated tasks.

Something no other human, demon, or angel, will likely ever have the privilege of experiencing.

Mammon:

It's canonically stated that whoever he loves is showered in riches, and I don't believe it's just from his latent power.

What better way for the avatar of greed to show he loves you than to be selfless and give you what's his?

Anything that reminds him of you is already in his hands before he can even think about it, paid for or not.

It can be something as simple as a pretty flower or a giant piece of furniture he thinks you'll look great relaxing in.

It's a shame it won't fit in your room, but that just means you'll have to come visit him in his more often. He totally didn't plan that though! (You know he did.)

He's also a huge showboat and always tries to go for the most extravagant options even if it doesn't actually add anything either of y'all would like.

Mammon was already pretty horrible at budgeting, but after becoming infatuated with you it's almost like he's actively trying to get into a ridiculous amount of debt with everyone.

It's only because he desperately wants to impress you and show how much you mean to him, by any and all means possible.

Of course Mammon would love to receive some gifts in turn, but I feel like, unless they were homemade or otherwise really special, he'd start to take it for granted and complain when it's not expensive enough.

It's not that he means to take advantage of you or doesn't appreciate it, but he is the Avatar of Greed after all, and you're feeding into it.

What really makes him feel loved is when you defend him publicly and happily turn down the others to spend more time with him.

He doesn't mean it in a nasty way unlike some demons, *cough* *cough* Levi & Belphie, but the way his brothers have treated him has worn on him a bit.

You know you've made it when Mammon finally feels secure enough to say he loves you with zero hesitation.

Alone, in front of his brothers, even in front of Simeon and Diavolo and the others. He'll scream it from the rooftops if you want him to.

Leviathan:

Leviathan is actually very generous. He's offered to buy things for his brothers and MC surprisingly often.

It makes sense in a way, as he doesn't really have to do much to maintain it. He can just drop the gift and run when he's nervous, rather than having to stay still while holding your hand or possibly tripping over his words and getting rejected when he tries to say something nice.

I bet he feels as though even if someone didn't like him they would at least like the gift, and then maybe they'll eventually like the source of all the gifts as well.

I could definitely see Levi trying to "buy" your love even if he doesn't realize it.

He's also very helpful when he wants to be, Satan even listed him as his most reliable brother.

It makes him feel good to do things for other people and again, he feels like maybe people will like what he does for them even if they don't like him the same way.

It's not as though he hates compliments and any other loving comments, but he's never really going to believe them until you've already "proven it" through your other actions.

If anything it has a very high chance of backfiring if that's your main way of showing affection, especially if you're a kind person in general.

Levi has got a nasty habit of twisting everyone's words against them and he's not gonna kick it anytime soon, regardless of any reassurance you give him.

His insecurities are far too deeply rooted and connected to his very existence as the Avatar of Envy to be soothed so easily.

Even gifts are a much better way into his heart, if you take the time to research his collection and support his hobbies that is.

Not only did you take the time to listen to what he says, but you spent all that time and effort tracking it down, waiting in line, or staying at the website refreshing repeatedly until you could buy it.

It shows him you're fully supportive and not embarrassed to be seen as a "weeb." That you won't pretend to not know him in public when he freaks out the latest Ruri-chan merch and proudly displays it on his person.

What really makes Leviathan believe you love him is getting jealous over him and turning down the others to be with him.

Especially if you made plans with them first and then ditched them for Levi when he threw a fit.

It's very mean-spirited, unlike Mammon who mostly wants reassurance. As Leviathan actually wants to feel them hurting, but again, he's a demon and The Avatar of Envy at that. Take the most jealous, unreasonable, and controlling person you know and multiple it by a thousand. That's what he has to deal with in his head 24/7, and though he does a very admirable job of keeping them as thoughts rather than actions, it's still a very heavy strain and things do slip out.

Levi will end up throwing a fit if you try to restrict his Ruri or TSL time out of jealousy, but any H-games and etc. are fair game so long as you promise to pick up the slack.

He'll even stop going to idol meet and greets for you, but it's only fair you start restricting your time with other people (including his brothers) in return, right? Right?

…Yeah, good luck handling that.

You know you've made it when Leviathan feels confident enough to regularly initiate physical contact and casually ask for your time and affection.

It's not that he doesn't like it, he's completely touch starved and has been fantasizing about initiating for a while, it's that he's completely sure he'll be rejected or mess it up somehow.

Or that it'll become overstimulating and he'll hurt your feelings by abruptly breaking it off when it suddenly becomes too much.

It means that you've brought his self-esteem up quite a bit, that Leviathan finally trusts that you won't suddenly make fun of him. That you actually like him for who he is and not in spite of it.

Satan:

Satan likes to show his love through gifts, acts of service, and the occasional sprinkle of affectionate words. Possibly even through poetry he wrote himself. He wants to show you that he's the superior choice. The reliable, practical, and in-the-know choice without being too stuffy and uptight, unlike some people. *cough* Lucifer *cough*

He also prides himself on his knowledge, and would be very eager to share said knowledge with you.

Feel free to ask him about any topic you want, chances are he at least knows a good book for it. If he somehow doesn't, then he'll gladly try to find one for you.

Just don't expect him to do your coursework or any other intellectual work for you. As much as Satan loves to be useful, he values self-sufficiency and growth even more.

He just can't understand wanting to cheat yourself out of a possible learning experience, and only wants the best for you.

What makes him feel loved is when you acknowledge his flaws but don't make excuses or demonize him for them.

When you don't push too hard for him to open up or spend all of his time with you, and instead set a schedule of sorts so the two of you always have at least some time together without it becoming too much.

He's not the biggest fan of physical contact though, as the circumstances of his "birth" meant that non-violent contact was rare until he finally calmed down and repaired the few relationships that he had. Truth be told, he also a bit afraid of hurting you. Satan's afraid that he'll instinctively lash out when you touch him suddenly, or that he'll hold on too tightly when he goes to touch you himself. You'd never know it now, the way he handles his centuries old books and week old kittens, but Satan is not gentle by nature. He won't shove you away or anything, but he will tense up and never initiate "pointless" physical contact even if he knows you love it until you let him approach it at his own pace.

You know you've made it when Satan finally opens up and doesn't avoid talking about his insecurities and weak points, or feel as though he's competing with Lucifer for your affection anymore.

When he feels free to act as he would like to instead of trying to compensate for his inexperience by imitating romance novels. When Satan doesn't feel as though he has to hide his purely demonic upbringing and everything that comes with it in fear of intimidating or scaring you off.

Asmodeus:

I feel like Asmodeus' love languages are pretty obvious, as in he absolutely adores all of them, as he's got so much affection to give and is plenty eager to receive.

He especially loves spoiling you and dressing you up. It's as much for his benefit as it is yours.

It's the same with all the pictures he takes of the two of you. He considers himself very generous indeed for sharing your beauty with the world instead of keeping it to himself, unlike some people.

Asmo will tell you as much himself, in fact, he never grows tired of describing your beauty in every possible way he could.

You can't go more than a day without him comparing at least one aspect of you to some beloved art piece or wonder of nature.

And of course, you can't forget the physical affection. Asmo lives for the chance to run his fingers along your skin and drape himself across you.

Platonically, romantically, sexually, it's all amazing to him.

He also finds testing out all sorts of creams and lotions on you incredibly intimate and relaxing, despite always preferring to be the one being pampered before.

You know you've made it when Asmodeus allows you to see him at his "ugliest," whether that be physically or emotionally, and trusts that you won't leave him for it.

When he feels like you would still be with him even if he never did anything sexual again.

It may or may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but Asmodeus is incredibly insecure deep down.

He can't help but feel like he'll never be as loved as he was back in heaven all those years ago, and certainly not for the same reasons.

What Asmodeus needs is someone who will prove that wrong, that sees him as something more than to look at and get off with.

Beelzebub:

"You didn't get me a snack? It's okay. I don't mind being stuck with you forever." (Slightly Used Handcuff Item - 2020 Valentine's Event)

Beelzebub makes it extremely obvious that what he wants more than anything is just to enjoy being by your side.

You don't have to do anything special or even talk, just showing that you're willing to spend time with him is proof enough of your love.

It's also how he shows affection. Like how even though he's not that interested in anime or video games, and Levi usually doesn't let him play (thanks to his messy eating and sticky hands,) Beel still goes into Levi's room surprisingly often.

Honestly, I'm not convinced part of it isn't at least partially from PTSD as well.

Beelzebub feels the need to stay by your side so that he can always be there to take the hit for you.

So that he can see you're still here with his own two eyes and not permanently gone the second he turns around.

What really makes him feel loved is when you look out for his emotional well-being and refuse to let him put himself last.

When you don't take his self-sacrificing ways for granted or come to expect them.

It doesn't matter how you show your appreciation, he's grateful for anything you give him, so long as you do it.

He is a bit insecure however. Both about his behavior and his appearance, as surprising as that may be to anyone who's seen him.

His demon form is associated with something most humans find disgusting after all. So he really appreciates any way you try to reassure him about it.

You know you've made it when Beelzebub is consistently willing to share his food with you.

Beelzebub arguably has the worst control over his sin and readily admits it. Belphie is the only other person he'd ever really share his own food with, and even then not all of it all the time.

But the ultimate test is when he's willing to go against Belphegor for you, even if it's just not immediately agreeing with everything he says.

Beelzebub feels very indebted to Belphie, no matter how many times he tells him it's fine Beel still feels like he has to do any and everything to make up for it.

So if he's willing to go against that, willing to risk upsetting Belphie, it means that you mean everything to him.

Belphegor:

Belphie's all about physical touch and quality time. Both in the sense of spending all of your time with him, and in the sense of not spending that time with anyone else, except Beel of course.

Not just cuddling in bed or taking naps together, but holding hands, letting him lean against you, and kissing are all things Belphie also really enjoys, and expects.

Despite getting embarrassed fairly easily by some of his brothers at times, it's almost impossible to ignore PDA when you lean into it like that, and he's desperate to stake his claim even in public. (Though his embarrassment quickly fades as he becomes more comfortable being vulnerable with you and his brothers again. His guarded, territorial behavior quickly turns into bragging and "tests of your loyalty" after that.)

Now, despite that he does expect you to respect when he wants his alone time, but Belphegor doesn't respect your boundaries all that well until you make him.

Not that he minds if you do try to force him to stop being as much of a spoiled brat though, he likes someone that can give as good as they can get so long as you do it with love.

He's another one that wants to watch you crush his brothers' hopes and dreams in favor of spending time with him. Not Beel though, never Beel.

Seriously, he likes to make out in public and actively fantasizes about his brothers getting jealous because of it in his devilgrams.

(He's also the most suggestive even after they started toning everything down. He gets implied sex and makes out several times a devilgram while other characters don't even get kisses at all sometimes.)

Belphegor is a Belphewhore when it comes to you. (Which is rather fitting, if you know anything about demonology.)

You know you've made it when this lazy cow gets up off his ass to do something for you, something usually only reserved for Beel.

Now, normally being compared to someone you're trying to date's twin brother would be a bad thing, but not in this case.

It just means the only one who will ever be equally important as his figurative other half is his twin, his literally magically and psychically connected other half.

The deepest form of trust is when he fully entrusts Beel's safety and happiness to you.

He may not seem as outwardly protective as his twin, but he is very much so, and he's become even more paranoid and codependent after being forcefully separated for so long.

Whereas Beel is more concerned with physical safety, Belphegor is more concerned with Beelzebub's mental state.

He knows his twin has a tendency to be self-sacrificing, full of guilt, and a bit too eager to take things at face value at times (despite being the emotionally intelligent out of all of them) for a demon. He also knows plenty of people would take advantage of that, intentionally or not.

Belphegor will act uncaring, but he's carefully monitoring your interactions with Beelzebub and paying attention to all of the shared feelings from their connection, intent on matching them up to see if you caused any of his poor moods.

Diavolo:

Lord Diavolo constantly puts himself into frustrating lose-lose situations.

He only really feels assured if you keep coming to him of your own free will, but he's so terrified of rejection and losing you that he rarely ever allows you to do just that.

He's always coming up with some brand new scheme or just outright forcing you to come to him, sometimes even physically, which only reinforces his bad habits and insecurities.

It doesn't matter how much you try to resist. Do you really believe you could do something to stop it when even several-thousand-year-old Lucifer and his strong-willed brothers can't? When even Barbatos couldn't? You'd need the power of God and anime on your side for even a small chance at that.

He'll literally pick you up or drag you if he has to, laughing all the while, refusing to take it seriously as you squirm even though he's really hurt deep down.

He tries to keep in mind that some people are "shy" and don't want to be dragged out all the time, but if you say, take the week in between his tiring plots to catch up on coursework and relax, he'll start to worry you're distancing yourself.

Diavolo's severe abandonment and boundary issues make it nearly impossible for you to challenge them without doing exactly what he wants, when he wants.

Who does he think he is, some kind of all-powerful demon lord or something?

Diavolo doesn't consider himself to be a big gift-giver, but he spoils those he appreciates regardless, and you receive his love on a completely different level.

He's just so used to opulence and never wanting for anything purchasable (easily or not) that he may overwhelm you with uncomfortably extravagant displays without even considering how the average human might react.

Want some chocolate? Diavolo will have Barbatos summon the most skilled chocolatiers immediately.

Can't find the perfect formal wear for yourself? He's calling in his personal tailors to make the most beautiful pieces of clothing you've ever seen in your life.

And yet despite all that it can still fall a bit flat at times.

Diavolo is the most flexible with this form of affection, but he can still be very inconsiderate in a sense.

He takes being told it's a bit too much surprisingly well, but he's fairly controlling about the gifts themselves.

You don't like the colors he picked? Too bad. It matches his own outfit and the color you want would match with the brothers instead and etc.

Sometimes it almost feels like the gifts are more for him than you, or that they come with hidden expectations rather than to make you happy.

Even though he really does want to make you happy, very much so in fact.

You know you've made it when Diavolo finally trusts you to come back to him on your own. Something that might take years and years of "absolutely perfect loyalty."

When he's not constantly sending you messages every time you're apart and doesn't try to force his way into every outing or private moment you have.

Quality time is still his main love language, giving and receiving, and he's still very aggressive in his attempts to spend time with you, but it's expressed in a (slightly) healthier way.

It does mean fighting against his very nature as a demon, even more so than he already does, but he's more than willing to try for you.

Barbatos:

Despite being quite powerful himself, people are often so used to taking advantage of him that they don't see him as much of a person compared to others.

He's rarely Barbatos and often "The Prince's Butler, who happens to be called Barbatos" instead.

Barbatos is targeted quite often by various groups of people, but few of them are after his attention specifically, instead of his power and connections.

He doesn't really allow himself to date in general. Besides not having the time for it, he's too worried about accidentally giving a spy or old Demon King loyalist an opening to cause trouble.

Whether that'd be because he's distracted or because he somehow ends up dating that kind of demon, Barbatos is rarely a risk taker when it comes to Diavolo's safety.

Even when he's liked it's usually for what he can do for other people, like Beelzebub wanting to keep him as his chef and Solomon eyeing his powers for example.

The only one who's really broke past that in the last couple of centuries has been Luke, who's come to be like an adopted son (or pet chihuahua) of sorts to him.

As much as the child loves to say he's using Barbatos, it's clear that the affection is mutual.

Now, a lowly human on the other hand? He'd worry about them being taken hostage or having loose lips, but otherwise they're fairly harmless. Barbatos has all the power in the relationship, just the way he likes it.

In a way, humans' short lifespans also helps to prepare Barbatos for the possibility of seeing your untimely death.

He knew what he was getting into, even if he's gotten far more attached to you than he ever intended to.

In a way, your presence eventually becomes synonymous with respite to him.

At first because of the physical aspect of entertaining you, but it slowly starts to be because of you specifically.

How sweetly you talk to him, really talk to him and not at him. The way you're so considerate in ways that even angels are not for a "mere butler."

Not much longer after that, it comes to be everything about you, even your smile becomes enough to make his day.

Besides being helpful, proving you're willing to "stoop down to his level" and "serve the servant" makes him much more willing to believe you're genuine.

In his (plentiful) experience, pretending to actually enjoy helping out in person is much harder to fake than anything else, especially for the snobbish nobles typically attempting to gain Lord Diavolo's favor.

Barbatos is another hardcore perfectionist who takes his work extremely seriously, who would rather die than let anyone else do it for him, especially since it would cause him to look as if he was "slacking." However, small things like drawing a bath for him, bringing him his favorite snacks, and giving him massages really helps him relax and feel loved.

He's also very fond of homemade gifts for similar reasons. The thought of someone going to all that effort for "just a butler" is very much appreciated.

Despite being such a perfectionist he'll accept the love put into almost anything you give him if it's made with care and free of the furry beasts he despises so strongly.

He'll have them all displayed properly in his room, in a way that will let them last longer, right next to everything Luke has made for him.

You know you've made it when Barbatos allows you to take care of him and ease his burdens.

When he'll allow you to wash his hair and pour tea for the both of you without stressing about how perfect it may or may not be.

Solomon:

Solomon's main love languages are gift giving and acts of service, and yes, you're gonna have to eat his cooking and you're gonna have to like it.

More seriously though, I'd argue it's quality time and acts of service, both giving and receiving.

He may have an excess of years left, for the understatement of the century, but he knows not everyone else does.

So Solomon really cherishes what little time you're willing to give him, especially if it means ignoring the demon brothers in favor of him. Asmodeus included. Solomon needs to know you're willing prioritize humanity, and him of course, before he can really begin to trust you and let you in.

He's also very fond of physical touch, he's close to Asmo for a reason after all, but that doesn't actually assure him your love is true regardless of how much he enjoys it.

You know you've made it when Solomon is fully willing to become attached and admit it to himself, regardless of any potential heartbreak he may suffer.

When he's ready to tell you so, to make concrete plans about the future with you, instead of for you, and commit to them fully.

But he also really does want to see you eating his cooking, that he infuses with all of his love just for you, every day.

Simeon:

Simeon is another tricky one, as he rarely allows people get close enough to see his more vulnerable side. Not even those that he was once brothers in arms with.

I believe one major indicator of Simeon being truly in love with you is when he's seeking out your touch.

When he's always brushing his fingers against your shoulders and grabbing your waist as he walks past, just to feel your skin.

Or even allowing you to come to bed with him, "just to cuddle, of course" he says, despite the major risks being that close poses for an angel already teetering on the edge. That's not to say that he doesn't express it through other means, like through the written word, but his playful brushes against you and sly smiles as he tells his white lies to get some alone time are something exclusive to your (not-so-secret) relationship.

He does however, always want to spend time with you. Even before he's ready to fully commit and be completely vulnerable around you.

You may or may not have that much time together after all, and he wants to spend as much of it as possible with you. Simeon also adores teasing the ones he loves, and that will most likely be the first bit of "personalized" affection he gives you. He just can't get enough of your embarrassed faces and mannerisms.

You know you've made it when Simeon is willing to trust you with all of his darkest thoughts and concerns.

When he can trust you won't judge him for his sins or try to guide him to any particular path.

When he's certain you'll stay true, and value and respect his guidance, no matter what form he's in or what he's done.

It's a common idea I know, but I got an ask for it literally years ago and I wanted to dump my reasons onto y'all anyway.

The draft date on AO3 said I started it in the middle of 2021, which should explain exactly why I feel bad about taking requests.

Also shameless self promotion, but I have a full Obey Me! rewrite fic out now!

Please do note that this is a fully realized fem OC with her own personality, not a gender neutral reader insert, and there are a lot of potential triggers involved.

So please make sure to read the tags fully before going in!

But don't worry, everything else will stay gender neutral and reader insert! Nothing is going to change about that here or on tumblr.

#obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me simeon

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midniiights-garden · 4 months

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Modern!Mizu General Headcanons!!

I have so many many ideas for Modern!Mizu omg you don't understand (I wish she was real...)

Ok, so first of all I wanna start out with some HCs about her past and her mother.

I think she probably grew up in rural Japan, her relationship with her mother basically still the same as in the show.

Due to not being exposed to very many foreigners her relationship with her peers was strained because of her blue eyes (ofc. hate discrimination smHHH)

Anyways, although Mizu doesn't have to hide her gender, and I personally headcanon that Modern!Mizu wouldn't hide it, she still has some internalized mysogyny.

This is namely due to the huge issue with sexisim in Japan, sexual harassment and sexualisation of women and so on. Mizu grew up wishing she was a boy because she didn't want to feel like a piece of meat to be eyed up and down and sold.

I HC that she meets the Swordfather when she attempted to run away from home. Probably due to another bullying incident or something.

In my head she actually moves to America or Europe to study something related to craftsmanship or to become a professional martial artist. It makes the most sense in my head at least.

She got into Uni on a scholarship lol. I mean, translated into a modern setting I do think her skill would be enough to warrant a large scholarship.

University was a rough time in the beginning for her due to the many changes that come with moving to a new country, as myself and most other third country kids will know.

Mizu had to juggle learning English, beating racist asshole and school all at the same time.

Due to her reluctance to socialize she also struggles to learn English in the verbal sense. She learned how to read and write in English much faster than to speak it because she had no one practice with. That, and she refused to talk to anyone.

As for how she met Mikio...

Modern!Mizu probably met him because he was a teacher at her Uni.

Long story short when he finds out how she was concieved and how strong he is, well, big strong man gets emasculated and throws a fit and Mizu leaves him (as she should)

And then she realises she's gay lol

I think it'd happen in a pretty similar fashion as to Canon!Mizu but you can look at my headcanons for those if you need them.

I think the main differences between Modern!Mizu and Canon!Mizu would primarily be in how she deals with her rage. Of course, Modern!Mizu isn't allowed the luxury of just stabbing people to get revenge so I believe she may resort to a lot of physical exertion in the gym or just a lot of lashing out towards people in general.

(A/N: Yayayayayya second post for the day!!! As usual, if anyone has any requests or anything feel free to ask!! Happy holidays everyone!!! <3)

#mizu blue eye samurai #i love women #blue eye samurai #wlw #i love fictional characters #mizu x you #mizu x reader #mizu #mizu come home the kids miss you #x reader #headcannons #x you fluff #fluff

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a-doubleh-x · 15 days

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Why I like Charlastor

The other day I noticed there was some negativity in the Charlastor tag, including antis and people feeling the need to defend against antis, so I thought I might as well take a step back and just write candidly about why I like the ship.

I only got into Hazbin in October of last year, but already it has inspired me a lot to write and fantazise about it. Like most people, I started with the classic "they look cute together", but as I kept looking I couldn't help but think there was something else to these two than first met the eye.

For starters, I love Pollyanas! I think they get a bad rep for being naive, but I just appreciate an optimist like Charlie who just wants to make people around her happy because it makes her happy. I also like bad boys 😳 I'm a pretty heteronormative guy, so I haven't had a big chance to explore that part of myself yet, but I do like the danger and excitement someone like Alastor brings to the table.

I will admit when I started writing Charlastor I felt like I was handling dynomite. It's a lil scary to ship a boundless altruist with a manipulative sociopath, but bear with me.

I think each of them has something the other needs. I think Charlie needs someone to challenge her, someone to steer her in the right direction while she's mostly isolated. At the start of the series, practically nobody but Vaggie takes her seriously, and Alastor is no exception. He mocks her, teases her, but she still listens and I think it's because somewhere deep down she understands there's something he's trting to communicate in his annoying, but curious way.

Of course, I also love the fanon Charlie who's down bad for Alastor, and even if that Charlie is a little naive, I think it's also sweet and she can use some indulgence while most people treat her like a child.

On the other hand, when it comes to Alastor, this is a bit of a theory on my part, but I think he's secretely lonely. He has friends, certainly, like Rosie and Mimzy, but they're not good enough friends to live together with him. They don't seem to be able to save him from "pure, absolute boredom". But Charlie, for some reason can, even though she's a stranger at the beginning when Alastor chooses to move into the Hotel.

Alastor is not as much of a cynic as someone who chooses to see things in a perspective that benefits him. He doesn't think redeeming sinner is "hopeless", but "hilarious" instead, which has interesting implications to me. That's why he chooses to hover around Charlie, not because he thinks she's lame, rather because he thinks she's silly. She makes him laugh. Which I think is kind of how Alastor sees "love".

And then you have fanon Alastor who, depending on the writer, is either a horny animal, a wisecrack edgelord or a soft boy who's mean to everyone but Charlie XD I like several of those interpretations, but I kinda prefer mine just out of personal taste. I think the best part about Alastor is that he doesn't *care* what anyone thinks of him and always does what he wants, even at the expense of other people, which I find pretty enviable.

They're kinda both outcasts in their own ways. Charlie by being unable to fit in and Alastor being unwilling to compromise. But they don't judge each other. He supports her in his own weird way and she houses him and is delighted of him in general, which is tasty food for his ego. I do wonder why Alastor is interested in Charlie, both in canon and in a fandom vacuum.

There's some cool potential for drama there, but also growth and healing, in my opinion. Personally, I think Alastor doesn't want to actually *hurt* Charlie, but he may hurt those around her, which will be a moment to start settling compromises if Charlie puts her foot down.

That haz bin my review so far! I'm honestly pretty grateful for Vivziepop for all of the work she's done so far, I know directing, animating and writing two shows over the course of 5 year or so ain't easy. I'm also grateful to the fandom who shares their thoughts and vision, which calms the terrible voices I started hearing in my head since I bought this weird old radio.

I'm in the middle of a break, but if you're interested in my fanfics I'll get back to writing very soon. Cheers! 🌈❤🦌

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #alastor hazbin hotel #charlastor

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so-this-is-hell · 3 months

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Ok I watched the leaked episodes

Let’s start with the positives! I love positives!

- Alex Brightman put his whole Alexussy into this shit oh my god, Pentious and Adam actually sound really good. Adam singing is also really really good. Alex can sing in character and carry things well and I’m glad now he’s part of the project. Because at least it’ll be bearable if I see the other episodes.

-Vox is actually weirdly really compelling? Like I actually ended up enjoying the vibe he’s got and his own voice grew on me, I know it’s not what people wanted but it works well.

-Nifty’s voice is pretty ok, so is Charlie’s. They’re some of the better voices of the cast, Alastor’s performance was uh. It wasn’t bad so there’s that!

-the opening exposition was needed but also a bit hamfisted- wait shit the positives- uh, I love the direction it went? Art wise?

-the songs are pretty good, they get you from point A to point B, and at least wasn’t Poison levels of cringe in writing.

-Charlie actually helping Pentious in episode 2 try to repent and be a better person actually feels nice, like a crumb of what the show should of be-

…

Ok let’s get to the point.

-the episodes clearly are trying to shove as much of the plot as humanly possible, to the point that you get whiplash.

-Angel Dust, Vaggie, Valentino, Husk all have voices that either do not fit, crack from the pressure to perform, or are trying so hard to mimic the previous voice that it’s actually worrying. The Angel dust one in particular I’ll get to when I get to the point.

-The plot starts with the main antagonist, literally telling Charlie that her plan is pointless and she should give up. There’s no actual “I want” song to counter this, unless you count the song where Adam mocks her for trying and tells her the exterminations will happen twice a year now.

-Pentious at least wasn’t a creep like i was fearing in the script, but he comes off too pathetic? Like I know he was pathetic and that’s the point but why the fuck does he want to be equal to the Vees now? Didn’t he want to rule over hell himself? I know the instagram had him crop himself into pictures with the Vees but remember those aren’t canon!

-I realized I was able to hop in because I had Wikipedia level knowledge of these characters to the point they click in my head (and enough to where Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie and Husk all felt a little off but that’s neither here nor there). But god I cannot imagine being a new person trying to jump into this show, this is bad. None of the characters get actually introduced outside of Charlie, the show references the pilot which isn’t part of the show so new audiences have no idea what they’re talking about, and the staff gets actually introduced in episode 2. EPISODE 2, TO PENTIOUS!? GIRLIE POP HAVE HIM COME EPISODE 1 THEN?

-Animation that’s either too floaty, too janky, too stiff or straight up traced. Which I don’t blame the animators for, Mammon was busy buying 10,000 dollars worth of peacocks to bother paying them more than a dollar per frame. There’s no charm here.

-Where did the fucking cat key come from? No I’m serious. Where did it come from? It just kinda exists now.

-Alastor’s commercial is just straight up MEAN and he’s often more mean than chaotic, which I know is ironic since he wasn’t a good person and I wasn’t expecting him to be but it’s to a point where it’s not even fun mean. He literally called Charlie’s endeavor “Daddy issues”. It felt like he was just there to slap Charlie in the face.

-Angel Dust rant is gonna be so long that I saved it for last.

I have to put it under the read more because of talk of SA! Fun!

Ok.

I’m saying this as someone who loved him from the pilot and was willing to excuse his behavior as “flaws he can work on” since Addict and everything else proved that there was more under the surface and he was a character that could change and grow and-

…

Angel dust, the rape victim… the guy running away from his abuser…

The Angel dust who has traumatic episodes so fucking graphic that he flashes back to them when he’s performing.

Saying “yeah no, fucking sexually exploit me! It turns me on!”

Viv, I know you’re not reading this but I mean this genuinely.

Fuck you.

As someone who’s family has experienced sexual abuse, as someone who’s family still has CPTSD because men in power decide to exploit them… how fuckin dare you make a character enjoy their own exploitation.

This isn’t me kink shaming a sexual character! He can be sexual and like sex! It’s never been the problem and hell it could of been liberation to have sex he deserves.

But no.

Let’s make the SA victim into the sexual harassment character, let’s make the SA victim the Stolas of the show where he wears down his love interest so thin that they have to give up.

Let’s make the SA victim still work under his shitty abuser, and make that into a joke as the abuser mentions wanting to rape everyone in the hotel.

Don’t pay to watch this show, I mean it.

Pirate it.

Hell don’t even watch it, find something better to watch. I’ve been binging anime as of late and I still like captain lazerhawk.

#hazbin leaks #hazbin hotel critical #oh yeah btw I reneg my statement of letting go of Angel dust #I’m stealing his ass #Viv stole from people anyways #Angel dust is now my character and I am keeping him away from Valentino #The radio dust au is gonna be my comfort from this

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wood-white-writer · 6 months

Text

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [7/…]

— OPLA! Buggy x F!Reader

“It's funny how I still forgot, it would be a hundred times easier if we were young again,”

— Mitski, “Two Slow Dancers”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.

In the aftermath of your drunken escapades, you wake up to find yourself faced with new challenges, including a killer headache, a group of fish people, and the very clown responsible for putting you in this position. Needless to say, it does not bode well to take on fights while still inebriated.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), morally grey reader, violence, descriptions of blood and wounds,

A/N: The next chapter will be fully dedicated to Buggy and Reader/"Cross Hairs"

"Chug, chug, chug!" Both Buggy and Shanks cheer you on as you all but inhale the contents in your bottle in one go, not stopping until all of it has gone down. You pull back with an audible inhale, and after a couple of quiet seconds, the loudest BUUUURP! ever to cross the oceans erupt from the pits of your stomach.

Your two crewmates watch in awe, then erupt into hard fits of laughter that have them rolling on the ground while clenching their stomach.

After pumping your fists victoriously into the air and discarding the bottle, you join them soon after and settle down around the campfire. You three barely managed to put one together, but with the help of a few thin twigs and a bottle of the captain's purest liquor, you got it going soon enough.

Buggy wipes the tears away from his eyes and pulls another bottle of stolen beverages from his bag. "Not bad, not bad at all. Still, listen to this."

Jumping to his feet, Buggy swings the bottle, takes a glorious gulp, and punches his chest a few times. Out comes a large BUUUURP! that surpasses yours by miles, and continues to echo from around the island.

You immediately raise your hands in applause, laughing in that sweet way that makes his pulse quicken. In truth, your laughter is hardly elegant, more like the sounds a dying boar makes, yet he enjoys it all the same.

With one arm straightened out whereas the other goes to his chest, he makes a dramatic bow in front of you across the fire. "Thank you, thank you, my fair lady. I'll be here all day."

When he straightens up again, he sees the fire shine so clearly in your eyes; the flames dancing in your irises, and he feels warmer than the fire itself. You're looking at him - him - with such adoration that his stomach feels funny. Maybe it's the liquor playing a part in this, yet he doubts it.

"Buggy, that was so gross!" Shanks says with mirth, then gestures for the bottle. "Give it here! I'll show you how it's really done."

"Sure, I'd like to see you try!" Buggy hands him the bottle.

"There's no way you can surpass that, Shanks." You oppose lightly. "No fucking way."

"Yeah, watch me!"

Shanks takes a generous portion, pats his stomach, and out comes yet another BUUURP!

Sure, it's impressive enough, but nowhere near Buggy's, and the redhead acknowledges this with a defeated sigh before anyone even says anything.

"It's alright," Buggy severs his hand to pat him patronizingly on the back. "You tried. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, you know?"

Shanks pushes his hand away with a grin. "Oh, lay of it!"

The night continues like that, with some more drinking, some more burping contests, and sharing their thoughts on the latest endeavors of the Oro Jackson. Whenever the crew docked for a while someplace, the three of you would usually find some way to enjoy your time off away from the crew's supervision like this.

It also involves the three of you singing sea shanties together, arms hooked around each other as you sing at the top of your lungs:

"Gather up all of the crew, It's time to ship out Bink's brew. Pirates we, eternally, Are challenging the seas!"

It is just fun; three teenagers enjoying their teenage years to the fullest until the day they can venture on their own.

After a while, Buggy starts to feel his bladder press, probably from the liquor. He tries to ignore it at first, not wanting to miss anything, but it does not take long before he has to oblige with his body's request.

You're the first to notice him moving. "Where are you going, Buggy?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "Just got to take a piss."

"Don't go too far," Shanks adds with a twinge of mischief in his eyes. "I've heard there are boars on this island, don't want to get chased, do you?"

Buggy feels chills run up his arms, but he refuses to acknowledge it. "S-Shut it! There aren't any shitty boars here, or we'd see them by now!"

"Yeah, but I've also heard that they catch the smell of piss particularly strong,"

"Bullshit!" He trudges off. "Boars, my ass!"

"Be careful, Buggy!" you call after him.

The chills across his body immediately get replaced with a sense of pride, and he disappears to do his business with a smile.

Once he's finished and headed back, he can hear your soft laughter as he approaches the makeshift campsite. His heart nearly drops into his stomach when he sees what's going on.

You and Shanks are sitting closer together now, knees width apart, and you're laughing. Shanks just told a joke, a terrible joke that makes even Buggy cringe, yet you laugh all the same.

That soft laughter, just not for him this time.

It shouldn't make him feel as shitty as it does, yet a nauseous feeling settles in the pits of his stomach. You and Shanks are crew mates and friends, just as he is. He's never caught onto any implications that you like him in that sense, but why does it sting so much then to watch the two of you like this? So close, so at ease, so carefree and soft.

He often thinks about the time you saved him, about the time you brought an entire crew down just for him. You held his hand, you were worried; he’s been thinking that maybe there’s something there that isn’t just in his imagination.

But, wouldn’t you have done the same thing for Shanks, too? Has he maybe mistaken camaraderie for something else? Something that's not there?

Buggy suddenly feels ill, and he can’t blame it on the alcohol this time.

He thinks that it makes sense, in a way that gives his deep-rooted insecurity a boost. Shanks has always been the better of the two; a natural leader, calm in battle, and strategic in the ways that he himself is unable to be.

Meanwhile, Buggy is ... Well, just Buggy.

Buggy with the weird, red, enlarged nose people always make fun of.

Buggy, who can never seem to pull off the same stunts as successfully as Shanks can.

Buggy, who cracks the worst kinds of jokes that oftentimes make people laugh more out of pity than genuine humor.

You always laugh at them, laugh with him, but maybe he’s been mistaken there too?

It's obvious that Shanks is the better choice. Buggy would follow him anywhere, and he'd follow you anywhere, yet the thought of you following Shanks whereas Buggy trails behind the both of you like a stray puppy just feels ...

"Ah, there you are." Your voice snaps him out of his head as you wave him over. "You didn't come across any boars, did you?"

It takes him a moment to respond, and when he does, it's nothing grand. His voice has been reduced to a demure murmur as he steps closer to the fire. "No, there is nothing."

"You sure?" Shanks asks with a grin. "Thought I heard some noises back there!"

For some reason, Buggy snaps "IT'S NOTHING!"

His outburst evidently catches the both of you off-guard.

"Buggy, are you al—?"

"I'm fine." He's not. "But we should head back before the captain instigates a damn search party for us. We've probably been out too long."

He turns his back to you and starts heading in the direction you came from, and he feels his chest tighten so fucking much it makes breathing hard. He tries to tell himself it's not what he thinks, but at the same time, that nagging whisper in the back of his head that always stalks him is incessant.

"It makes sense," it whispers. "After all, it's never you."

———

"What in the hell is the matter with you?"

It takes you several minutes to force your eyes open. You're in the restaurant, you uncover, lounging over a table with a thin napkin serving as the only cushion for your cheek.

By some miracle, you manage to aim your eyes up from behind your arms and see Zeff standing there with his hands on his hips, like an angry grandfather of sorts.

"Zeff," you groan and heave a tired breath. Fuck, your head is killing you, as though a hamster wheel has found residence in your cranium. "It's too early for this."

"It's almost eleven o'clock, the sun is up."

"Still too early,"

"Heard you practically robbed the bar last night; the bill is through the damn roo-"

Before he gets to finish, you dig into the pocket of your pants and pull out a hefty pouch of berries on the table. A few spill out on the wooden surface, clinking. "Just take this as compensation and give me another bottle while you're at it."

Zeff looks at the pouch, does a mental count, and finally takes it after deciding that it's enough. "Huh, thought that scrawny chore boy was broke?"

"They are." You turn to let your chin rest on the table, giving you a little better view than before. "But I did have a pension plan before I retired. Keep it with me when it counts."

Zeff sighs and pockets the berries without complaint, but not before giving you an unimpressed one-over. You're happy you don't carry a mirror with you; probably look like shit, and you feel like shit, too. Your hangover could've been considerably worse, but at this moment in time, you'd prefer it if you went to sleep and didn't wake up for another twenty years or so.

"What the hell is going on with you, lass?" Zeff finally asks, and this time, he retains some of his usual roughness.

"Nothing ..." you murmur.

His bushy eyebrows scrunch. "I've been working at this place for almost a decade, seen people at their worst. People down on their luck, people who've lost, people who've grieved."

"And?"

"And I'll tell you something, lass. No one looks quite as damn destroyed as someone who's had their hearts broken."

The hamster wheel comes to a screeching halt, and you abruptly sit up to glare at him. "I'm not heartbroken. Why does everyone insist on that?"

His lips tug into a halfway smirk like he's just caught a fish on his hook. "You're strong, I'll give you that much, but no one's above the loss of love. So, who was the bloke?"

"No one," you almost spit, narrowing your eyes.

Zeff remains undeterred, even a little proud. "Couldn't have been a 'no one' if they managed to capture the interest of the Beast of the East, can they?"

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from lunging at the old man for even insinuating that someone - specifically him - has managed to put you in such a sorry state. You won't give the Chief the satisfaction.

With some herculean effort on your part, you take a deep breath and recline in your seat. Quietly, without looking at the chief, you order: "Three beers and today's lunch."

Zeff shrugs. "Fine, but after, you should check on your crew. That swordsman really took a hit,"

Right, Zoro challenged Mihawk to a fucking duel, and the memories come flooding back to you. You glance up at that chief, masking the underlying concern with a face of indifference. "He alive?"

"Yes and no. If you want to know, go see for yourself."

You nod, and he leaves you to stir your hangover. Maybe it was a mistake to get as shitfaced as you did, but that doesn't change the fact that you tried to keep them from making mistakes. You did what you were supposed to, yet still, why does it feel like this is your fault?

You've grown fond of the crew, and it's become more of a headache than you initially bargained for.

The waiter comes with your order on a plate, not Sanji this time, you discover. In fact, he's nowhere to be seen.

Without wasting your breath, you immediately dig into your meal like a woman starved of sustenance. It tastes delicious, but the residue of yesterday's liquor on your tongue dilutes the taste. You don't care, though.

Shortly after finishing half a portion of your lunch, you resume with your bottles. A slower pace this time, to ensure that your current condition doesn't significantly worsen, but still fast enough to keep you from remembering.

Remembering too much.

Half a bottle into your stupor, the entrance doors slam open and a pang of pain burst through the nerves in your brain. All you can think is that it's way too early for someone to be stirring shit up.

A round of gasps echoes through the establishment, and when you peek up from over your shoulder, you see three fish people making their entrance from the top of the staircase.

You've had your share of encounters with fish people in the past, some more ... tolerable than the rest. In hindsight, there's no difference between the way you treat people; if they get on your nerves, you deal with them. If they don't, you leave them be.

Your instincts tell you that these people will fall into the former category.

However, you notice that the one with the sharp nose looks awfully familiar, but your temporary amnesia might have something to do with the alcohol circling in your veins. Still, it's not a face that's easy to forget.

A few people try to get up from their seats, but with a simple, "Sit down!", they comply.

You narrow your eyes at the spectacle but don't move to get away. As long as he doesn't bother you, there's no reason for you to get involved. Baratie's had worse customers before, so this is nothing new. Zeff'll handle it like he always does.

So, you continue with your drinks, already annoyed and in desperate need of the numbing sensation only the bottle can provide. Zeff appears to deal with it, and it doesn't pique your interest until the fish man proclaims:

"Listen up! I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy."

Now this catches your attention mid-sip.

You look at the particular fish man discreetly over your shoulder, your sobriety making a quick return once you discover that you do know of him. He's Arlong the Saw; a misanthrope who makes a living killing humans.

"Arlong," he said moments ago to Zeff. "I own the East Blue."

You don't know why he's after Luffy, and quite frankly, you don't care. With your fucking luck, he's after the map, too.

He can pretend to own the seas all he wants, but what matters to you is that he won't get to the boy, and it's something that Zeff seems on board with if his negotiation tactics mean anything.

So, in silence, you continue with your drinking, content with laying low until one of Arlong's henchmen - one with black hair tied up on each side of his head - appears at your side.

He leers over your shoulder, the stench of seawater evading your nostrils, and reaches for one of your bottles.

"Hope you don't mind sharing," he chuckles, and for some reason, this gesture pisses you off.

You're not in the fucking mood.

Before his hand can as much as graze the bottle's fine surface, you grip the back of his shirt and all but fling him back from whence he came. The sound of a table breaking behind you interrupts the eerie quietness that's befallen the other patrons, and you get up from your seat to glare at the other fish people.

"Fucking get lost," your voice rings out like an ominous warning across the air of the establishment, rendering everyone mute. Well, everyone except for Arlong, who proceeds to laugh heartedly at the spectacle whereas his other henchman quickly moves to aid his fallen colleague.

"Well, well, who do we have here?" He stands up from the table, two sharp rows of teeth reflecting the light from the restaurant as he grins. "If it ain't the Beast of the East, in the flesh." He tilts his head to the side. "I was expecting someone ... younger."

"I'm retired."

"So I've heard, but someone else seems to think otherwise."

"Well, this 'someone else’ must’ve been mistaken."

"No, no," he wags his 'finger?'. "You see, he was quite adamant that you're back in business. If that is the case, I am owed tribute for the stunts you've pulled."

You quirk an eyebrow, so lowly that it hardly seems to move at all. "Tribute?"

"Half of whatever plunder you acquired during the years you were active," he waves his hand. "And half of what you've acquired as of late."

Capitalism, truly. Seems that not even fishmen can deny its pull.

Your answer is simple.

"No."

Arlong's grin shapes into a snarl quite easily. "You may have the highest bounty, but it is still I who own the East Blue."

"The sea belongs to no one," you counter sharply. "Not me, and certainly not you."

It's clear that he perceives this as a slight in the highest degree if the downward tug of his lips serves as an indication. "Do you even know who I am?"

"I don't care who you are." Your fist clenches into a tight knot that almost draws blood as you stare him down from across the room; two beasts in their own respective ways.

"I'm Arlong the Saw."

"More like Arlong the Nailfile." This earns you a growl you're not nearly sober enough to worry about. "Look, I don't care who you are, and I don't care why you're here. The point is, you're not wanted."

You glance over at Zeff. For once, in the time you've known him, he's cautious but allows you to get your words across.

Arlong does not share the same sentiments. "When I learned that Cross-Hairs was here, I expected a woman with fists of irons and eyes sharp as knives. However, all I seem to be presented with is an old captain who does not know how to hold her liquor. It's pathetic, even by human standards."

This time, you're not vocal about your rather ... brutally honest opinions about him. Without breaking eye contact, you reach for your bottle and take a hefty swing from it. It all goes down without pause, and once it's gone, you put it back with enough force to permanently dent the table. Zeff'll be pissed.

Arlong snorts at the display. "I'm not here for you specifically. The boy, Luffy, where is he?"

"Never heard of him,"

"I don't quite believe that."

"Not my problem."

Arlong tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly. "My informant knows otherwise."

"Your informant seems to know a lot of things," you say, dangerously low. "If you tell me who they are, and I'll pay them a visit myself to set the record straight,"

He chuckles. "There's no need for a visit. He's already here, and he's famished." He snaps his jaws to a nearby table, scaring the patrons into fleeing. "But I don't need the meals from the menu to quench my hunger."

You glance over at the other patrons, seeing the fear in their eyes reflect the light above. You've seen it before; you used to see it back when you were still Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates. People used to quake at the sound of your footsteps, and whisper among themselves. in fear of evoking your wrath.

Back in the day, you lived up to your reputation. You didn't necessarily enjoy installing fear into people's hearts, but it was a means to an end. You were angry, and all that anger manifested itself in the way you acted as a captain. All that fighting, all that beating, all that rage.

Now, when you see the patrons acting like a herd of sheep, you can't help but feel like you're back there. But they're not afraid of you, not this time.

You look back at Arlong. "Find your meal someplace else."

He growls and steps closer. "I'm telling you this, Cross-Hairs, one beast to another. You may be strong, but we both know that you're not strong enough to take me on. Fish men are superior to humans in every single way. Stronger, faster, —"

He gets close enough to grab for your hand and lift it, his face a breath's width from your own. You can smell the stench of salt on him, of raw meat. "— Hungrier. Wouldn't you agree?"

In a flash, you grip your other hand around his wrist, fingers digging into his flesh until you can find the corners of his joints. You relish in the pained expression that crosses his face.

"You're not a beast," you say, not raising your voice a pitch. "You're vermin."

Arlong parts his jaws when the doors to the Baratie burst open.

"Which one of you is Arlong?"

You snap your attention to the top of the staircase, and your face drains. Fuck, it's Luffy. Why's he here?

"Who's asking?" Arlong asks, his grip around yours remains tight.

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I hear you're looking for me."

Once Luffy descends the stairs, Arlong lets go of you and turns to face the younger opponent. You watch with mild impressiveness as Luffy faces the bigger fish man, and you have to grant him that, he doesn't exhibit an ounce of fear.

"How'd you find me anyway?" Luffy finally asks.

Arlong snickers. "An old friend helped track you down."

Then, you watch as the big-lipped fish man pulls something out from his bag and it's ... and it's ...

"Heya, Straw Hat! Did you miss me?"

It's fucking Buggy!

Your heart skips several beats before it remembers to start pumping again. He's here. You thought Orange Town would be the last time you saw him, but he's really here. Truth be told, he looks worse for wear; his make-up is all smudged, a bruise forming on the right side of his cheek, and he's been dowsed in seawater.

But it's him. It's him.

Buggy's eyes glance over at you, and the smile that was previously there gets momentarily replaced with an expression you can't precisely pinpoint. "Hey, there," he says, surprisingly demure. "how's it going?"

You're not nearly sober nor coherent enough to reply.

"Burpy?" Luffy asks surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Believe me it wasn't my first choice either, but these fine fishy folk persuaded me to point them in the right direction, which ain't easy when you don't have any hands."

"How'd you even know how to find me?"

"I told you, I got eyes and ears everywhere."

To your horror, you watch as an ear pulls itself out of Luffy's hat and attaches to the clown's head. That ear was there all along, which means ...

"You were listening all along?" Luffy cradles his hat. "You heard everything?"

Everything, you think to yourself as you feel the blood drain from your face. He heard everything, everything you'd said to Luffy, everything about your whereabouts. Every—

"Everything," Buggy answers. "And that got old quick, 'cause you shidiots got no idea what you're doing. Hey, Lips!" He turns his head sideways to face the fish man who's just returned from aiding his colleague. "How about a scratch behind the old ear, huh?"

"Sorry, honey."

You don't know what compels you, but something fierce does. An animalistic instinct settled in the marrow of your bones, rampant with rage and assertiveness. When the fish man grabs a hold of Buggy and puts him in the bag, you feel the need to get him out. Free him.

You were friends with him once, something even more from your side long ago, and you've tried to kill each other on at least one occasion. Still, that piece of you that remains in your youthhood demands that you get to him before anyone else.

The conversation that takes place between Luffy and Arlong doesn't register with your ears, as all you can focus on is him. Before you know it, the sound of gunshots echoes through the restaurant, and a fight erupts between Luffy's crew and Arlong's.

Truth be told, it all flashes in front of you like pictures from a movie you've seen. All you can recall, with the alcohol still flooding through your veins, is the feeling of flesh between your digits, the sound of cries and painful moans from Arlong's henchpeople as you force them to the side, and the pure adrenaline that muddles all your thoughts of ration.

Before Arlong can even hope to make a grasp at Luffy, you're there to deflect his claws with your wrist. The impact pushes his hand several inches away from your skin, and without a moment's notice, you strike him in the middle of his sternum.

He's knocked several feet back and into a nearby pillar, not enough to completely knock him out, but enough to keep him away if only for a few moments.

He laughs, his teeth bleeding from the gums. "The Beast of the East. I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you."

You don't say a word, with the primitive instincts overwhelming your rational ones. In a second, you lunge for him, your hand aimed towards his head. Someone, most likely yourself, must have miscalculated because as much as you intend to hit him and maim him and strike him, the most prominent sense that strikes you is not the feeling of blood under your knuckles.

It's pain.

You're in pain.

Arlong manages to hit you with his clawed fingers. The sharp feeling of something piercing the side of your abdomen through your clothes causes an eerie feeling of hurt. You gasp and bend to your knees, clutching your side. Blood paints your palm as you withdraw it. You're bleeding. Fuck, you're actually bleeding. It's not a light cut either, it's several ones, an inch deep each, and they're bleeding profusely.

When was the last time you bled like this?

The collision between your head and something hard knocks you back before you can even hope to register your state properly. The floorboards leave stinging burns across your lower back until a pillar cushions your fall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"A pity, truly." Arlong taunts, towering over you. "My informant seemed so confident in your skills. How disappointed he’ll be, seeing you crawl like a maggot on the floor."

You know this is a fight you cannot win, not as you are right now, but you don’t care. Pure spite motivates you to do your worst, even if it’s all for naught.

An act produced from pure adrenaline, you jump back to your feet and prepare to pounce at him. An outstretched hand — Luffy's — beat you to it and preoccupied the fish man in the nick of time. He's pulled away from your reach before you can hope to get him, and a familiar feeling of bloodlust in your veins awakens to life after its hibernation.

Hot, boiling.

You want to kill him.

Maim him.

Crush him until his bones break.

Feel the warmth of his blood coat your fingers as you dig into his body, through veins and arteries and flesh.

You want him dead.

Suddenly, you catch it from your peripheral vision. A bag on the floor that's currently being tossed back and forth amid all the fighting like a ball of yarn between two quarreling cats. A string of curses erupts from the fabric.

He's still here, you remember. Buggy is still here.

You have the option to leave him at the mercy of the fight between the Straw Hats and Arlong, but something in your body won't let it. Call it instinct, call it sentiment, but you move towards it all the same. Before any man can even touch the surface of the bag, you lunge for it like a flash of light.

Grabbing the top of the old fabric, you all but yank it from the floor and maintain him in the steady grip of both your hands.

"Hey, hey!" the voice in the bag calls. "Keep me out of this!"

"Shut up!" You shout back.

The voice immediately quiets down. In the middle of the fight, while you cling to the bag like a sacred object, you can hear him call your name several times, though you don’t answer.

You cradle the bag in the crook of your elbow as someone — doesn’t matter who — kicks your ribs and sends you crashing into a nearby wall. The impact knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you with stars at the corners of your vision, yet all you can seem to think is ‘keep .... safe, keep .... safe, KEEP .... SAFE’.

You cough several times, static noise filling your eardrums as you crawl back to your feet. The sensation of something warm dribbling down the side of your ribs strikes you, yet your only concern in the midst of the blood loss is to carry that damn bag to safety.

It doesn’t make any sense. Luffy should be your only concern, but you can't find him, and the core of your being wants nothing more than to just get that bag the hell out of there.

Why? you think to yourself in a haze, your breath becoming heavier. What’s in that bag again? Why does it mean so much?

You try to get up, but the weight of your body overwhelms you. You stumble and fall back to your knees, dizziness making everything hazy and disoriented, but pure spite motivates you to keep going. At least, it tries to, but sheer will cannot outweigh the body’s needs alone.

Someone calls your name, and as your cheek meets the floor, an image of blue hair invades your vision. Blue hair, soft promises, and tight embraces.

Then, there are scornful glares, a shove against your body, so firm and cold that it’s reminiscent of ice.

“I hate you,” a blurry voice says, so filled with resentment that it reminds you of a knife. “I wish we’d never even met. Go be with him if that’s what you fucking want. What do I care?”

It hurts. It hurts more than your ribs do. It hurts to listen to those words — that voice — as it reverberates through your skull. It hurts so fucking much that you don’t think you can survive it. You feel small, small and vulnerable; like a child stuck in a crowd of people they don't know.

“He- Hey! Are you there?” The same voice - deeper and darker now - calls desperately as darkness starts to cloud your vision. “Come on, get up!”

You can’t tell if this is a voice from inside your head or outside it, but you don’t fight it when the darkness decides to lay claim over you. The same voice calls your name urgently, time and time again, but you can't answer it.

———

Everything hurts. Your body, your arms, your legs, but most prominently, the right side of your body. It’s burning, stinging, fucking carving at you. Whatever you call it. It just hurts.

“You’re awake!”

You barely have time to open your eyes when a warm body presses itself against yours from above. A sting of pain from the side of your body immediately surges through your nerves and you hiss.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!”

When you finally do look up, you see Luffy sitting beside you, a concerned yet hopeful look in those round eyes of his. You blink at him, then shift your head around to see where you are. You’re in your cabin, a blanket pulled up to your midsection, with something wrapped tightly around your stomach under your shirt.

At first, you’re at a loss for thoughts, but it only takes you a moment for everything to fall back into place. You immediately sit up, only to regret it as the pain explodes once more from your wounds.

“Don’t move too much,” Luffy protests and puts a hand on your shoulder to guide you down, but you resist it.

“What happened?” you demand. “How long was I out for?”

“Only a few hours.” Luffy frowns and gestures to your side. “You were badly hurt and lost a bit of blood. Zeff looked over it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he said you’ll need stitches eventually.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before your gaze trails down to your side. Lifting your shirt far enough so that you can evaluate the damage. Crimson-stained bandages greet your vision, under which you can only guess Arlong left his mark. Several marks to be precise, if your memory holds any value.

It’s not the wound itself that fills you with shame, but it’s the fact that you let your own grievances put you and – to some extent – the crew in such a vulnerable position to begin with.

If only you’d stopped feeling so sorry for yourself, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Luffy,” you say softly, not removing your focus from the bandages. “I’m … sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, completely confused.

“… I got distracted.” You slowly swing your feet to the edge of the hammock, the movements warranting more bouts of pain, yet you ignore it. “I … Let my guard down, and it put the crew in danger.”

“I don’t think so.” He says it so casually like he doesn’t find you at fault in the slightest. You don’t know whether deem his forgiving demeanor endearing or naïve to a fault. “You were sad.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything!” You jump to your feet while cradling your side. Luffy immediately comes to your side and offers you a shoulder to lean onto. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “And so is Zoro! He’s alive!”

“That’s … good.” Relief floods your body.

“But Nami…” Luffy pauses as he helps you out of the room towards the kitchen. “She went with Arlong,”

You raise an eyebrow, not expecting this. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find her.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Well …” he trails off sheepishly, and you’re immediately suspicious.

It’s not until you finally reach the kitchen that you hear it.

“Hey! Look who it ... is ...”

It’s Buggy …

His head is on top of the kitchen table.

———

Taglist:

@kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat , @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107 (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #one piece buggy #DMTMYHB #Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue

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solar-wing · 1 month

Text

⚣ It's Not A Competition 🥇

⚣👊🏻 A/N → SURPRISE! double post today! I've been wanting to do a Clark Kent post forever but never had any good ideas. Then, this popped into my mind. Also, I'm really trying to clear out my drafts and any old requests. WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Jealousy | Established Relationship

⚣👊🏻 Summary → Dark Knight this and Dark Knight that. What about Superman?! He's also a great hero! Better than Batman, at least. The guy doesn't even have powers. But that's what makes him more interesting and cool, according to Y/N. And frankly, Clark has had quite enough and intends to show him why Superman is way better than Batman.

⚣👊🏻 Words → 4.7K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 👊🏻

Clark just didn’t get it.

Why was it that Y/N was so obsessed with Batman and not Superman? All the young reporter ever talked about was the Dark Knight and how he was so cool and mysterious. Going on and on about his awesome gadgets and the fact that he had no powers, which made him so interesting.

Clark very much would beg to differ.

“You know, Superman can shoot lasers out of his eyes, and I heard he can move faster than the speed of sound,” Clark pointed out while walking with Y/N down the sidewalk. They decided to go out for lunch and since the Daily Planet was so close to one of Y/N's favorite restaurants downtown, he figured, why not just walk together?

“Clark, not this again,” Y/N chuckled while sipping his drink.

“I’m sorry, you just always talk about how great Batman is, and I’m not saying he’s bad, but I don’t get how he’s better than Superman?”

“You know, you’re starting to sound like Lois with all your Superman praise and comparison.”

“Well, she’s not wrong. I mean, come on. What can Batman do that Superman can’t?” Clark asked, looking down at his boyfriend while waiting for an answer.

“Batman’s quicker on his feet. He thinks of solutions faster and more creatively than what I’ve seen from Superman. Plus, he’s resourceful. The guy’s got a freaking jet. The only people I could think of that own jets and planes and all the crazy gadgets he has would probably be Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne.”

Clark tried not to react to the irony of that statement, rather focusing on how he could combat that logic even though it was true. He had to admit that his comrade, whether in the field or in practice, was very good at analyzing a situation and using whatever he had around him to his advantage.

Still, it didn’t mean he was better than him.

“Well, Superman can also fly, and as many have witnessed, is crazy strong.”

“Yes, he is. But if Batman can afford a jet, I’m pretty sure he can afford a jetpack, too. Plus, we all know how strong Superman is, some more than others. Their insurance claims can definitely speak to how strong he is.”

That last line Y/N said was more so to himself than as a statement to Clark. However, it didn’t take away the slight sting from his words, considering how true they were.

“So you’re saying Superman is reckless and bad at his job or something?” Clark accused.

“What? No, I’m not saying that at all. Why are you getting so defensive about this? You’re acting as if you know the guy. Wait, do you know him?” Y/N asked, now looking up at his giant of a boyfriend.

Sometimes, he wondered what kind of genes ran in Clark’s family. It was a bit of a puzzle to Y/N why the six-foot-something man was in journalism rather than something that seemed more his speed, like fitness or athletics.

“No, of course not. I just don’t think it’s fair or even logical to compare Superman to someone like Batman, considering what each of them has respectfully achieved, not to mention the state of their cities and everything. I mean, have you ever been to Gotham before?” Clark asked, doing his best to not draw any more curiosity or suspicion out of the younger male.

Not that he was doing a good job of that in the first place.

Clark just wished he could’ve shown Y/N why Superman was better than Batman. They’d only been dating for a few months so it wasn’t reasonable or even smart for the Kryptonian to consider revealing his identity to him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Clark, it’s not a competition. You know that, right?” Y/N said, placing his hand on Clark’s arm.

They paused in their steps, Clark looking down at the gentle hand lying across his forearm before looking up into the eyes that always put him under a spell. He smiled to himself, thinking of the fact that even if Y/N favored Batman over Superman, Clark was still the real winner, because he had him.

He took his hand in his own, doing his best to contain his excitement pulse at the feeling of his larger hand surrounding the smaller one in his grip. Y/N was still a male, so his hand wasn’t dainty or small by any means, but compared to Clark’s, it might as well have been.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, I got a little bit crazy.” Clark apologized with a small kiss on the shorter man’s hand causing a slight blush to appear on the smaller male’s cheeks.

“It’s ok. Besides, I like a little bit of crazy. Keeps things interesting.” Y/N said before continuing their walk towards Clark’s place of work.

‘You have no idea,’ Clark thought to himself as he followed behind, letting himself be tugged along.

They returned to the Daily Planet to find everywhere in a buzz, chattering excitedly with each other as various individuals were either running to the bathroom with pouches of makeup and skincare and others at their desks touching up their hair and clothes.

“What’s going on?” Clark asked aloud as he strode into the office while still holding Y/N’s hand.

“Was it like this when we left?” His boyfriend asked, chuckling at the comical movements and gestures of the rushing to get re-ready for whatever was happening.

“No, it was actually the opposite,” The reporter stated before eventually spotting Lois at her desk, who was also touching up her makeup and hair. He made his way over to the desk area, narrowly avoiding multiple people rushing while pulling Y/N closer to him to keep him from getting bumped into.

“Lois, what’s going on?”

“Oh, hey, Smallville. Hello, Y/N. Didn’t you both get the emergency email Perry sent to everyone earlier?” She said in her usual fast-paced, business tone while curling her eyelashes.

“No, We were at lunch. What was the email about?”

“Oh, Clark. Must I always have to save your butt?” Lois said before handing her phone over to the man, Y/N chuckling behind him at the comment.

Clark threw him a look while Y/N did his best to keep a neutral face before reading over the email.

“Bruce Wayne is coming to the Daily Planet?”

Y/N's eyes went comically large at the mention, immediately jumping to read the email for himself, “No way!”

Lois smirked to herself before grabbing her phone back from the man, while Clark just stared at his boyfriend in jealous shock from his excited outburst. “Yep. Wayne Enterprises has announced its support of various major liberal movements and is donating large proceeds to different organizations calling for massive change in the nation. And with this being an election year, many political figures and business entities are feeling a little uneasy at this sudden new support from the tech giant. And yours truly, landed the exclusive interview with him to get all the nitty and gritty details .”

Y/N’s eyes were almost bugging out of his head, before he ran to the bathroom himself, snatching his hand from Clark’s who looked desperately after him.

“Dammit, Bruce.” The reporter growled under his breath.

“You say something?” Lois asked while powdering her nose.

“No,” Clark responded gruffly, an irritated glint in his eye before walking to his own desk.

After everyone has ridiculously made themselves extra presentable, including Y/N much to Clark’s annoyance, the pair stand outside the room with a few others, watching through the glass pane walls as the interview is broadcast live to the entire nation. Lois asked Mr. Wayne various questions, ranging from his real intentions behind his charitable donations to whether he was looking to begin any political endeavors and win the favor of the public.

Bruce answers every question with confidence and suaveness, leaving no room for questions about his actions, and denies any political motivations. Y/N watched impressed from the other end while Clark just looked around with a grim and irritated look, his arms crossed as he listened to the interview and watched his boyfriend fanboy over his secret comrade.

“Well, you certainly seem like the charming and noble benefactor, Mr. Wayne. I can see why you're known as ‘Gotham’s Favorite Son.’ I have to ask though, even if you truly have no political ambitions, aren’t you worried that these donations and announcements along with the unwavering stance you’ve taken on these political topics will inevitably place a target on you?” Lois asked, notepad and pen sitting with poise and precision, ready to take down every little thing the billionaire said.

“Wow, I can see why she’s so respected. She’s nailing this interview.” Y/N commented.

Clark nodded to that. Even if he wasn’t feeling the most agreeable at the moment, he’d always give hats off to Lois’ skills. The woman was a powerhouse when it came to this stuff.

“Well, first off, thank you for your earlier comment. I don’t think of myself as anyone’s favorite, but even I can’t control what the public says or does,” Bruce responded with his ever-so-billion-dollar smile, earning a laugh from Lois and probably every other American tuning into this broadcast, including Y/N.

Clark, however, wasn’t impressed. He’d heard funnier.

“But, to answer your question,” Bruce continued, “...any move in the business or even the political world I imagine can be considered a risky one. I’m not going to pretend that my decisions have made some very happy, and others very unhappy. That’s life. You can’t please everyone. But, to sit and accept things as the way they are for fear of retaliation or backlash is misery in itself. I believe anyone who doesn’t speak up for what they truly believe or want for fear of ‘rocking the boat’ is just content with living in their own misery. And, let me be clear before I’m canceled—I know the meaning behind that now thanks to my kids, particularly my two youngest sons—I’m not saying someone who’s genuinely content and happy with where they are is included in this. I’m specifically talking to those who want change, and want to create a better world, but are waiting for others to do it for them.”

Despite its clichéness, many in the hall gave a small clap to the CEO’s words, Y/N looking thoroughly impressed himself.

“Wow, he really is an inspiring man,” Y/N commented.

“He’s alright,” Clark said in response.

Y/N gave the taller man a suspicious side look, “Alright, what’s going on with you? You’ve been standing there pouting

since this interview started. What, do you not like Bruce Wayne or something?"

Clark sighed before looking down at his boyfriend. It was true, he wasn't really liking the guy at the moment. But, it was just because he was so jealous. He didn’t like how Y/N was looking at him, or how he was talking about him.

It wasn't fair.

The reporter wanted Y/N to be looking at him and only him like that, and he wanted his attention and affection, and he wanted him to only talk about him like that. It was petty, and it was selfish, but Clark didn’t care.

He just wanted Y/N to only admire Clark Kent. not Bruce Wayne.

Only Superman, not Batman.

Despite Y/N's earlier words about it not being a competition, Clark knew the truth. It was a competition, one he was not planning on losing.

"No, I don't not like him. I'm just not that impressed, is all. He's not a superhero." Clark said.

"Neither is Lex Luthor. But, that doesn't stop the public from making him the villain in his story. I'm sure there's a lot more to Bruce Wayne than the media is letting on."

"Oh, trust me. There's more to him than what meets the eye," Clark mumbled to himself as the interview was getting ready to wrap up.

"Well, on behalf of the Daily Planet, I'd like to thank you for joining us today. Your words are certainly ones that will not go unheard by many. I look forward to—"

Before Lois could finish speaking, the lights in the building suddenly went out, leaving the office pitch black. A few people in the hall gasp, Y/N instinctively grabbing Clark's arm, who in turn places his hand over the smaller man's own.

"What's going on?" Someone asks.

"I don't know. It's almost like a blackout, but it can't be because we have backup generators. They should've turned it on by now." Another responded.

"Clark, what's going on?" Y/N asked toward his boyfriend, who was holding the smaller male closer to him out of instinct.

"I'm not exactly sure..."

Just as he said that, the lights came back on, and everyone was looking around confused as to what the source of the blackout was.

"Oh my god!" One of the people in the hall screamed suddenly as everyone turned back towards the interview room. Inside the room, some members of the crew suddenly had masks with insignias covering their faces on them. One of them was behind Lois holding a dagger to her neck while another stood to the side, pointing a gun directly at Bruce's head.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, Ms. Lane," The individual in the middle of the room said, "But, this interview isn't over just yet."

"Who the hell are you people?!" Lois asked, fear and anger in her eyes as the blade was held to her neck.

"Wouldn't you like to know? As for Mr. Wayne, we're going to have a little chat. I suggest you and your friends don't follow or intervene. Otherwise, this broadcast won't be the only thing getting cut" The masked individual threatened, nodding to Lois.

"Don't you dare touch her," Bruce warned, his expression serious, as he got ready to stand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Wayne. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen, now would we? Especially with all of America watching right now."

Bruce sat back down, knowing that his opponent was right. He couldn't let them hurt Lois, and he certainly couldn't risk any lives in this room.

"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne. We'll make this quick," The leader said as one of the other masked goons went to lock the door that led inside the interview room.

"Clark, we have to do something," Y/N said, his heart racing a mile a minute.

"I know. Stay here. I'll be back." Clark said before running off, leaving the smaller male alone.

"What? Clark, wait! Where are you going?" Y/N called after him, but the taller man didn't hear him, already too far away.

'What the hell is he doing?' Y/N thought to himself before turning his attention back towards the situation in front of him.

As Clark rounded the corner and made his way down the hallway, he made sure no one was watching him before he ran as fast as he could into the supply closet. Once inside, he quickly changed into his suit before taking off through the backdoor.

"So, how does it feel knowing that you're on the side of the wrong? How does it feel knowing that no matter what you do, you'll never be able to fix the mess you made? All the lives lost because of you," The masked man asked Bruce, who was sitting calmly in his chair, his eyes not showing an ounce of fear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. None of you wealthy elites do. You don't know the pain and suffering your companies and your products cause to others. You don't know the misery you cause. Well, allow us to show you." The man said before signaling his partners.

One of them immediately moved and grabbed a hold of the camera, pointing it directly at the masked man in the center.

"Hello, Metropolis. And hello, America. If you're watching this, that means you're just as much a part of this as we are. if you've been sitting here listening to the lies and promises of a better world by this man and his kind, you are as much a part of his schemes as he is. It is because of people like him that we have the world we live in. It's because of people like him that so many of us suffer. It's because of people like him that the world will only continue to rot and decay until there is nothing left but a pile of ashes. But, we will not be the ones who burn. We will not be the ones who lose. We will not be the ones who suffer, not anymore. Today, we fight back. Today, we will show the world that we will not be silenced, we will not be oppressed. We will not allow the likes of him and his kind to continue to control us anymore with false promises of a better tomorrow while lining their own pockets. Today, we say enough is enough. Today, we rise. Today, we will take back what is rightfully ours. Today, we take back our freedom and our lives from the rich and corrupt." The man spoke, his words filled with conviction and determination, but also hatred and poison as he stared deep into the camera.

"And if any of you try to stop us, then you will be considered just as guilty as the rest of them. We will not be silenced. We will not be ignored. And if you think that the likes of Batman and Superman will save you, I wouldn't be too sure of that..."

As soon as the leader was done with his speech, the sound of the glass shattering was heard as Superman broke through the windows, flying into the room before stopping directly in front of the man holding the camera.

"But, I am..." The Man of Steel said, shooting a laser beam at the dagger being held by the goon threatening Lois. He immediately dropped the blade as it became too hot, giving the Daily Planet reporter the opportunity she needed to escape his hold.

"Bastards," She cursed, turning around and delivering a kick to the masked man's groin.

He groaned out in pain, falling to the floor before Lois punched him in the face, knocking him out.

Superman turned his attention back toward the masked man standing in the center, "I believe it's time for you to take a hike."

"Not yet. We still have unfinished business," The man said before signaling his other henchman. The man immediately aimed his gun at the Kryptonian, firing shot after shot into him.

Superman stood his ground as the bullets hit him, before eventually, the gun ran out.

"You're right. This is definitely the end," Superman said as he flew toward the man, knocking him out before he could reload his gun.

As Superman finished off the last of the henchmen, the leader turned back towards the camera, "Sorry, Superman. But, the damage has already been done. I hope you enjoyed this little taste of what's to come."

Before the Kryptonian could stop him, the man took out a smoke bomb, throwing it onto the ground and covering the room in a cloud of smoke.

"Crap," Superman cursed, unable to see as the man escaped.

As the smoke began to clear, Bruce took out his phone, "Alfred, I need you to track this signal."

"Understood, sir. I've also informed the police and they're on their way," Alfred responded.

"Good," Bruce said before turning back towards the room.

The actual camera crew was not out in the hall, hugging their co-workers who were all relieved at their safety. The broadcast was cut from the air, but there was no doubt every TV station from here to San Francisco was talking about it. Y/N was standing nearby, his eyes filled with awe and admiration as he stared up at Superman.

There was something oddly familiar about him.

...

Nah.

"That was incredible, Mr. Wayne," Lois said.

"I could say the same thing about you. I'm glad you're ok."

Lois smiled at him, "You were worried about me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Bruce asked, a small smile forming on his lips.

Lois blushed slightly before turning back to look at Superman, who was now standing right in front of the two.

"Thank you for the save, Superman," Lois said, extending her hand out to the Kryptonian.

"My pleasure," Superman said, shaking the woman's hand before his attention was drawn toward Bruce who just gave him an appreciative nod. Though the look in his eyes signaled they would definitely be communicating about things later.

As Bruce and Lois moved towards the hallway, Lois spotted Y/N who was standing close to the door peeking inside.

"Oh Y/N, there you are! Thank goodness, you're alright." Lois said, walking over to him and hugging him.

"Yeah, I'm ok. Are you?" He asked, looking up at the woman.

"I'm fine. I'm tougher than I look."

"That's good to hear. And, it's good to see you’re okay as well Mr. Wayne. That was scary." Y/N said, turning his attention to the billionaire.

"Yes, I'm glad I'm alright, too," Bruce said, his attention on Y/N.

"Oh, Bruce Wayne, this is Y/N L/N. He's one of our upcoming new reporters along with Clark Kent, who you've met before." Lois said, introducing the two.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne," Y/N said, extending his hand out.

Bruce took it, giving the younger man a firm handshake, "The pleasure is all mine."

As the two looked at each other, Clark was standing nearby, his gaze focused on the two, his fists clenched.

'I swear to Rao...' He thought to himself, jealousy coursing through his body as he watched the two interact.

"So, Mr. Wayne, what do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked.

Bruce turned to look at the woman, an amused eyebrow raised, "He must be getting trained by you," He said, sparking a laugh from Lois and another eye roll from the Kryptonian before flying off, "And please, call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne makes me feel old."

"Bruce, then. What do you think that was all about?" Y/N asked again.

"Well, I can't be certain, but based on their words and their actions, I'd say they were a group of anarchists."

"Anarchists?"

"Yes. They're not an uncommon group. Many people are growing tired of the way things are in this country. With the state of the economy and the government, it's only a matter of time before things begin to boil over."

"So, you think this is going to happen more often?"

"I'm not sure. But, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of them."

Y/N nodded his thoughts on the events that had transpired earlier.

"Y/N!" Clark called, interrupting the conversation.

"Clark, there you are! You had me worried sick," The smaller male said while hugging his boyfriend, missing the sharp look the taller man was throwing at the billionaire.

"I just went to alert the building security and the police. Seems everything turned alright though since Superman showed up," Clark said, wrapping an arm around the younger man's waist while still giving a side eye to Bruce who was watching with amusement.

"Yes, thank goodness he did. I'm sure we all owe him a huge thanks for his services."

"Yes, indeed we do. But, unfortunately, I must be going now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." Bruce said, extending his hand once more to the younger man, who took it, shaking it gently.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, too."

Bruce smiled at him before turning back to Lois, "And it was a pleasure seeing you again, Lois."

"Likewise, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce smirked, "I do believe we're a bit past the formalities now, Lois. Please, call me Bruce."

"Of course. Bruce." The woman replied, her tone flirty and her expression coy.

Y/N noticed this and turned to look at Clark, whose expression was blank as he looked on.

"Will do, Lois. I look forward to our next meeting," Bruce said before stopping in front of Clark.

"Good seeing you as well Clark, as short-lived as it was," Bruce said, extending his hand out for a handshake.

Clark reluctantly took it, the handshake lasting longer than was necessary.

"Likewise," Clark replied.

Bruce nodded, his eyes giving the reporter a knowing look before he was escorted out by security.

Once the billionaire was out of sight, Clark and Y/N decided to leave as well, making their way towards the elevator.

"Well, that was a crazy day," Y/N said.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Do you think Bruce Wayne knows Batman?"

Clark stopped mid-step, a shocked expression on his face as he looked down at his boyfriend.

"Are you serious right now? You can't be serious?" The taller man said with an indignant expression.

"What?"

"You're still thinking of Batman after Superman just came and saved everyone?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, he's a hero too. They both are. Besides, Superman is always getting most of the credit, don't you think? It would make sense if they were working together. You know, the world's greatest detective and the world's greatest hero, solving crime and catching the bad guys. Wouldn't that be so cool?" Y/N asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement at the thought.

"No, not really. I don't see why that would be a good idea," Clark said, rolling his eyes.

Y/N sighed, "Clark, remember what we talked about earlier about it not being a competition?"

Clark looked down at the smaller man, his eyes filled with frustration, "Yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to obsess over Batman. Superman is just as obsessed-worthy!"

"Clark, seriously, what is up with you? It's not like I want to marry him or something."

"You're acting like you want to," Clark mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, Clark. I'm not going to say I'm not a fan of Batman. I mean, I think he's cool. But, that doesn't mean that I'm not a fan of Superman either. I'm a fan of both of them. I think they're both great heroes, and I think they both do good work."

"But, you don't think that Batman is cooler, or that he's better than Superman?" Clark asked, his expression pleading.

"I mean, I guess. But, why does that matter? Why are you so hung up about this?"

"Because, I—" Clark started before stopping, knowing he was about to give away his identity.

"You what?"

"I just want you to think of me, is all," Clark said, looking down at the ground, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Y/N's heart softened at the confession, the older man looking like a little kid who just got his favorite toy taken away. He stepped forward, cupping the taller man's face in his hands, causing him to look up.

"Clark, I do think about you. I think about you all the time and I love how protective you are of me. Whether I like Batman or Superman more isn't going to change that" Y/N said, trying his best to ease his boyfriend's fears.

"Promise?" Clark asked.

Y/N chuckled, "I promise."

"Good," Clark smiled while leaning down to place a kiss against his boyfriend's lips, "You should still like Superman more."

Y/N rolled his eyes, "Sure thing, Clark. I'll work on that."

"Thank you."

"Whatever. Now come on, we now have a celebratory date to go on." Y/N said as he grabbed Clark's hand.

"What are we celebrating?" Clark asked with a laugh as he was pulled towards the elevator.

It was always adorable watching the smaller male pull Clark around like it was nothing.

"Surviving our first criminal encounter together," Y/N said while hitting the first-floor button.

"First?"

"Honey, we live in a city with sky-high insurance because a superhero lives here. You really think this will be the last?"

He definitely doesn't.

☀️ | Clark Kent/Superman | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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